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FeedMore than a Makeover
By Ellen Shriner
Before I hung the last strip of wallpaper in the kitchen of my first house, I did something perverse, but immensely satisfying. I wrote, “How COULD you take down this wallpaper?!?” with a black magic marker, then covered it up with wallpaper. I wanted some future owner to know how much this space mattered to me. After 10 years of living in our respective rental properties, my husband and I were newly married and determined to surround ourselves with things we had chosen. Though it was an eyesore initially, the cramped dark kitchen became the canvas for our personal expression. No more avocado green stoves or orange Formica countertops. Our kitchen would be an inviting space with decorating details that pleased us.
We removed the pots-and-pans wallpaper and two layers of fake brick. We tore out the dropped ceiling that made the kitchen feel like a cave. We enlarged and brightened the space by moving walls and installing a salvaged stained-glass window. We searched all over town for the expensive (but perfect) wallpaper and blue tile.
But what truly made the room special were the custom cupboards my husband built from pale ash. Every night after work the saw and router whined in the basement. By day I sanded and oiled, sanded and oiled, until the finish was glossy. But more than a dream kitchen, we were assembling the life I had dreamed of.
For four years, I taught college in Minnesota and Missouri—a 12-hour-drive away from my family in Ohio. After meeting my husband, I traded my teaching career for a writing career and began planning my return home. I wanted to start a family in the midst of my extended family. I looked forward to boisterous holiday meals prepared in my pretty blue kitchen. If I squinted into the future, I could envision a highchair pulled up to the table with a one-year-old’s birthday cupcake on the tray.
When we were only half done with the kitchen, my husband heard about the perfect job in Minnesota. I weighed my dream against his discontent. I concluded that I didn’t want him to feel sentenced to a hateful job with few prospects in the tight Toledo job market.
The joyful process of creating our unique kitchen began to feel like penance. The cupboards were only half finished; the counter had to be installed, and the wallpaper had to be hung. Once the kitchen was done, we could sell the house and move to Minnesota. We wouldn’t prepare elegant dinner parties in the kitchen or store my wedding dishes in the cupboards my husband crafted. The unrealized dream weighed heavy on me as I worked to finish the task at hand.
Every morning for two months, my dad came over to help with the remaining work. Every morning I realized all over again that soon he and Mom would be 12 hours away instead of just five minutes.
After the movers took our belongings, I was too sad to go back in to clean up, so my husband kindly did the work. As I sat on the small cement porch, I realized my dream for our first house and our life in it would remain unfulfilled. Nonetheless, I knew I had rubbed my vision into the cupboard’s finish and smoothed it onto the wallpapered walls.
Eighteen years ago, I could not imagine how much I would love my new life in Minnesota and how close we would stay with my family, despite the distance. Today, my husband and I are planning our third kitchen project. It’s exciting to daydream about the possibilities, but we are not as fervent about the details now. He won’t build the cupboards himself, and I won’t assign the project as much meaning. I want an attractive, functional kitchen, but I recognize that good times enrich the room more than the perfect wallpaper.
I recall my oldest son, now 17, as a happy one-year-old with Spaghettios in his hair, and my younger son, now 14, careening around, emptying cupboards. I remember fixing dinners for my visiting parents and spending lazy mornings drinking coffee with my sister while our kids burrowed into sleeping bags and watched cartoons. I know that in the remodeled kitchen, we will still eat meatballs and mostaccioli, work on school projects, and roll out Christmas spitzbuben cookies. Today I understand that my handsome new cupboards and distinctive tile are just the backdrop for happy memories.
ELLEN SHRINER IS A FREELANCE COPYWRITER FROM EAGAN.
Longing to share your thoughts of home? Midwest Home welcomes personal essays on topics that relate to house and garden. Submissions should be 800 words. Send your essay to managing editor Diane Cormany, dcormany@mhmag.com.
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