I staged my house to sell. Yes, you know the house–the one with literally thousands of books scattered mindlessly and moths procreating in jars throughout the kitchen next to tadpole colonies.
Yes, believe it or not, this is MY house. I staged it myself…with a little help from a few friends who loaned artwork, lamps, patio furniture and the like.
Just like Lisa LaPorta commands on Designed to Sell.
I recklessly decluttered.
I rented a storage unit and hid all the offensive Little Tykes cars, Little People villages, farms and zoos, Hot Wheels tracks and Star Wars Lego villages.
I organized everyone’s clothes by color.
I threw away half my tupperware and countless useful bug jars in the name of “creating space and giving an illusion of storage.”
(I’ll probably never again own a stuffed egg caddy from the 1970s. Gone forever are the jello molds from the 1960s. I don’t know how I can live without four bundt pans, but I guess I’ll have to learn.)
Yes, I skewered myself in the name of home staging. I planted flowers, edged beds, created herb gardens, spread pine straw, bleached grout, repainted rooms, touched up trim, replaced ovens, purged books, alphabetized canned goods, removed personal photos and children’s artwork–all in the name of home staging so that my house would sell, BY OWNER, in a timely fashion during a less than robust housing market.
I pressure washed that patio myself!
And then I sold my house to one of my dearest friends in all the world who has seen my house with peanut-butter encrusted grout, spider sanatoriums in every corner and endless laundry mountains.
(No, you don’t need me to tell you God has a definite sense of humor, but I do seem to be a frequent vehicle of such a reminder.)
So here I sit the night before the movers arrive–a night when I am supposed to be deciding which items we cannot live without for the next few months versus which which things can go to some random storage unit in South Georgia–now I sit at my computer and sob and sob and sob to leave my friends and my home for eight years, only to return to the home of my youth–a town I haven’t lived in since 1985.
Times, they are a-changin’.
That is certain.
It’s about to get really interesting.