The Magical House

Here is a story that I wrote this morning.

The Magical House
By Janet Bowser

Once there was a house that had magical properties. The more furniture, drapes, knickknacks that were brought into her, the more spacious she got. The house would actually grow. This house loved to shop and liked nothing more than buying new things to satisfy that impulsive urge. She loved yard sales, where she could pick up several things cheaply to satisfy her shopping urge. However, she was never fully satisfied with what she had just bought and was soon planning another shopping splurge.

By filling herself with all that stuff, she began growing from a Cape Cod to a Raised Ranch, then a Victorian and finally she had become a huge condo complex with an attached 150 car parking garage.

But as she got larger, the house also had problems with her exterior and superstructure. Her paint started to chip, roof tiles fell off here and there. Her top line sagged and her large wrap-around veranda dipped at an alarming angle. The poor house's plumbing suffered and her joints squeaked. Her yard looked horrible.

Because she was so huge, her work crew could not fix things as quickly as she needed repairs. Neighbors and passersby would not make eye contact with her because, frankly, she was unattractive. Mean kids would point at her and laugh. Sometimes even nice people said things about her that hurt. She had become unsafe and knew that if the housing authority spotted her, she was in danger of being condemned. She felt like crap.




So, finally the house realized that it was all the stops at the yard sales and the gifts from family and friends that were increasing her square footage day by day. She made up her mind and said to herself, "That's enough! I am going to stop going to garage sales. I am going to stop accepting these gifts. I am going to quit ordering things online. I will only buy those things that are essential for myself to keep on going. And those things that I do buy have to be pretty special, they have to add to my beauty -- not gaudy, flashy junk. Not crap that I am just going to put into storage."

At first, the other houses in the neighborhood made fun of her, they said that she would never be able to keep it up. She was the biggest house in the area and they were sure that she could never change. She start to look around herself. She decided to have a yard sale of her own. Out went the old junk tables that she had inherited. Out went the bedroom suite that she never even slept in. Out! Out! Out! It was hard parting with those things which had been part of her, but she did it.

Slowly but surely, the house noticed that she was losing acreage. Her mass was dropping. Now her garage only held 10 cars (and one had to be a sub-compact).

She got rid of more junk. She kept the promise that she had made to herself not to buy more crap. Suddenly, she was a Raised Ranch again. She never thought she would be a ranch again. One day she looked down, she saw her grass at her footers. It was the first time she had seen her grass in ages and it was nicely manicured by her crew! She felt pretty.

Her work crew fixed her roof. Her plumbing got an overhaul. The house's exterior started to look much nicer. Her curb appeal started to improve. People strolling by stopped to look at her. And they smiled. The house knew that she looked better. Once someone asked if she was for sale. She was flattered.

One day, the house across the street had a wonderful estate sale with antiques, retro appliances and beautiful baskets of every kind. There was just such an abundance of stuff. The house watched the flow of traffic in and out of the estate sale. She so badly wanted to get in there, look around and get some stuff for her den, but then she realized that she liked being a ranch more than she want those antiques.

Right then she made up her mind. She had another sale of her own, a big one right there on her grass. She put out the rest of her stuff and sold it all. She was finally able to let go of it all. The next morning, as a car drove past her, she saw herself reflected in it's windows. She had become a Cape Cod again.

Part of her sometimes dreams of when she might be a little log cabin in the woods with lacy curtains and a flower garden in her back yard, but for now, being a Cape Cod is a gift. She never felt better, she never looked better and her maintenance crew hums around her now, fixing her, maintaining her, making structural improvements and beautifying her superstructure.

I am that house.
What kind of house are you?
What kind of house do you want to be?