07/14/2023
By Kate Stone Lombardi
SAG-AFTRA, the union that represents thousands of screen actors, has joined screenwriters who walked off the job in May. The writers and actors want a better contract, and also protection against artificial intelligence encroaching on their jobs.
For the record, I support both strikes and am not trying to trivialize the issues with this blog post.
That said, my house seems to be crossing the picket line. That is, my house is being staged, and I now understand the implicit theatrics of the term. Basically, the idea is that your house (in this case the home I raised my family in; the home we’ve lived in for three and a half decades) will now be transformed into the concept of a home. It is, essentially, an actor.
All signs that people actually live here are being stripped away. It began with the family photos, swept off the shelves and mantlepiece, and packed away. Goodbye smiling baby pics, triumphant photo of my son scoring a soccer goal in high school, sweet image of my daughter catching her first fish, Mike and me smiling on top of a mountain peak, wedding photos of both kids, grandchild pictures.
Next, surfaces are cleared of remaining clutter. Many pieces of furniture are hauled to the basement, cabinets cleared out (why would you want actual china in a china cabinet?), antiques packed away and replaced with weird (to me) tall, white, skinny plastic vases and boxes. My colorful throws are packed away, replaced by strategically draped white ones. Did I mention white? White sheets on the bed. White towels. White lamps. (Not ours, but loans by the realtor.)
Remaining furniture is rearranged in ways that have nothing to do with actual living. End tables are gone, and I almost dropped my coffee mug into thin air yesterday, forgetting there was no longer anything to rest it on. Bathroom shelves are empty, save for one tasteful straw basket -holding nothing. My brush and comb live inside a drawer, because my bureau top is cleared of everything except a fake plant. (Again, not ours.)
Oh, did I mention that all the curtains have been taken down? The morning sunlight makes a beeline for my bedroom pillow at 6 am. They let us keep the bed, but had us pack up the dust ruffle, and comforter.
I know, I know. This is a first world problem. I’m selling my house and moving to another, and this is all about getting the best price.
And I get it. Buyers need to be able to project their own lives on a blank slate of a house. They don’t want to wander around in someone else’s clutter, with someone else’s taste.
Thirty five years is a lot of time to accumulate stuff. Thirty five years is also a lot of time to accumulate memories.
Letting my house pretend to be another house is just another step in saying goodbye.