Things left behind

I've decided that my posts are too dang long.

That's all I'm going to say about that right now.

I'd rather talk about something that's sticking in my craw, whatever a craw is.

We spent $6,000 on painting our house, inside and out. Another $300 went to professionals for a deep cleaning. At least $1,000 was invested in home decor, such as plants, pillows, carpet, and patio furniture. We cleaned out every single cabinet, closet and drawer in this house. Hubby straightened up the garage, where he'd neatly stacked boxes we'd packed with knickknacks, books and appliances we could do without during the staging. I put new plants in my garden, and watered it every other day. Cleaned the house daily, got after my 3 year old when she made any kind of mess, and made my bed more times in two months than since we bought this place. At our gnawing inconvenience, I stored our toothbrushes, toiletries, and shower supplies way deep under the sink, so as not to offend anyone with our natural decay. Before open houses, I traveled downtown to pick up fresh flowers and made arrangements for display in various rooms. I learned how to use the vaccuum cleaner. Now, that's saying something, if you knew me.

We did what you are supposed to do to sell your home. It's the cost of making money. We're not special. And some people would call what we did basic upkeep. So, why I am prattling on about all this, and risking yet another drawn-out post?

It's because when I go to somebody else's open house, after all our efforts, I get offended when people leave out all manner of objectional, disgusting, and out-and-out wrong personal items. Who do they think. they. are? Don't open your house, if you're not willing to clean it up. Period. Nobody wants to deal with your filth.

Or, your Playboy magazine left on the sink. At this particular house, I spied a young girl a few paces away, so I quickly threw the thing in the toilet. When I came back with hubby a week later, it was still there. That was the day my hippy moccassin came off as I was climbing the staircase, causing me to plunge my foot into a horribly dirty, gluey remnant of carpet. I looked back and saw my hubby on the porch. He had been up on the second floor when he suddenly began worrying about our health, having walked around mounds of debris, tightly protecting our wriggly preschooler.

At one house, I saw a cup of curdled milk left behind in a bedroom. Hubby (who I need to think of a better name for) said it smelled very bad everywhere in that house. I didn't know; lucky for me, I had a bad cold. And they left their huge, mangy, barking dogs behind. Why would a seller want potential buyers worry whether about they are risking their lives to step foot in your backyard? Or, to wonder who might pop out of a closet door, since there were threats and cries for anarchy spray-painted all over the bedroom walls. This is the same place with the missing oven door. Begging the question: Did the paramedics take it off? After viewing that home, you'd want a bath and perhaps to sit down somewhere and pray for about an hour to wash that house off. An open house shouldn't be so traumatic. This one was the talk of the neighborhood, for weeks later. Seemed everyone had been there and had a story.

A house can be clean, but it doesn't matter if a seller leaves out personal items that make it virtually impossible for anyone to imagine living in their home. This was the case with one house, that was way out of our price range. Who am I to say what defines art, but I think it is a good idea to take down paintings of dead people. I don't mean, people who have passed away, and here's a portrait of them. But I mean, roadkill with their eyes open, laying on the floor. These same sellers left a wad of cash on their dresser, an expensive digital camera in a closet, and a full ashtray on the patio. It all just came across as contemptuous. Or, high, as my hubby thought, upon seeing all the rocker gear strewn about. I'm not feeling buying a house where people got high.

And maybe they wouldn't sell it to me.

We had our hearts open to whomever would buy our house, and stripped it down to make it devoid of who we are. But I have to say, we were happy that when our only offer eventually came, it was from people who are just like us. Maybe, sometimes, what people leave behind is no accident.

Just one little cross in a closet.