LOVE IS A FINISHED HOUSE

By

Gerry Niskern

NOTE: This was written a few years ago when Ken remodeled our last house.

Every year around this time we all realize that “sweeps” month on television has arrived. Anyone in our valley who clicks on their television sets knows the networks are competing for the highest ratings. They do this with sensationalism and brazen schemes. The pandemonium and  destruction, the  raw nerves…and that’s only from the home improvement shows!

Are any of your neighbors planning to remodel their home this year? Even worse, are you dreaming of a new addition?  Instead, I should ask, have you ever lived in a war zone? Did you ever sleep with every stick of furniture you owned stacked precariously beside your bed because the bedroom walls were still intact, at least for that day?

Whether you are newlyweds, or have a few years of martial bliss behind you, let me warn you about the home improvement shows. On the television home shows, the host is shown interviewing the owners of a recently renovated house. The delirious couple leads him from room to newly decorated room. They describe in glowing terms how easily they knocked out this wall and moved that door and behold, had a wonderful spacious new living room. All this, according to them, was accomplished while they were living in the home. According to the silly grin on their faces, it was actually fun!

Let me tell you about fun. Fun is rising every morning to be greeted by a new layer of white powder on every surface in the house from the ripping of dry wall as the partitions came down.

Try getting up at two a. m., when nature calls, and finding that none of the toilets are working. In television land, the newly remodeled bathroom is a vision of elegance. The husband explains to the viewing audience how easily the new plumbing for the twin basins fit together, just one, two, three.

Our plastic pipes, on the other hand, finally worked after four trips to Home Depot, three changes of fittings, and two applications of adhesive.

The wide-eyed T. V. host pauses in the “state of the art” kitchen and the beaming couple recount how they resurfaced the kitchen cabinets, installed a new countertop and punched out a sky light for an encore. They neglect to mention that the electricity and water are off for ten days while they breezed through these chores.

Trust me on this. Remodeling is the ultimate challenge of the strength of a marriage. One minute you’re in ecstasy while your handyman husband shows you how these two bedrooms will evolve into that spacious great room. The next minute you’re drawing up divorce and settlement papers.

One day you’re congratulating each other on the speedy way the  grand plan is  coming together, and the next day you come home to find your clothes scattered over every piece of furniture in the house. The walk-in closet no longer exists. Your mate explains that the laundry room, on the opposite side of the house, is now the closet…sort of.

I once heard someone say that the true test of a marriage is if a couple can successfully wallpaper a room together. Obviously the author of that quote had never remodeled a house.

Each year, after sweeps, some senator introduces a bill in congress to curb the excessiveness on T. V. In my opinion, they could have already solved the problem and saved thousands of marriages by voting to ban the home improvement shows. Legions of wives of “wannabe remodelers” would erect a monument in honor of the lawmaker who sponsored that bill.

If the government is not going to outlaw the home improvement fairy tale shows, the least they could do is insist on warning labels on the opening credits to alert spouses…VIEWING NOT ADVISED FOR HUSBANDS WHO OWN HAMMERS OR SAWS.

“Therapy for Today’s Swingers”

By

Gerry Niskern

Guess what? The old-fashioned porch swing is back. According to many home living magazines, today’s young families, in their pursuit of the coziness and warmth of Grandma’s house, are buying porch swings. The young marrieds have realized the therapeutic benefits of relaxing by gently swinging back and forth after a hard day working.

There’s just one problem. They are installing them on their back patios. Wrong! Before this becomes a trend, I’d like to offer some advice. Porch swings don’t belong in the backyard. How can you watch the passing parade on your street? How can you catch up on the latest news when the evening strollers stop to chat for a minute?

Some of my fondest memories include playing on my Aunt’s front porch steps while the adults were swaying gently on the squeaky swing.  My Aunt Sarah did a continuous monologue on the personal news of each passerby. She used to comment, “See that fellow, he’s stepping out on his wife, or “I think there’s a new baby on the way for that couple coming down the sidewalk.” Back then, after a hard day of laundry, baking and canning inside the house, the front porch evening respite on the swing was her way of “surfing the net”.

Other summer evenings spent swaying in one of the three swings hanging from my grandpa’s grape arbor. I would climb onto an adult’s lap and watch the lacy pattern on pattern of leaf shadows on weary faces at sunset. The trio of clicking swings provided a soft background of rhythm for grandma’s narratives of the old country.

My husband and I had several swings over the years. We know the seat must be constructed to gently curve, sloping down towards the back. It should be hung so that when sitting in it the swinger’s toes just touch the floor. It must be long enough to hold three adults or as many little kids as can squeeze in. The chain should be strong enough to hold your chubbiest relative. You know the one; they back up to the swing and suddenly drop! Only the strongest chain can withstand the shock.

It must be hung so that it can be pushed back to the full extension of the chain. Nothing surpasses the giggles of delight of a one-year-old taking her first wild ride choreographed by big brother doing the pushing.

When I was a child, the safe cocoon of the swing was a haven for playing dolls, experimenting with nail polish or discovering the enchanting world of reading. Many have  rocked with their dates and exchanged a first kiss on a swing. The proposal of marriage has occurred on a porch swing. Somehow, it takes the stress out of the whole event.

Colicky grandbabies love to hear “Rock a Bye Baby” over and over again while gently swaying. . While moving to a faster rhythm, it’s a great place to teach kids the old songs like “She’ll be coming Round the Mountain” or “Where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?”

Later on, when they’re teenagers, the sanctuary of the swing in the anonymity of the evening darkness becomes an easy place to discuss personal problems. Almost anything can be resolved while watching the stars come out

“Hold it! Don’t Move ”

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you moved lately? Don’t! Even thinking about changing houses leads to work. I’m talking a lot of mental work here.

It’s not the packing and heavy lifting that’s hard. No, it’s the decisions; many, many decisions. If you have an old “hope chest”, or the equivalent, you know what I mean. Back in the dark ages, when I was engaged to be married, young brides-to-be stored table and bed linens for their future homes in a beautifully finished large wooden chest. Mine was a light Ash modern design and I dutifully filled it with hand embroidered items.

As years went by the linens were used and replaced with keepsakes. You name it, I saved it. My old school projects and awards were stashed there. Then each new babies’ little beaded I.D. bracelet from the new born nursery at Good Sam. A washed out nightgown that was worn by all three, plus a handed down little necklace of rubber teething beads. Then their first Christmas outfits, tiny shoes, and favorite stuffed animals went in. Then came the report cards and achievement awards and hand made cards; oh my, the cards! Especially Mother’s day cards. My all time favorite one had unique hand made flowers pasted all over and read “Dear Mother, I only have $3. 65 so I can’t buy you anything, so I made you this card”.

I was getting rid of the chest, so everything had to be divided into three stacks.

There were three little silver cups. Each had a name engraved on it. They all learned to drink from them at around eight months and then straight to a sturdy glass Surprising, there were few spills. Those won’t be passed down to grandchildren. It’s Tippee cups now; the kind that are sipped from, then tossed on the floor till they are old enough for Kindergarten.                                                                                                                                      Right in the middle of sorting I found a bundle of a dozen full note book pages that read “I will note touch other peoples $”, over and over, front and back. I don’t know when I meted out that punishment, but it apparently worked.

So that sorting is done. Everyone has their bundle and I enjoyed the trip down memory lane. However, as I said before, don’t move!

“Let me call you Sweetheart”

By

Gerry Niskern

Though the ancients were not aware that the heart was responsible for pumping blood through the circulatory system, they knew one thing for sure. The heart was the center of all feelings. This belief has lasted through the ages. From the early cave dweller’s drawings to today’s text messaging, sweethearts have declared their love for each other.

Most women remember valentine’s day as an enchanting time in school. A lot of thought went into selecting just the right words for homemade cards. It helped to have a big sack of those little candy hearts with the “love messages” to copy from.

In school, you rushed to get your lessons done so you could help decorate the valentine box. If you were extra good, the teacher chose you to pass out the valentines on the day of the big party.

The best feeling of all was opening an envelope and finding a big red heart from someone special. Everyone knows “there is no love like the first love!”

It seems that the ladies have the pleasant memories of valentine’s day, but in contrast, most of the guys do not. Several fellows told me it was a day of humiliation and dread. “What if they didn’t get even one card? What if a little girl that you really hated declared her undying love? And worse of all, what if the object of your affection didn’t give you a card at all?”

One fellow in our family recalls saving his money in first grade and buying a tiny box of Whitmans for a sweetie with beautiful long brown hair. When she came to school on Valentine’s day her hair had been cut into a short pixie. He just couldn’t bring himself to give her the candy.

This same Lothario, in third grade, bought a St. Christopher’s medal for a little girl, as was the fad then, to declare his love. The problem was, the next day she had to give it back. Her Jewish parents were not happy.

He agreed that his younger brother probably had the right idea. He always voiced his dislike for girls and declared he would never get married. One day when he was four he saw a little sports car with a button down cover for the back that extended around to cover the passenger side. “That’s the kind of car I want when I’m big, so no lady can ride with me!”

Over the years, the old valentines’ boxes morphed into personal folders for receptacles for valentine giving in school, but that didn’t solve the popularity problem. The practice now in most classrooms is for the teacher to send home a list of everyone in the class. The parents are expected to see that a card is addressed to everyone in the class. Actually the only benefit with that is it gives the student’s a chance to practice their handwriting.

Of course, it’s much easier to declare affection in today’s cyberspace world. There are hundreds of web sites for Valentines. You can send your sweetie a message instantly across the street, the country or the continents. Web sites are available to provide numerous sentiments; talking animated characters will speak the words and music of your choice. If he needs it, a young man can find a guide on line to help him write a love letter. And then again, if time is short, there’s always text messaging.

Somehow, it’s just not the same.