House Surgery

Today I went and looked at a new house with dad and laura.  They’re looking for that old fixer upper…that house that kids “these days” can’t possibly appreciate.  And in that 2 and a half hour long process of talking with the owners (while wishing I’d brought the rollerskate I’d rented to drive myself home) I was supremely happy that I’d come along and listened to their every word.

You see, my parents have a unique gift.  Much like I do with people, they know and understand houses better than the house itself.  They can look at it, know exactly the work that goes into it, know what flooring, color paint, style of curtains, theme of guest bedroom, or what year of antique fits the room.  They know where you find such art, and then go on a mad hunt for the perfect piece or cloth or couch or cushion.  They have already decided where the addition in a few years will go.  You name the house and location, and they’ll show up and make it spectacular.  They’ll add gardens.  They’ll put in a patio.  They’ll even fit their animals into the space, and within a week the neighbors are stopping to pet the dogs and call them by name, as if the particular house has been in our family for years.  My parent’s are the perfect neighbors, the most gracious of hosts.  My dad will shovel the old ladies driveway next door, probably at the same time my step mother is baking her some delicious treat.  And, the old lady is still sleeping because it’s 7 in the morning, and doesn’t yet know about the many ways in which the Norses have risen to the occasion.  Also, if you’re pet gets sick…no worries.  My step mother will know what dosage of human meds to give it and how to nurse it back to health.  She grew up in California, but she’s a bonafide farmers daughter.  All those years in Vermont has taught her a thing or two.

Don’t even get me STARTED about the holidays.  Soon enough, the neighbors will think we have an uncle that may or may not be a pilgrim due to the shrine of corn and hay and pumpkins and other festive features that will sit on the old fashioned wagon that my dad will build.  I wish I could tell you this were an  exaggeration, or that this is at all funny.  But in all actuality, at the old farmhouse, people offered MONEY to dad for this landmark on our yard.  When it snowed, don’t you worry…Laura turned it into a sleigh in no time.  I’m certain neighborhood kids believed that native North-Poler’s had a time share with us, or that we secretly were elves.  I mean who else would allow the amount of Christmas lights and maple syrup in one place?  Only Santa.  Also, we compete for biggest decorated tree in the whole world, and lose only to Rockafeller Center…but it’s always a close call.  Damn ceiling…

This is their third home together, and as far as I’m concerned, their third round of “Renter’s face-lift.”  This cottage is about to be Norse-ified. That’s right…my parents are surgeons…of houses.  And it costs way more, they make way less, and also they will lose years on it.  One day, their young looking houses will pay off, and they will choose to make it their own and stay there until they die.  Until then, the rest of the world will benefit from their gift.