Today’s post comes from Crystalbay
Coming from a perpetually remodeling or redecorating set of parents, I’ve always enjoyed changing up my own home, one room at a time throughout the years. That is, until I moved to the cottage. I had no deadline for selling the home I’d lived in for thirty years since we could move to the lake any time we were ready.
I spent months preparing the story and a half home for selling, doing things I’d always wanted done and never quite gotten to like painting the inside of cupboards and closets. There was a bare area in the backyard which never grew grass, so I tilled it, put a rabbit fence around it, and place a sign saying, “Future garden”. We made our own brochures, rented a sign, and sold it within and hour of the only open house.
Because my dad left us a healthy amount of life insurance money, I was able for the first time in my life to purchase anything I wanted for the cottage: furniture, new cedar shake roof, furnace, appliances, new countertops, etc. By the time we moved out here, everything was upgraded and downright perfect.
It’s been fifteen years, and I did such a good job renovating it that I haven’t change a single thing. Until two weeks ago, that is.
I’m extremely sedentary and, like most people, found my favorite “spot” in the cottage: my den. This den has my TV, stereo, books, Iphone, laptop – everything I need at my fingertips. I’ve spent most of my waking hours on the small couch and saw clients in the two comfy chairs on either side. At night, I’d go up to a bedroom overlooking the lake.
A few weeks ago, my daughter and best friend talked me into remaking the den into my master bedroom. They voiced their concern that I’d fall down the steps, break my hip, and then die. The result, after weeks of shopping, cleaning out, hanging curtains, and painting is a room every woman could only dream of.
I’ve been in it now for a few days and have encountered a few problems, not the least of which is that using a bed for a couch makes me feel like I’m in bed all day, which makes me feel even older and more feeble than I felt before. I’ve actually felt guilty about not using the view-to-die-for bedroom upstairs. My cats are unhappy, too. Peanut’s had the same routine up there every night for 12 years.
I’ve discovered that not leaving just one room all day long is oppressive and maybe even emotionally unhealthy. I know that I could sleep upstairs and hear the lake lapping up on the shoreline as well as see the silhouette of the lake any time I choose, but feel beholden to use my new bedroom. Oddly, this is the only room in my place that doesn’t have a lake view. I rationalized that I only went up there in the dark and came downstairs right away. So why miss it?
Oddly, it never occurred to me that I could still sleep upstairs until a friend pointed this out. I resisted this for about four nights, then being in the new room began to feel entrapping. Being literally in the same spot almost every waking hour, no matter how inviting, wasn’t working for me, so last night, I trekked upstairs and slept in my old bed. I’d never truly appreciated this spot with the lake breezes and nature’s beauty just outside the window like I did last night.
I now realize that breaking up a pattern by using different rooms, not just one, is important. I’ve decided to sleep in the old bedroom at least through the summer and maybe even the rest of my life. I owe it to the cats and not feeling bed-ridden.
Do you have a spot in your home that feels like your own sanctuary?