So far this week our home has been invaded by landscapers, carpet cleaners, and window washers. Tomorrow the crew comes to drain and sandblast the pool. A little more cleaning and furniture arranging and the house will be ready to sell.
Barry thinks it looks better than it ever did, but I think it looks a little sad. All our books, personal photos, non-generic decorative items, and furniture considered to be nonessential by the stager are in storage. The great room is arranged to make the living room area look as big as possible, which means the sofa is too far from the TV for comfortable viewing. The counters in the kitchen and bathrooms are unnaturally bare. And, of course, the cat and all her worldly goods are missing.
I hope the house sells quickly. I don't think I can bear to live in its sterile shell for very long, constantly alert for any tracked-in dirt, minor spills, or crookedly hanging towels that might mar its perfection. I never had any trouble selling a fully decorated home before; in my heart of hearts, I don't really believe the house needed to be quite this empty to appeal to potential buyers. Still, as Barry keeps saying, "They're the experts." I guess I'll do whatever I need to so I can move on to the next slightly untidy place, filled with books, cat fur, photos of my loved ones, and the aroma of whatever politically incorrect dinner I'm making for myself on a particular night.
"A house that does not have one worn, comfy chair in it is soulless." ~May Sarton
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