He would definitely rip up the kitchen floors with the foot prints of the workers who long ago did a half-assed job of installing it. Then the entire bathroom would be ripped down, especially the pink and forever stained porcelain tub in which no amount of cleaning will fix and he would make it bigger than the size of a closet. (Some of the big guys in my life have had some issues getting in and out of it.) And surely he would notice the crooked living room floor and do a bit of electrical work in my daughters room (which is actually on the agenda anyway.) But that's it. The damage from slamming the vacuum into the base boards is all me. The marks on the walls and damage to my what were once adorable kitchen chairs are from the cats and the toys everywhere are from my kid.
Then I think, I could really use that little lady from "Poltergeist" and have her work her magic on the one end of my house that is absolutely petrifying, Call me nuts, I've been called worse, but I swear, my apartment is haunted. I can't even explain to you the types of things we've heard, felt and seen in this place in the last ten years. It's part of the reason why my daughter still sleeps with me every night. (And because I know that there will come a day when she won't want to anymore.)
Then I think about all the trying times we've had in this place. Breakups, breakdowns, fear, sadness, years of physical pain from injuries and disease and more in the ten years we've lived here. I went through the hardest, to date, situations and problems in my life while living in this apartment.
Then I remember, my parents provided me with an amazing, nice, cute place that is just the right size for my daughter and I. I walk into my big kitchen with the fabulous wall paper and tile from the 70's that I would not let Bob Vila go anywhere near. I look at my big living room, with it's tall windows that fill the room with sunlight. I look at my cozy bedroom big enough to fit a king sized bed and two huge bureaus. And I look at my daughter's sweet room, that despite desperately needing a paint job (we joke that she's been finger painting with dirt) is perfect for her. During the spring and summer, I open the windows, see the stunning garden my father has created and let the smell from the roses he planted waft into the rooms. There is nothing like having the smell of live roses in your home. It's just simply wonderful. Oh yeah, and central air. Be jealous, it's okay.
I remember that, along with the bad, some of the most amazing moments of my life have happened here. Just a week after moving in, we watched the Red Sox win the 2004 World Series here. This is where I brought my sweet little baby home from the hospital. This is where I've watched her grow from an infant to the incredibly sweet, kind and insightful kid she is today. This is where she will have most of her childhood memories. Birthdays, sleepovers, us cuddling on the couch and playing highly competitive rounds of air hockey. This is where I, myself, have changed and grown so much for the better that I no longer recognize the person I once was.
This is where we come to feel safe, warm, loved and comfortable. This is where we share meals and feelings. This is where we can dance and cry because no one is actually watching. This is where we live and work and play. So when it comes down to it, it doesn't matter what Bob Vila would do. It's what my daughter and I would do. And we will continue to grow up together and be grateful together because we have all we need in this old house.
Melissa Sue Vieira
Co-Founder of Storytellers: The Collective
Melissa wears many hats.
Some are super colorful and some are dark, just like her stories.
She is a mother, friend, writer, survivor, warrior, yogi, listener, talker
and a lover of all things art.
Some are super colorful and some are dark, just like her stories.
She is a mother, friend, writer, survivor, warrior, yogi, listener, talker
and a lover of all things art.
