Monday, April 14, 2008
This spring thaw reveals all my sins of omission from the previous autumn. Now that the deck has shrugged off its winter mantle, the leaves and sticks I never quite got swept up before the first snow fall lie in matted heaps grey and rotting. This pretty much describes my entire environment –grey deck, grey piles of debris, grey skies, grey lawn, grey windows, grey streets, grey attitude. My deck taunts me with its reminder of all the projects I have left undone using winter as an excuse. Or perhaps I should say seven or eight winters as an excuse. My home is so bad that even aluminum siding sales people don't bother with me.
So this week I began to do something about it. It took me over five years to remove all the pea-green wallpaper off the hallway and stairwell walls (not to mention the ten years it took me to get motivated to begin peeling it off) and another two years before I finally picked the colors and border I wanted as replacements. Next week a painter will come in and bring my vision to life after only fifteen years of gestation. A landscaper will bring order to the flower beds I have tried, in vain, to turn into an English cottage garden, managing up to this point merely cottage cheese.
Winter is a good excuse, especially in Wisconsin, but my real excuse for this procrastination is soccer. Over the past thirteen years I can count on one hand the number of full weekends I have had totally free of soccer, and I can count on my hands and feet the number of weekends where I had just one of the days free of soccer. Whenever I drive into a new town and travel down the boulevards and lanes of that borough, I can quickly spot the homes where families with kids in sports dwell. The good intentions are evident, but the follow through doesn't exist.
These houses have a rake lying mid-stroke on the lawn, half of their shutters painted, and plants in their plastic containers lined up alongside a garden bed. I don't think I have actually planted geraniums in over a decade. I just throw them into my window boxes in their plastic containers – otherwise there wouldn't be a spot of color in my entire yard. These otherwise handsome homes exhibit a barrenness of orderliness and polish. The fallen tree branches of last autumn join the fallen tree branches of spring to create a thatched barrier stretching from one end of the lawn to the other. I gather mine as needed to start fires in the outdoor fire pit – once I get that cleaned up and dried out. The derelict look of these homes belies the joy that exists inside.
While I look forward to my soccer "retirement" so I can actually spend my weekends doing what home dwellers should do, I also know it spells the end of a wonderful era. All those days sitting in rain, snow, sleet, and sun cheering on my kids, all those road trips, all those loads of laundry, all those abandoned cleats littering my garage, all those water bottles rolling around the back seat, all those smelly socks pushed up against the heating vents in the car, all those soccer balls escaping out of the back hatch and rolling half a mile away, all of those things will just be memories. While I often wish my home looked like something out of Architectural Digest and less like a "before" photo, I realize that every neglected flower bed, every untrimmed edge, every unwashed window means some soccer memory completed. I go to bed at night with visions of Home and Garden TV dancing in my head and the fervent prayer that home improvement elves will visit me, which seems the only hope I'll ever get my projects completed.
So add painters, landscapers, plumbers, carpenters and electricians to the hidden costs of having kids who play soccer. I got the estimate for my spring projects yesterday and realized that I need a second and third job. Maybe I'll paint other people's houses. In the meantime I am headed to Columbus, Ohio this weekend for my grandson Keaton's first soccer game and baseball practice. "Retirement" won't be happening soon.