Today’s guest blogger is the lovely and talented Sara from Sara Spelled Without an H. Sara is sharing a tale of eccentric grandparents. I totally can’t relate to this because my grandparents were (insert eye roll) soooooooooooo normal.
On with the show. . .
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Everyone has an interesting tale or two about his or her grandparents. Well, today I would like to introduce you to mine.
May God help you all.
My grandparents lived in the same house for probably 30 years. For the final third of that time, all they did was complain about what a crappy house it was.
It's old. It's drafty. The basement smells funny. The kitchen isn't big enough. There are too many stairs. The driveway isn't paved. There's no garage. The yard is too small.
Anyone who heard them talking about this house would've assumed they lived in a Rubbermaid tub in the basement of a power plant.
About five years ago, they finally found a smaller house, all on one level (which was their greatest concern) and it just happened to be next-door to good friends of ours.
When they were first looking at the house, it had a mild Southwestern flair that was very colorful, yet still tasteful. Everyone they brought by to see it commented on how they would barely have to change a thing, appliances, decor and all the rest.
Once they officially bought the house, all hell broke loose.
They gutted that thing.
The brand new carpet was torn up ("...because it was just disgusting!").
The small, quirky borders were ripped off ("...because they were tacky!").
The new appliances were exchanged for newer ones ("...because they were in such bad shape!")
The kitchen tile was replaced. Not once. Nay, not twice. Thrice did someone come to the house, rip up the tile and replace it because my grandma insisted that one or two of the tiles was the wrong color (though she be blind as a bat).
After this metamorphosis had been going on for a few months, I remember stopping by one day with my mom to see my grandmother.
"Would you two look at these paint samples? I can't decide what to paint the walls and I'm just sick of looking at them."
I love paint samples (don't ask me why), so I quickly agreed.
My mother and I looked at them, glanced up at each other and then looked back down.
I scanned over them, sure that at least one or two might be a pale shade of yellow or a robin's egg blue, but alas. All I saw was eggshell, ivory, ecru, enamel, stucco, mother of pearl, and of course, white.
I started to laugh, because I was sure this was a joke. I looked up at my grandma and said, "They're all white." I looked over at my mom, who was suddenly staring very intently at the ceiling.
I looked back at my grandma. She was staring blankly at me. This was not a joke.
Quickly trying to recover, I looked back at them and said, "Well, this um, Winter White is a nice shade, but this, uh, this beige might be a little warmer, if you want."
In the end, the carpet was the color of faded khaki, the kitchen tile was the color of minced onions and the walls were a lovely shade of off-white.
It is the most vanilla house you have ever seen.
A few years have passed since the purchase and renovations were completed. Now, when we go over to their house, we hear a brand new set of complaints.
This house is too small. There's no cabinet space in the kitchen. It's so cold. We have no storage. The people across the street are too loud. The hospitals are really far away.
I simply smile and say, "Yes, it IS a lovely house!"
Thanks for guest posting Sara!
Now, readers, your job is to do two things -
1) Leave comments for Sara here.
2) Go to her blog, read her posts and follow her in a devoted, almost cult-like fashion.