WHEN IS A HOUSE NOT A HOUSE?
Since I am living in a house that is literaly still being built around me I ask myself that question frequently. Downstairs it's a dream. Two lovely rooms plus the foyer feature glossy tiles. The bedroom has silky blue curtains and a decorative and comfortable rug. I sleep in a king size bed and wake each morning to bird call. The family room is furnished with a maroon lounge and chairs, I watch movies, snuggled amongst plump cushions. The foyer, big enough to hold a decent sized party, houses my desk and bookcases. But just like on a movie set I only have to turn around to see behind the scenes.
The walls around the spiral staircase, are un-sheeted so that the silver insulation shines through, the stairs themselves are ugly steel plate. Upstairs the interior walls are still bare, most of the ceiling is missing, revealing the heavy steel beams. Along one wall (complete with finished ceiling, up to a point) stands my perfect, shining kitchen. Every would-be chef's dream it calls to me like a siren. Berrychino cupboards, white stone benchtops, but restricted use only- the white tiles for the splashback like buried treasure, lie waiting in their boxes. And where oh where is the sink? Ah, yes- outside on the deck. Because the servery (complete with sink) must wait until that part of the ceiling is done. And what about the floors. Why are they covered in black plastic? Elementary my dear- the timber floors must stay covered until the ceiling and the walls are all completed.
Yet amidst all this chaos we live. We welcome our friends and family. Each time visitors arrive they get a grand tour of what marvels have been achieved in the last few weeks or sometimes days. We share meals and laughter on the deck, watch the rain, the sunset or simply the birds that abound in our little piece of the tropics. Our grandchildren play hide and seek in the unfinished rooms. Maybe I've reverted to childhood and that's why I seek so many things that for some reason are hidden. Still on good days it is brilliantly clear to me that our house finished or otherwise is our home. On bad days- well...
The walls around the spiral staircase, are un-sheeted so that the silver insulation shines through, the stairs themselves are ugly steel plate. Upstairs the interior walls are still bare, most of the ceiling is missing, revealing the heavy steel beams. Along one wall (complete with finished ceiling, up to a point) stands my perfect, shining kitchen. Every would-be chef's dream it calls to me like a siren. Berrychino cupboards, white stone benchtops, but restricted use only- the white tiles for the splashback like buried treasure, lie waiting in their boxes. And where oh where is the sink? Ah, yes- outside on the deck. Because the servery (complete with sink) must wait until that part of the ceiling is done. And what about the floors. Why are they covered in black plastic? Elementary my dear- the timber floors must stay covered until the ceiling and the walls are all completed.
Yet amidst all this chaos we live. We welcome our friends and family. Each time visitors arrive they get a grand tour of what marvels have been achieved in the last few weeks or sometimes days. We share meals and laughter on the deck, watch the rain, the sunset or simply the birds that abound in our little piece of the tropics. Our grandchildren play hide and seek in the unfinished rooms. Maybe I've reverted to childhood and that's why I seek so many things that for some reason are hidden. Still on good days it is brilliantly clear to me that our house finished or otherwise is our home. On bad days- well...
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