Our house has been on the market for seven weeks now and there have been four viewings. The feedback has ranged from "it isn't fenced" to "we decided to buy acreage". Each time we have a request for a viewing, we follow all of the staging tips. Special bedding and towels are put in place. Fresh flowers are purchased each week, just in case we get a call. Sinks and toilets are kept spotless, floors are vacuumed regularly. Every surface is dusted, mirrors are cleaned, pillows are straightened, plants are watered. Given enough notice, I have even been known to fill the air with the aroma of freshly baked cookies.
All of this means that we are living in a house that feels unnaturally clean and decluttered. It is crucial that we keep up with the clutter on a minute by minute basis. No library books scattered on the floor near my usual reading spot. No tell-tale tweezers on the bathroom counter. No used earplugs on the bedside table. No pieces of mail stacked beside the telephone. No veggie peelings or teabags in the sink.
Apparently it is important that we not take the rejection of our home personally. Through our eyes it is a perfect design in a perfect location. We are also convinced that it is worth the asking price, so when we received an offer that was $60,000 below the listed price, it was difficult to not feel insulted.
When we embarked on this sale, I thought that we could take off on road trips, leaving our house in the hands of our capable realtor. Our first trip took us away for one week. We returned to foot high grass, a parched garden and dried out plant pots. The indoor plants were also crying for a drink. It was obvious that we would have to stick close to home until the house was sold.
Paint brushes, paints and canvases are neatly stacked in my studio. Creativity is in limbo, waiting to be released from this maddening state of neatness.
