Mission Creep Takes Down the Rooster Room

By Carl Nelson

That “you can never tell what’s good news, comes from the ancient Taoist parable of the Chinese farmer.” (Google)  It’s that old.

It began as good news. We had made a fairly sizeable windfall of cash by moving about a third of our stocks into gold WTFs. Our intent had been to secure our investments through what looked to be volatile times, that is, heavy economic seas, and gold made good ballast in my estimation. Our financial advisor was against it. He didn’t believe gold gave a good return on investment, historically. My brother likewise said that gold was not a good investment. He stated that it isn’t a useful material which is needed for manufacture so that its value was simply based on the fact that people want it. “What you are buying,” he said, “is a pet rock.”

My brother is quite a bit wealthier than me and is very confident in his advice. And he said this very confidently. In fact, I believe he said “pet rock” twice.

Nevertheless, gold values took a steep climb upwards over the next quarter  (out pacing our index funds by 600%) and we were left with quite a bit of extra money. My philosophy is to take your winnings for expenses and leave the working capital. That is, to hedge your good fortune.

My wife had been wanting to fix our living room ceiling ever since we purchased our home ten years ago. About three years ago a neighbor’s plaster ceiling had fallen into their living room. We do have heavy furniture in the upstairs master bedroom, and the living room ceiling below did have some large spreading cracks or separations and did seem to sag a bit. My wife was worried that our whole ceiling, joists and all, would come down. She would knit a few rows while watching tv evenings, now and then glancing upwards.

Other neighbors, who had moved into the neighborhood about the time of our arrival, had said that they looked at our house first, and they had liked it. But they had noted the living room ceiling and decided instead on a home a block and a half away in better repair.

So after ten years of consideration, (my wife all the while mentioning it), plus the cash windfall, I felt that we’d probably have to repair it if we were to ever resell the home for a good price anyway. So we decided to use some of our new money to repair the ceiling.

We located some good contractors – another piece of good fortune – which made us feel more confident about our decision. So confident, in fact, that my wife decided we should redo the foyer ceiling too, as it had the same plaster and lathe with a rather gloppy sprayed sand-like texture. “They are ugly,” she said. But then added that we had to decide the colors which we wanted to paint the two rooms also.

I liked the interior colors we inherited. They were quite a bold yellow, red, a spring green and a paled grey-blue. The entryway floor and stairs were painted yellow, and the living room floor was a flat black. These were all quite appealing to my eye. The kitchen is oak cabinets with spring green enameled walls. And the dining room is blood red, and the perfect place to hang our painting of a crowing barnyard rooster. Which we did, and I dubbed it the Rooster Room. It describes a perfect spot for breakfast, or brandies and cigars following dinner (IMHO).

Many people nowadays, and most of the upwardly mobile, buy and live in newer homes. And they work for corporations and they move about every seven years. So the home décors are usually based on The Beige System of Overall Approval and Least Disapproval. You can move families in and out of them like so many shipping containers, or Amazon cartons. These sorts of people are used to visually bland interiors, so that when they enter our home their pupils constrict. It takes a while for them to appreciate the total scheme. And once their eyes have accommodated and they begin to pick apart the aesthetics of it, they usually begin with a squinted remark about the green kitchen. “Boy, that’s unusual!” Or, it’s “green!”

What they do not realize is that our home is what is called an American Four Square.

Which was “very popular from the mid-1890s to the late 1930s. A reaction to the ornate and mass-produced elements of the Victorian and other Revival styles popular throughout the last half of the 19th century, the American Foursquare was plain, often incorporating handcrafted “honest” woodwork (unless purchased from a mail-order catalog). This architectural vernacular incorporates elements of the Prairie School and the Craftsman styles. It is also sometimes called Transitional Period.”

At the time, these homes were sold by Sears (you  could pick them out of a catalogue), and shipped to your location by train. Each piece was labeled for assembly. They were something like Ikea items. They even shipped the bags of mortar and cement and molds for pouring the foundation masonry.

Most do not realize our home’s historic nature, and then, added to that, that it has an interior styled in what I would call Authentic Lesbian.

(Our son calls our home, the Lesbian House.)

We bought this home from a local lesbian photographer, who I think possessed a good eye. She did quite a job of designing a replacement garage and office, after the initial garage burned down. And she designed a lovely porch and deck stationed between that and the house, with French doors looking out from the dining area (the Rooster Room).  She landscaped with interesting plants that seemed quite at home and grew well.  Then, of course, there were all the interior primary colors. Which reminded me somewhat of what is said about the Amish; that their outside dress and decoration are quite minimal, but that within the home all sorts of color and individual expression is allowed to flower.

Along with all of this we noted the sliding bolt lock on the master bedroom door. And we also found a diary of the previous owner’s sexual experiences in some materials left in the basement. My wife thought she might have wanted her diary back. So she called her up to tell her she had it. And the woman came right by to pick it up.

The repainting of the living room and foyer led to the repainting of the stairs and stairwell, which led to the repainting of the kitchen and then finally the Rooster Room, as to stop anywhere short of this would disrupt the overall vision which the interior decorator and then my wife insisted was necessary. (We have a neighbor who is a very high end interior decorator, who actually has been very helpful in numerous ways, but, who isn’t (sadly) into Authentic Lesbian.) What I will say is that mission creep was probably first invented by wives, because that is what happened next. We had decided to replace the sink and dishwasher. Apparently the sink was a cheap looking white “stained and marked” thing. We replaced it with stainless steel. And the dishwasher was at about ten years of age also. And while we were going to do all of this, it just “made sense” to replace the Formica counter tops and add a tile backsplash. Then, the foyer which led to the stairs was to be painted. Which meant the banisters needed painting so that while we were at it, why not add a carpeted stair runner? And then, as long as we were doing all of this ceiling work, why not add some coffered lighting and new (more stylish) living room ceiling fan with remote. (Oh, how I hate remotes.) And then, as a last minute consideration… As long as we were tearing the ceilings apart, wouldn’t now be a good time to add to the number of available electrical receptacles in the two upstairs bedrooms?

The contractor agreed.

Anyway, what I am trying to say is that whenever money flows in, you think it’s a good thing, but then, things begin to change.  And they change towards the way that people who have more money prefer. And my traditional Authentic Lesbian décor didn’t stand a chance. There aren’t many rich lesbians out there setting the décor standards. Instead, they are set by someone like our decorator neighbor who does very high end mansions. So we are currently living for the next month or so in the kitchen area and a dining room crammed with stuff and memorabilia. It’s like living in a camper. Before this, we ate dinner at the far ends of a wonderful farm style dining room table, nicely decorated. And when my wife wanted the salt, I’d slide it like a hockey puck. Now when we eat and I cut my food, our plates knock together.

I held out for about ten years though, so we (the Rooster and I) had a good run.