I want it on the record that I never said my house was perfect. Like most homes, my house is a work in progress. The main difference between my house and yours is that I write about mine, pitfall by pitfall.
As a result, I’m billed as a home design expert, when I’m really just a mildly obsessive journalist with a remodeling addiction. Some days as I dole out design advice, I feel like the Wizard of Oz: Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.
But after writing more than 200 home columns and a home-design book, I caused an alert editor to wonder: “She writes a home column. Has anyone ever seen her home?”
I had four days notice before the interview. “Sure, Wednesday’s fine,” I said, and mopped the sweat off my upper lip with a beach towel. Just four days to turn this crash pad into a showplace. There were only two words: Code Blue.
Day 1
I envision the reporter looking absolutely everywhere, so I deep clean and organize the pantry, the mudroom closet and my closet. I picture her opening the linen closet and an avalanche of pillows falling on her, so I clear it out too. I reorganize my underwear drawer so panties descend in order from passion stoppers to floss, just in case she looks. I prepare as if prospective homebuyers are coming. Having been one, I know how they are. On the pretense of seeing how well your doors slide and your cabinets work, they peek to see what size you wear and what prescriptions you’re on.
Day 2
Home improvement projects move from my when-I-get-to-it list to my need-this-done-yesterday list. I get my wallpaper guy to hang the bathroom wallpaper I’ve had for six months. With the speed of a comic-book superhero, I get the five yards of trim that the woman who’s making my guest-room shower curtain has been waiting on for weeks. I arrange to meet her in a parking lot for the urgent trim handoff, which must look like a drug deal. Next, I ricochet around three fabric stores to find the sheer fabric that I’ve long pictured swagging over the Roman shades in my master bedroom. I snip 20 yards into the fastest window treatments ever made. I get a can of stove-black spray paint and touch up the fireplace surrounds where the paint has chipped. The dogs high-tail it outside, and, for once, prefer to stay there.
Day 3
I ride herd on my family. “Clean up! The press is coming.”
“Can’t you just close my bedroom door?” the youngest asks.
“Why can’t you write about the stock market instead of our home?” the older one whines.
“You and your occupational hazards,” my husband says.
“And don’t any of you eat in the kitchen, or cook,” I continue. “And whatever you do don’t shower! Hear me?”
They vote me off the island.
Day 4
I put out fresh flowers and brew coffee. The reporter arrives. She walks the house. I trip along behind explaining the obvious: Some rooms are done, some partly done and others not even started. I try to fan away the overwhelming smell of new wallpaper, so she doesn’t think I did anything special for her. As she sits in the living room jotting notes, she’s amazingly tolerant as one of the dogs licks her earlobe. She leaves. I breathe. Then I realize, she never opened one single drawer, cupboard or closet. But I want this on the record: I was ready just in case.
Editor’s note: Look for “My House – at home with Marni Jameson” on the cover of Room next Thursday.
Syndicated columnist Marni Jameson is the author of “The House Always Wins” (Da Capo $25). The Denver Woman’s Press Club, 1325 Logan St., hosts Jameson for a signing at 5:30 p.m. Wednesday. She will appear at The Tattered Cover LoDo at 7:30 p.m. April 3. Contact her through .
Time crunch
You may not have the media coming, maybe just your mother-in-law, company or a potential buyer for your home. But if you have to spiff up your house in a hurry, here are some fast and cheap ways.
Make a good impression. Your home’s entry should say “Welcome,” not, “We’re too busy to care,” even if that’s true. Sweep the porch. Dust the mailbox. Replace the doormat if it looks ratty.
Look with an objective eye. Crud builds. Mail, lunchboxes, school projects and dishes pile up. Most of us don’t notice the creeping congestion until we can’t find our keys because they’re under the laundry. Try to see your home with a newcomer’s fresh eyes. Then crash-clean and hack away the buildup. While you’re at it, rethink any knickknack smaller than your head.
Detail the small stuff. Clean out scum in soap dishes. Wipe fingerprints off switches and doors. Hang clean, nicely folded towels. Fluff pillows. Put toilet lids down. Polish faucets. Wipe out sinks. Empty wastebaskets. Polish counters. Stuff dirty laundry in the washer. Replace burned-out bulbs. Turn on lights. Tending to little stuff makes people think you care about big stuff, too.
If you have a day, paint. It’s the fastest way to transform a room. Also do those quick projects you’ve been putting off: Get that new area rug; add that drapery tie-back, change out that light fixture.
Get fresh. Put some form of life — flowers, apples, goldfish — in every room. Then move everyone you live with into a hotel.
