I live in a green house. A really green house. The asbestos siding is pale green, the porch “skirt” is evergreen, the shingles are dappled moss green, and Astroturf is glued to the porch and front stairs.
My husband and I moved into this little 1910s Cape Ann in the spring of 2006 with plans to eliminate the green. Big plans that included paint and siding and maybe even a new roof. It is now spring 2008 and we’ve gotten as far as painting the porch skirt brown and taking up one inch of Astroturf. The house is still very green.
On a sunny day last week, I swept up tree buds and vacuumed dead maple leaves crammed in the corners of the porch and wrapped around stacks of pots stored there over winter. I shook out the blankets covering the wicker lounge chairs, wiped down the railings and tables, and brought out candles we will light in the evenings as we sit outside and watch the sun fade behind the tulip trees across the street.
Checking for rogue leaves and buds, I laughed at the absurdity of vacuuming Astroturf and remembered two years ago how hard I tried to rip it up. Using a razor and a screwdriver, it took 30 minutes just to peel away a one-inch square. I called Carpet Barn and asked for advice. A man there told me it would take at least a day to rip up the carpet using glue-dissolving chemicals which would most likely damage the wood underneath, if it was worth saving at all. Unless we replaced the entire porch, we’d most likely want to lay down – what else? – more carpet.
The cost for such a job? Around $10,000.
So I made the most of the Astroturf and made my peace with it. I laid down two large area rugs and filled the porch with decorative containers and flowers. I sweep and vacuum the green and forget, for the most part, that it is green.
Painting the pale green siding was one option and replacing it with modern siding was another. Yet when both jobs came in priced more than replacing the Astroturf, we bought a gallon of brown paint and eliminated the one shade of green we could control – the evergreen porch skirt. Once we built the deck in the back, planted gardens, and built a wood fence, the green-house effect was less obvious and the personality of our house emerged, lessening the green-house effect.
Now when I drive up into the driveway, I rarely notice the green of my house. Instead I see a home, sturdy and strong, surrounded by beauty and filled inside with love and warmth. It’s the only green house on the block and it’s easy to find when I tell people who’ve never been here, “Just look for the green house.”
And so it is with my body. I live inside a “green house,” soft from skin that lost its elasticity in the years when I weighed 296 pounds. When the stretch marks faded they formed rivers of silk-smooth scars along my belly, hips, breasts and arms. Thin layers of skin that I can roll between my fingers – there is no fat in the lining – undergird my lower stomach and lay wrinkled along my inner thighs and under my arms.
I moved into this “green house” body slowly, starting with a diet plan in January 2005 and adding exercise in April 2006. I got to my goal weight in 2007 with plans to remodel. Big plans that included scalpels and sutures. But the costs were too high, both economically and physically, and I was left wondering, “What now?”
I tried self-loathing and I tried hiding, but hating and hiding my entire body because of some sagging skin was as foolish as hating my house because it was green. And unlike a house, this is the only body I get. If I want to live in peace and enjoy its many amenities, I have to accept my body’s “greenness” and see past the skin and stretches and realize its muscle and strength and its heart and soul. Where there is sadness and longing, there is also love and joy. My body is capable of empathy. It is determined. Cute underwear and well fitted jeans help, too.
Barbara, my website partner, was right on the mark when she said after I told her about my green house analogy: “We are living in these reduced and imperfect bodies at a happy distance from the rest of the culture. We seem to be outside of it and observing it. I have a feeling of living in the cultural ‘country’ while others are living a less examined life in the city.”
Welcome to maintenance and welcome to this life-examining website. Barbara and I want to help you live comfortably in your “green house.” This is your website for information and open dialogue about what it means to live in these reduced bodies. We look forward to hearing from you. Leave a comment or send us an email at [email protected].