August 2012 Living A Staged LifePreparing your home for sale is a lot like getting ready for a date. Your house is dressed up with fresh paint and accessories. You create an illusion of style, warmth, and openness. It's you, only better and impossible to maintain. Phase OnePrior to the stager's arrival, I did my best to de-clutter and de-shaman my house. With unease, I dismantled my altar. No sooner had the statues of Kwan Yin been packed away, then two new calls came for distance healing: a grandson injured in Iraq; a father placed in hospice. Their names went on sticky notes and placed in my car, safe from the changing energies in the house. Tingshaws, a feathered Reiki wand, items I needed to teach Goddess Camp, were hidden but accessible. A chakra tapestry remained on its hook, and a broom for sweeping away negative energy refused to go to a friend's house. My staff stood guard at my bedroom door, unchallenged. On her initial visit, my stager, Tiven Racioppo, worked for three hours rearranging my possessions. She created a small grouping at one end of the kitchen counter of things that needed to "go away." The living room, which I had never been able to figure out how to arrange, Tiven miraculously transformed into a room worthy of Veranda. Phase One so inspired me that I finally faced the inevitable and painted my daughter's room. For two nights I worked past midnight masking baseboards and spreading Navajo White matte finish paint. No amount of showering eradicated the paint fumes embedded in my hair and skin. I arrived at work at the naturopathic doctor's office a toxic, bleary-eyed zombie. Phase TwoTiven returned within the week, ferrying so many items she had to make two trips. First came the outdoor plants to spruce up the front porch. The bounty of flowers all but obscured my meager primroses and a fern I've carted around for thirty years. The second wave brought thick towels, pictures, vases, and a wide assortment of decorative wares. Hours later, the house looked amazing – ready for its big dates – the Brokers Tour and Open House. There were so many new items in each room, that it took a couple of walkthroughs to see it all. The bathroom near my study now sported a rather peculiar green ceramic monkey. Avoiding its strange energy, I wandered to another bathroom where I came face to face with one of my aversions, a fish. Ever since early childhood when I had been swept out to sea by a rogue wave and saved (true story) by a fisherman whose hook snagged the pink and white gingham skirt of my swimsuit, I've been uncomfortable around fish and open water. The decorative fish gaped at me while I used the sink. Only, I can't really use the sink because none of the towels are actually for use and the soap dispenser and my toothbrush "went away." The cozy little table in the kitchen contained no fish, just colorful farm animal plates perched atop warm-toned chargers. A basket of flowers and tall glass candleholders adorned the formal dining room table. Sadly, there was no room to eat at either table. Which is probably okay, since I can't cook any meals and risk a dirty kitchen. The staging was deemed so successful, the realtors bumped up the asking price for my house. The For Sale sign was planted in the lawn this afternoon. If I can still unearth my make-up and nice outfits, I will work on getting a date. Maybe Tiven could be my stylist. Together, we can make me look warm and stylish. I figure, going out may be the only way I can get a real meal or wash my hands. Just don't ask me to bring along the fish or the monkey. |