The House by the Sea
My grandparents lived several streets away from us. My childhood took place in their house as much as my own. Their house was where I climbed trees and played the Star Wars game. It was Christmas and Sunday feasts. It smelt of fir trees, polish cooking and it had a shed of secrets. I found myself, as an actor does now and then, with time to spare. So that summer I went home to the quiet and comfort of my parent’s place. When I got back I walked to my grandparent’s house and stood outside. Since they had died the house had grown sad. Renters had claimed it and dismissed it upon leaving. Its spirit was hidden behind splintered window frames and sparse lawn. It was bleak. It looked lonely. I was determined to restore its life.
I had never renovated a house. In fact I was in contempt of anyone who talked about blinds or kitchen benches for longer than 3 minutes. As a teenager I resented any conversation that came close to renovating and when Dad would need to pop into Bunnings after netball, I would let out my best teenager sigh of protest. I was way too cool to actually go inside Bunnings. Instead I would sit next to the sausage sizzle, in sullen teenage rebellion on a pretend swing. Then when it was time to leave I would toss my hair, roll my eyes and return to the car smelling of onions. At age 15 there were better things to discover than paint samples.
But now years later, I decided that I wanted to bring my grandparents house back to life. And I had a sneaking suspicion I’d be quite good at it. I pictured myself hosting TV shows about house restoration. I smiled at my imaginary public…hair tossing still as I told them how to polish floorboards and choose colour schemes. I had a smile made for television. I knew what throw to put with what cushion. I could renovate a house. Completely on my own. Without guidance or experience. Sure.
I work as a singer and an actor. The last time I picked up a hammer was in kindergarten on tool day. I struggle to work out how to find the ‘on’ button on a washing machine and I give new meaning to the word vague after I sprayed my own armpit in fake tan thinking it was deodorant. I was planning on re wiring, painting inside and out, knocking out supporting walls, installing a new kitchen, polishing floorboards and tiling a new bathroom. Ha! I could see my own eyes rolling at my over confidence. These are the things you must do if you ever wish to survive such an experience. Some of them I did by fluke and some of them I did by intention. Either way it meant I lived.
- When the nice man in Bunnings says that you probably need to get an electrician for that, he is right. And when you accidentally electrocute the cat – It’s a sign to get that electrician on the phone. Now. Not tomorrow but now. The cat lived by the way. Well, he lost a small portion of hair that never grew back and now when I come home he hisses at me like he wants to kill me, but apart from that he’s fine.
- When you think that a feature wall in every room is too much – listen to your inner voice. You’re right. People say less is more for a reason and this will save you re painting at four in the morning because you can no longer live in a room that feels like Nikki Minaj’s wig collection.
- On the list of priorities Blinds should be near the top. I thought that I would save money by doing them down the track. This meant a sort of steeplechase dash from the bathroom to bedroom. I thought this was fine – until I realised a number of council workers who also looked forward to my steeplechase dash, and went so far as to applaud me the morning I slipped over bum first.
- Hire a young eastern European tradesman at some point. They have this tendency to be broad, tanned and they wander round your house and lift things. Plus if you renovate in Summer like I did, they can’t wear that many clothes. Mine was called Ivan. He was Bosnian and I made him go up ladders. A lot.
- Keep your sense of humour. I remember at one point when I was at home on a Saturday night pulling up lino I began to wonder if this was a good idea. My arms hurt, I was living like a squatter and my conditioner of choice appeared to be turpentine. But then little by little, the changes took place. The house revealed itself to me and I could look around the room and felt proud of what I had done.
The thing is…Houses aren’t actually just houses. Houses are the silent member of your family. Why does it matter to us what they look like? What drives us to make our environment beautiful in the first place? Why do we long for that couch, that lamp fitting, that cute little pot plant and window size flower box and why is it important? It’s because homes are where we keep our hearts. We share them with the people we love. They are our solace, our cave, our respite and our shelter. They are where we experience joy and commiserate sorrow. They are an extension of how we feel about ourselves. It’s about a lot more that a paint sample or a kitchen furnishing.
Now my brother and his new wife live in the house by the sea. They are doing their own renovations, and plan to fill its walls with new stories. I can’t wait to see it’s next life, and feel new footsteps on the floorboards I polished. Our house by the sea is special because of the people I remember that have inhabited it. For me this house always will be where I sat in the fig tree, where I stirred cakes with my grandmother and I made my young talent time debut in the back yard. I hope my brother and his wife fill it with new timbers, fresh walls and children’s voices.
And now I want a house of my own. A house filled with light, music, clean lines and my mother’s paintings. Because now…further down the river of house restoration, I’ve had several years of the touring life. And I’m hankering again for the smell of old lino, and turpentine in my hair.
– Johanna Allen
See the talented and hilarious Johanna Allen perform her cabaret show “Mixtape” at the Festival of Voices in Hobart from 5-14th July! Click here for details.
