Homebodies continued from page 48 Dream House When we decided to buy a house, one of my husband’s only requests was that the home include a family room, with a fireplace, for him. “I just want a room where I can have my brothers over to watch the Steelers’ games,” he said. At that point, I would have agreed to anything, so happy was I to be leaving the bachelor pad behind. “Of course, Honey, whatever you say,” I replied. One of the houses we looked at, a raised ranch, featured a beautiful family room on the lower level, complete with a big brick fireplace, raised hearth and dark paneled walls. I knew the second we walked in that my husband was imagining himself in his recliner, in front of a crackling fire, the leaves changing on the trees outside the windows, and a Pittsburgh Steelers Super Bowl game on TV. He and his brothers, who would be settled comfortably into my parents’ couch, would be cheering the Steelers on to certain victory.
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I’m pretty sure he’s never regretted our decision to purchase the splitlevel home instead, where I’ve happily ensconced him in the cozy (i.e., “small”) lower-level family room complete with, well, four walls and a floor. Unfortunately for him, there are no dark paneled walls, and the only fireplace is upstairs in the living room, which I’ve appropriated for myself and any guests who don’t require ESPN and NFL Sunday Ticket. My husband can get out of his recliner to look upstairs at the fireplace any time he wants, so I’m sure he’s content. We eventually replaced the ugly recliner and cumbersome coffee table, but the 70s TV is still alive and kicking, and the hard rocking chair does come in handy when he decides to invite more guests than his brothers for the games. Voodoo Woman I don’t know if all football fans (or is it fanatics?) are alike, but my husband is somewhat superstitious when it comes to his Pittsburgh Steelers. “Honey, do you want me to put this shirt in the laundry?” I asked one chilly January Sunday a few years ago. “I don’t think it’s been washed in weeks!” “No! Please don’t!” he said, and it dawned on me that this wasn’t just an ordinary shirt, but rather his “lucky” shirt, which he’d been wearing since the Steelers first made the playoffs that season. Apparently, he would be wearing it until they clinched the Super bowl, after which it would get up and walk away on its own. Then, in January 1997 (my husband actually remembers the date), a year or two after we’d moved into the house, I committed what many football addicts would consider the crime of the century: I decided to paint the basement, which was a few steps down from the family room. How would this constitute a crime? Well, unfortunately for the Steelers, my painting project happened to coincide with a pivotal football game. “Sweetie, why don’t you wait to paint until the playoffs are over, and I’ll be happy to help you,” my husband offered. “This way you won’t have to do all the work by yourself. I could even paint the basement myself!” See Homebodies page 55
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The HOME Monthly, a Hersam Acorn special section, Ridgefield, Conn.
October 2008