Getting Modern

I followed Doug in the door of our house after a relaxing vacation in San Diego.  He was standing in my kitchen (I think it was my kitchen)  smiling and twirling in circles.  "This is so cool," he was chanting. 

Before I go any further, let me give you some background.

Doug, myself, and the giant scardy cat moved into a circa 1900 house that had an addition in 1924.  My grandparents moved into this house in 1918.  My father and his twin brother were born in the bedroom we now sleep in.  I came home from the hospital at five days old and lived in this house for nine years.  At my ninth birthday my parents ripped me out of here and moved me to the not so wonderful south Texas shore.  Forty-two years later I have reclaimed the family farm house.

Someone along the forty-two years remolded the house.  What where they thinking?

The kitchen has a dropped seventies ceiling.  One that is not clean.  Dark brown faux brick paneling adorn the walls.  Harsh florescent lighting glare down on the worn butt-ugly vinyl tile. 

On the smarter side, some one took a small bedroom on the main floor and cut it in half.  The laundry is no longer in the musty, cob-web dangling,  haunted (probably) basement.  It is on the main floor, but open for all to see.  My laundry room is the epitome of mess!  The bathroom has been enlarged.  In the old days you couldn't have 1.75 people in there at a time and the toilet was hidden behind the door.  Now it is larger, but there is no bathtub and no door!  Really?  Those are necessities!

Doug continued the twirling and chanting thing while I scooped my bottom lip off the floor and held my nose.  Walls were gone.  The ceiling was gone.  I could see my mother's blue and yellow linoleum  flooring under my feet.  (What, did they think I would want to keep that!)  There were no cabinets or counters.  Not a sink or stove existed.  Only a lone refrigerator remained to say it was once a functioning kitchen.  And what was that smell?

I finally realized I was looking at history.  I could see where windows and doors had been but were now boarded up.  Closing my eyes I imagined the homey feel the 1900's family had.  Then I could see my father and his family cozy in this room.  I could hear the generations old voices.  "Boys!  Get down in that basement and pump that cistern.  I need water up here.  Now!"

 I was still confused about the smell. Doug put his arm around me and said "Sweetheart, that is the smell of modernization."

Great.  Modern day stinks!