Marcia Sherrill
Renovation-itis
Marcia writes a prescription for change-prone homeowners
BY
by Marcia Sherrill
PHOTOGRAPHY
Steve Pomberg

I know, I know. There are only two simple scenarios: Either you have finally worn your nerves to a thin dime wishing you could make some minor, minor changes in your own home, the one that “just needs a little help;” or you have just bought the perfect home, but… it could still use some work. The first I call the fantasy that destroys lives. The second I call the one that leads to mental health professionals. Take your pick.

The Perfect Home, But… happens when a fresh-kill house—your new home, the one that just spoke to you when it was for sale, and maybe in a wheedling little voice—unmistakably said, “Buy me, and you’ll find eternal happiness.” The home had so much curb appeal it was auditioning for its own segment on HGTV. But… there were two pesky, teensy, tiny little problems—I mean, opportunities. Opportunities to unleash your secret interior designer, an outlet for your inner general contractor, a way for your secret mastery of the bath and kitchen to shine.

Or in the case of Just a Little Help, you have stared for so long at those purple tiles in the powder room that you need a sensory-deprivation tank to calm your nerves. And the wall-to-wall carpet? Hello? Did you ever see a shag you didn’t like (in 1982)?

Yes, it starts slowly. It is insidious. One small project such as ripping out the hallway wallpaper (a remnant from Calico Corners with English roses that are stained from cigars and a thousand grimy children’s palms) and adding some chic tea paper. And you were exhausted yet optimistic. Actually, you were delusional. Doctors should have been called and meds prescribed because you just unleashed all the agents of evil and summoned the dark forces. You are in the sinkhole of renovation-itis.

If you must insist on this mind-numbing, anxiety-producing, frankly delusional idea fixe of renovating, if shiny pictures of deluge shower heads, Jacuzzis and Sub-Zeros send you into conniptions, then you have three choices: Move immediately; check into the psych ward at Piedmont Hospital; or call all your friends and their friends’ friends.

Consider it an e-mail blast that will save you from the fires of hell—and one that will find you contractors with at least eight solid references. My advice? Call them all. You can send me the thank you note c/o Atlanta Homes & Lifestyles magazine.