Staging by Jane Tolbert

Anyone walking into my house these days will marvel at the minimalist “look.” Gone are the scuffed tango shoes that lined the hall. The Bijou drawings and Post-It notes no longer cover the dining room table. A few live plants (that are truly alive) seem to thrive indoors. And the guest towels actually match.

Staging is a term I had associated with the theatre or military operations until my daughter and I watched reality shows in France in which realtors brought in professionals to prepare a residence for sale. The goal is to make a house look inviting, like people could live there without revealing a trace of the current residents.

What “staging” means is the pets can no longer shed hair. The springs paintings and Sirena series have come down. The nail holes have been filled with Spackle. Our lives have been reduced to cardboard boxes and suitcases stashed away in closets. We can’t find anything. My new employers ask for numerous types of documentation. These requirements differ from those for a Florida driver license. In the midst of the staging, I have misplaced . . . a few important pieces of paper.

Staging is not that easy. I purchased the wrong color of paint for touchups. Someone suggested tie backs for curtains, but they seem to require nail holes for hooks. We move furniture to discover baseboards that have never been painted. What seemed comfortable to us could appear mismatched or even. . . “ghetto” to anyone else. The house will never make the pages of Dwell or Metropolitan Home, but it is slowly changing.

The couch has pillows that complement the noncommittal brown. The wall oven, stove top and refrigerator have been cleaned. Please, no more cooking! I have scrubbed baseboards and washed windows. Even my brief stint in hotel work two years ago did not prepare me for this amount of cleaning. I’m almost ready for tomorrow’s inspection. Then WHOOSH. The road construction machinery has just spewed a coating of white dust on the cars in my driveway and on the front porch plants.

Now that I am through staging for today, I hope to work on the outline of a book. It’s a collaborative effort with a close friend. The little hand-written notes I need to update the computer files are in. . . that Tortilla chip box. . . . or . . . .have they, too, been staged?