A Fowl Mystery
Great moments in buiding history: Imagine having an entire family of penguins in your house
Calling my first house a fixer-upper puts too nice a spin on it. It was a dump. Although structurally sound, the interior had suffered a thorough working over by Bad Taste Inc. But I wasn’t complaining. The faux knotty-pine paneling in the dining room, the gold-vein mirror tiles on the bedroom ceiling, and the wallpaper covered with blue cows in the living room were the reason the house sold for $20,000 under the market price.
The first priority on my renovation hit list was to evict the cows. For hours I steamed and soaked the old paper, but the stubborn bovines refused to go. Around 2 o’clock in the morning, tired, bleary-eyed, I coaxed off a particularly obstinate patch, and there on the wall was an eye staring at me. Visions of a long-hidden Diego Rivera mural went through my head as a rush of newfound energy took over me. Suddenly, an entire strip of the paper fell to the floor in one satisfying piece. I could hardly wait to step back and admire my … 6-ft.-tall penguin? There it stood, in all its black, orange, and hot-pink glory.
Painted in profile, my feathered Antarctic friend had one beady little eye that seemed to follow my every move. It gave me the creeps. All I wanted to do was strip the rest of the walls and paint over the poultry.
An hour later, was I too tired and seeing things, or was there another eye staring at me? By sunrise, I had uncovered an entire family of penguins: a father, a mother, and trailing behind, two 4-ft.-tall babies.
What were the former owners thinking? Too bad houses come with mortgages and not explanations. Was the living room used as a playroom or a day-care center? Maybe it was a child’s sick room, and the penguins were there to offer a cheery scene. The next day, I called the old owners, but they said the wallpaper was there when they bought the house and that they weren’t aware there was anything under it. That didn’t surprise me. What I did find odd was living all those years with the cows. Oh well. Other people’s taste will always be one of life’s great mysteries.
It took another day to remove the remaining wallpaper. No more penguins appeared, but something even stranger happened: The bird family started to look friendly, even charming. I began calling them Fred, Martha, and the twins. I had planned on painting the room, but now wallpaper started to sound good. I just didn’t have the heart to entomb them forever under two coats of latex. I wondered whether this same thing had happened to the previous owners 40 years ago. I’ll never know. Like the Easter Island statues, my penguins are mysterious survivors of a lost time.
Later that week as I finished papering, it was hard to say goodbye to my little family. Fred remained stoic as I smoothed the last strip of paper over his eye.
The room is finished now, but I still like to think of the penguins strolling across my wall and wonder how I’ll be judged by the next owners when they remove my wallpaper. I hope they realize it’s the little mysteries of life that make it interesting.
Drawing by: Jackie Rogers
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