This article is about Home Repair- the joys and challenges and accepting reality. And keep in mind her house is ONLY 102 years old. In my present domicile we're talking about 137 years,baby.
The author writes:
I had moved from Brooklyn to Philadelphia for many reasons, but mainly to reduce expenses so that I could write more of what I wanted, less of what would pay the rent.
Before the ink on the mortgage papers had a chance to dry, however, I discovered that this house offered incontestable proof that the universe has a sense of humor.
All the details that drew me to the property in the first place hung to their functionality by a thread. The wood-sash storm windows fell apart if I thought about repainting them, the tiles of the master bath floor had come so loose I could vacuum them up, and that sunny little mudroom off the kitchen sucked in frigid winter air like a sponge.
In my Pandora's Box, something fell apart every week and at every turn. The water line leaked when I tried to shut off its valve for winter, and the basement wall crumbled when I accidentally bumped into it with a laundry basket. One day, the dryer drum just refused to turn altogether.
But the whole thing is worth reading and as I type these words a wall in the living room has been torn down leaving part of the ceiling exposed (and without those cute little beams), a chasm between 2 wood floors that are naturally of two different types of wood and the hallway going up the stairs has had some of the wallpaper removed. The banister has been painted brown and streaked to "look like wood" but my husband thoughtfully bought me a can of stripper. What a guy.
And all that remains is to sheet rock the ceiling and wall, strip the rest of the wallpaper, paint the stairs and stain the to-be-stripped banister, paint the wood trim, sew curtains and find slipcovers, a rug, stair treads and a tv stand. It will done any year now. Inshallah.
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