Thornton Wilder: "The whole world's at sixes and sevens, and why the house hasn't fallen down about our ears long ago is a miracle to me."
Doom lies overhead.
Literally.
After four months of exterior construction on our house, we have discovered a leaking second floor bathroom that is now wreaking slow havoc on our kitchen ceiling.
The same kitchen we gutted and remodeled seven years ago.
Our house, a Colonial, was built in 1934.When my husband and I stepped into the center hall for the first time and saw the living room, we knew we were goners. The tall windows standing quiet guard on either side of the beautiful fireplace with the antique tiles and handsome mantle caused us to have that feeling of love's first blush. You know - the pounding heart, rapid breathing, maybe even a touch of dizziness.
Also like love's first blush, after eight years, the bloom is off the rose. For me, at least. I now feel free to say that I am over old houses. Instead, after years of poring over magazines that highlighted sometimes decades-long restoration and decoration of old houses, I have moved from thinking of the romance of it all to having outbursts of colorful expletives that have made me consider washing my own mouth out with soap.
When we bought our house, it was covered in narrow and unattractive vinyl siding. We hoped that someday we'd have the nerve, energy and money to see what was underneath.
This past spring, we found a contractor who was also curious about what was hidden under the siding. He removed a few pieces of siding, happily discovering that the original wood was in pretty good shape.
As with many construction projects, there were setbacks and surprises. Perhaps the best predictor of the upcoming project's challenges was the removal of the siding. The handyman arrived one evening and got to work tearing off the long strips of vinyl. His unfortunate discovery was of wasps who had built entire cities of nests under our front shutters. That evening coincided with my book group meeting and an eagerly anticipated dinner out. As the four of us piled into the car, backed down the driveway and headed to the restaurant, we watched as the hapless handyman danced around the yard, arms flailing, hands slapping and legs in constant motion. He became known as Dances With Wasps.
There were days that the crews were early, late, or didn't show up at all. One afternoon, with no prior warning, a portable toilet was unceremoniously dropped off in our driveway.
Our contractor and his carpenters were, at times, awed by the beautiful wood detail that emerged from under the siding, especially around the front door.
Finally, around Thanksgiving, the final touches of new storm doors and a mailbox were hung.
My husband and I oohed and aahed over the dramatic changes, and we weren't alone.
Our street dead ends into a large, busy city park. Dog walkers, moms with toddlers, retirees and joggers all pass by our house everyday. We usually just got a wave or a polite smile but the construction project brought out people's natural curiosity. We were asked: "What color will you paint your house?" "When will your house be finished?" And my favorite question: "How long have you lived here?"
I swear that even a few dogs stopped to check out the progress.
I have had days of impatience, happiness, pride and frustration. That's typical, I've been told.
One lesson that I've learned is how much I appreciate a quiet afternoon at home, with long calming rays of sun drenching our living room floor. No painters. No carpenters. No electricians. Just me - home alone listening to the house's occasional creaks or groans. More than once, I've wondered if the old house was talking to me.
I think I share with most people the feeling of sanctuary. Whether you live in an 800-square foot apartment, an estate in the poshest suburb, or somewhere in between, our homes are where we go to escape the rest of the world.
The idea of having more work done, and on the interior of the house makes me anxious and discouraged. But the people living in those beautifully restored houses featured in the long-ago magazines must've experienced all of this.
They just forgot to share it. Instead, they showed us the dream.
My dream is to have a snug, dry kitchen and a functioning bathroom.
My husband says we'll get there.
One room at a time. One leak at a time.
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Here are some book ideas to accompany you on any construction project. (Wine really helps, too)
At Home - Bryson, Bill. Have you ever wondered why we have living rooms or just what is a larder? Bryson's book explains how homes have evolved.
This Old Dump - Walker, Laura Jensen. The subtitle says it best: "renovate without decking your mate."
House - Kidder, Tracy. Pulitzer Prize winner Kidder has tackled topics ranging from computers to education. In this book he shares the wild ride that is house construction.
Home: A Short History of an Idea - Rybczynski, Witold. Turning the key and walking into your house, how do you feel? Rybczynski's book guides us through the idea of "home."
The Not So Big House - Susanka, Sarah. An architect, Susanka believes what materials are used to build a house far outweighs a home's size. She is a defender of smaller spaces and greener lifestyles.
How a House is Built - Gibbons, Gail. Written for children, but helpful for adults, Gibbons explains the construction of a house.
A Field Guide to American Houses - McAlester, Virginia & Lee. One of my favorite books for exploring houses. What types of houses are in your neighborhood? Colonials? Tudors? Four Squares? The McAlesters explain the art and architecture of American houses.
Home Comforts - Mendelson, Cheryl. Maybe your home construction is finished (lucky you!). But what is best way to clean and protect your home? Mendelson shares a lot of good ideas.
Happier At Home - Rubin, Gretchen. A follow-up to "The Happiness Project," Rubin concentrates on making home a happier and more serene place, month by month. What I've learned so far is that most of us don't have houses that are merely disorganized - we just have TOO much stuff!
