4 Year Anniversary...with my house

This seems about right. 

"The roses are blooming and I smell the sweetness.

Everything desirable is here already in abundance."

Feeling sentimental on the fourth anniversary of owning my house I googled "poems about home." That seemed to bring up only other sentimental nonsense, so I decided to just visit my old standby, the daily Writer's Almanac poem. As usual, it seemed to speak to things I was feeling - not entirely, but enough.

I've thought about the making of a home, the lives within a house, the transformation of a home space: the life of a house, for nearly every day since I became an owner of a house. It's an unusual adventure, "owning" a place (& space). What does it mean to own a material object that has held other lives and stories? This old house has sat in this very spot, though the world around it has changed tremendously, for 104 years. I am 29 years old, which is a sneeze in the life of this house.

It always feels like a huge responsibility. Some days it feels like a burden. When I see people eating grapes off my fence or stopping to admire my garden, it feels like a gift. I often find myself saying hello to the house, or looking back upon it while I wait for the bus at the stop right in front, or driving towards it from a different street so I can catch it at a different time of day/in a different light. It feels like a friend on those days; a friend I am still figuring out. 

After a weekend of transforming the garden - and planting over a hundred perennials divided from my mother's garden & childhood home 8.5 hours south of here - I am reminded how much it feels like an extension of myself.

Kitchen Renovation: Moving Along

Those dusty, dirty, century-old floors have new life. I couldn't believe my eyes this morning:

Unfortunately, as you can see in the last photo, there is a little water damage area that I am not pleased with (character? charm?) and even if I could live with it, my designer/friend says she cannot and she plans to call my contractor tomorrow and yell at him for leaving it like this and not finding a good solution. Gulp. Today has been a day of yelling/talking sternly at various people involved with doing the work on my kitchen, and I'm not all that fond of days like this. It's sad to learn that sometimes being harsh is what has to happen to get things done. People will walk all over you if you don't stand up for yourself. Isn't that sad?

So here's another cool photo of the new ceiling (pre-paint). I cannot wait for the awesome vintage-inspired lights to go in! Stay tuned.

And finally some photos that simply show the sheetrock up, the taping and some primer done. Once this happened I really got a sense of the feeling/layout of the space. 

Cabinets arrived today -my downstairs is full of 24 boxes, therefore my downstairs does not currently have room to move around in. Once those start going in tomorrow, it's really going to start to feel like a kitchen again.

My goal is to cook a meal in it by my 29th birthday, which gives me approximately four weeks.

Kitchen Renovation: Week Three

Former back door: GONE!

Kitchen Vent: IN!

Overhead lighting/mechanical: DONE! (Pretty fixture comes at end)

Oh, bit by bit it's happening. And it's so fun to watch the new space slowly come together.

Kitchen Renovation: Week One

Day 2, Old window OUT

Day 3, New windows IN

Day 1: Pantry Demo

Day 3: Pantry reframed

Living through a kitchen renovation is some fascinating stuff. I LOVE seeing the guts of my house, the old, dirty original wood floors, the newspapers from 1938 that surfaced when things were ripped away. I also am fascinated by how the contractors work, and how much they are able to get done in such a short period of time.

My bedroom is right above the kitchen, so every night when I go to sleep I think about the bare, exposed room waiting below me. It's like my awareness of the space is more fine-tuned now that something's happening there.

It's only been a week, but washing dishes in the bathroom and cooking my meals at friends houses hasn't been that bad. More than anything I am eager to watch the pieces come together, and see my old house get a little TLC.

homeownership by numbers

It's been harder and harder to sit my butt down and make updates in this here blog when summer is in full swing. I tend to find myself completely preoccupied with working in my garden, walking around my garden, sitting in a patch of grass and looking around my garden, and generally thinking about my garden. Yes, obsessive.

I definitely laugh at myself a lot though, especially when I just find myself sitting on my back steps staring out at the "great abyss" simply thinking. That's when I feel truly ridiculous. I could certainly be doing something better than thinking about the work I have to do on the yard, right?

Probably during one of those garden sessions I suddenly realized, my three-year anniversary of living in old blue had come and gone!

Wow, what a trip it's been.

I'm not so sure that certain things I consider "milestones" in my life as a homeowner would be considered such by others, but as I sat back and let myself reflect on the three years, I realized there has been a lot of significance in what has gone down these past three years.

Here's one way of looking at it:

Three roommates.

One dead mouse in a shoe.

Two times tilling up the entire back yard.

Four grape plants, two raspberry bushes, three blueberry bushes, one hazelnut - all of which were given to me as gifts by friends or neighbors. 

Thirty irises from my mother's garden in Missouri transplanted here.

Over a dozen pieces of art made by friends or local artists hanging on my walls.

Five coats of blue-green paint in the guest room. 

One Halloween party attended by a troupe of six super-hero vegetables (including me as Super Beet).

Two occurrences of potential-but-not-quite-boyfriends breaking up with me in the middle of the night and walking their sorry asses home as I looked from my front door, sadly. (Yuck, going through this once was bad enough...but twice?? Cruel.)

One summer of yelling at rabbits as they happily ate my vegetable garden (current).

One blizzard followed by five hours of shoveling followed by one new snow-blower.

Countless potlucks and parties and gatherings.

One lover turn loved turned heartbreak turning to past love.

Also one dead squirrel under the back porch that involved emergency removal and dramatic screaming.

Hundreds of seeds and bulbs planted, followed by hundreds of terrible cell phone photos on the way to catch and/or miss the bus.

What feels like a hundred hours of indecision and questions and worries, and at least double that of joy and comfort and certainty over making this place home, putting down the cash to put down roots, and putting in the time to make it where I want to spend my days.

Oh, and one really awesome song, written by my first roommate who loves this place as much as I do:

The song.

before and after: the secret garden

My Mom has been keeping a very detailed record of all the work I've done in my yard and house in the nearly three-years of living here, and I have to say I'm very grateful for her efforts.

Today she sent me a series of photos of my yard from my first walk-through to last weekend, and it showed me something important: despite how relatively bad it looks currently, it looked SO much worse. I've come a long way, even if I have a long way to go.

July 2010:

And, again, this past weekend April 2012:

You can be sure I will post many photos this summer, as this is an early spring clean-up and it's going to be a different story when it's in full boom.

My little secret garden: you've come a long way, baby.

put a bird on it (my house)

Last week was taking a turn for the worse when I was running to the bus and about to slip my bare-feet in my cute new flats, and discovered what I thought was a rather fuzzy gray rock in one of the shoes.

Dead mouse.

Like many "home disasters," I confronted this one with shock followed by a deep feeling of injustice followed by a wish for help followed by an annoyance at my perceived need for help and ending with a silent dealing with the issue at hand. And just as when I removed the dead squirrel from beneath my back steps a few summers ago, when I was between roommates and was forced to confront these types of issues solo, I dealt with the dead mouse with silence until it was disposed of, and then let out a rather dramatic scream. Or whatever you call sustained screaming. It feels good: deal with the issue silently, then react dramatically.

I haven't been able to get my foot in the shoe since, as every time I look at it I think how cute and quirky the mouse looked all curled up upon itself - spooning the air in a way - probably not all that dissimilar to how I look while asleep. And the thought makes me a little depressed, so I am avoiding the shoes. Plus, I think I should probably Lysol the shit out of them and I don't have any on hand. (This is when being a green hippie does not translate well to the real world where mice die in pretty shoes and feet are scared to reenter that space without something poisonous that can kill any trace of dead mouse germs.)

BUT. After the dead mouse incident, which incidentally (good use of that word there) also made me miss my bus, my week improved.

My mom came to visit and there were no massive disagreements and we even laughed a bit - especially when she exited a public bathroom with toilet paper hanging out of her pants and had the most classically neurotic reaction. I also learned something new about her, which is that when I drop things in a store (an alarm clock off a shelf say) her reaction is to literally RUN AWAY, as if she doesn't know the person who is lame enough to drop objects in stores. I countered her embarrassment by saying loudly, "Why are you running away from your clumsy daughter?!"

But anyhow, we got home and yard improvement projects done, and that always makes me feel better about everything.

First, I tilled the heck out of my backyard. Here is an embarrassing shot of me getting stuck in a corner and probably cursing out the tiller:

That's really hard on your forearms, as you are pulling backwards intensely to keep yourself from getting dragged in the dirt by the fast-moving-machine. Here's the backyard after all our work, and despite how bad it looks, trust me it's come a long way in three years:

It's ready for my little vegetable farm, plus the area I put down grass seed last year has sprouted very healthy, very green grass. The raspberries in the back right corner also look happy! And the grapes on the fence are just starting to spring back to life.

My secret garden area also got a makeover:

When I moved in three years ago, I didn't even know there was a patio because it was buried in weeds! I am proud of our progress. The peony is very healthy, the irises my Mom transplanted last year are back, and the roses are starting to listen to me when I tell them to wrap beautifully around the fence.

Then we moved inside and hung some art in the orange room because Mom is really good at this and much more patient than I am in these matters. Behind every piece of art are a half dozen or more nail holes from my attempts at hanging art:

The first row is a bunch of Charley Harper "prints" I repurposed from an old calendar. The second row is artwork cherished by my housemate. The final piece of art is a needlepoint my mom made in the seventies of the seasons.

And let me just add, I looked at all the art throughout my house and about 80% of it has a bird on it and I just feel really annoyed that this has become some sort of hipster joke because I swear I have loved birds forever and always enjoyed them in artwork and now I am just a trendy dork. I worked at a bird sanctuary in 2003! I am ahead of the trend, dammit!

Then, when my mom left, I walked around and remembered - which I need to remember as often as possible - that even with mice dying in shoes, my house can be pretty charming and wonderful.

you can't go home again

Apologies for the long hiatus. I have been attending to a certain special nephew:

He's precious, truly the sweetest little man I know, and I feel lucky to have had the chance to disconnect from my regular life for five days and just focus on his new life. To say that being around a baby fills you with a sense of wonder at the world doesn't even start to explain it. You really get to see things through their eyes, and because most every experience is a new one for them, you get to remember what that feels like. Suffice it to say that every cliche thing I could say right now is begging to be said, but I'll spare you.

Now I'm back in my small, blue house feeling many conflicting emotions about "being back." Going home gets increasingly more strange the older I get. Talk about seeing things with "new eyes"! I am not sure I've ever fully acknowledged how charming my hometown it is. Almost all the homes are beautiful brick structures.  Sturdy, classic architecture fills the town. Driving through town is almost serene, definitely relaxed and easy.  I could never see myself living there as an adult, but I am now struck by what a charmed childhood I led. Biking around the neighborhood with my little gang of other children; playing kick-the-can and hide-n-go-seek; catching fireflies in the summer with my bff down the block. I may have grown up in a suburb, but when I think back on my childhood I realize how much I was a "free-range kid." I had the freedom to explore and dream and flourish.

I think I really realized this even more when talking with Colten's mom (my future sister-in-law) about places they could raise Colten. My brother and Nicole don't want to stay in Arizona or have him go through school there, but they are having a difficult time deciding what place would have the community they desire. The community they desire, I realize, is a lot of what I experienced growing up.They want to be friends with their neighbors (like we did), and feel safe letting Colten take off on his bicycle down the block (like I did). They want good schools that they can walk to (yup, I did that too) and activities that are family-centered (I just think on all the days I spent at the park or the pool or the rink or the...) They want so many things that make the place you live your home and not just some place on a map that you belong to. I hope they can find a community and town like the one I grew up in. I hope it still exists.

So now I return to the home I've created, which is quite a different thing than the home you are born into. And, I admit, whenever I return I can't help but question if I've chosen well. I returned feeling a little lonely, aware my community has changed a lot in the last few years and that I was longing for something I wasn't finding on my return, but that wasn't so easy to put into simple terms.

It's something to think about. It's something perhaps to inspire a few goodbyes, a few hellos. In my way of speaking: there are more robes yet to be unearthed and, perhaps, replaced.

the life of a house

I've always had an abnormal relationship with inanimate objects, and a way of extending communication to those things that aren't normally communicated with.  I've had moments on mountaintops when a whisper of breeze through the trees seems to speak perfectly to the exact thoughts running through my head.  I've sang to bulbs and seeds and sprouts that grew into sustenance and never seemed to mind my chatter.  I've looked into a farm dog's eyes and known for certain he was thinking what I was thinking. And, for the last 2 and a half years, I've walked into my old, blue house nearly every day and said - sometimes out loud, sometimes internally - hello.

In two and a half years (nearly three) I've gotten to know this house pretty well.  Which is to say: well enough that I am not as surprised when this house completely surprises me. Like when I am sitting in the chair I always sit in at the time I always find myself sitting, and I look up and think I've never noticed the paint had undertones of gold at this time of day. Or any other thought that speaks more largely to the ways the places we inhabit can still continually amaze us.

And today is one of those days. I'm home sick and have been pretty much confined to my bedroom and not moving much from under the warmth of my comforter. Yet, all around me I have heard my house speaking. I've listened as the world around is making noise and my house, yes my house, seems to respond. Just a moment ago I heard a rather robust groan come from the depths of my house and I thought Ole Blue, I am yet to fully know you.  I've sensed since I moved in that this house has a life of it's own, with layers and layers of human lives it has held and stories it has known that I can only guess at, but today was the first time I really experienced the life it has outside of its inhabitants.

I realized that most weekdays from 8 am to 6 pm, I am out in the world and my house is sitting on this piece of land living its own life. Throughout that ten-hour block of time much changes in the life of my house, things I don't even know because I'm not usually here witnessing them unfold all around me. Had I not puttered down to the kitchen to make a bowl of soup, I wouldn't have known the way the light changes my house at 2pm on a Thursday. Or the way my house changes the light.

It's had 101 years to make a life for itself. I should have guessed it would have dimensions I would come to know slowly, some only by chance.

an entryway

When I bought this 101-year-old house, I knew a few things to be true:

1) I was the third in a line of single women owners.

2) The house was made progressively more livable by the previous two women.

3) Yet my two most recent predecessors had found the home too overwhelming to manage alone.

So I decided to go at it alone.  At 25 years old, I signed a piece of paper that has radically changed my entire life.  I liked that the house was old but livable; that there was enough still to do for the house; that I could be part of the story of the house.  I liked knowing I could care for this place and make it better. I wanted to make it better. I didn't want a perfect house.

Bit by bit I have added to the home. I've replaced the back door (mostly for safety reasons), painted the guest room, and added new blinds throughout. I've discovered that even the smallest project can have the largest reward. For instance, after two years of dripping, I paid a handyman $50 to replace a part in the faucet of my tub. It no longer drips and my hot/cold handles turn on and off much more smoothly. Within five minutes of the repair I saw how my quality of life had actually gone up.  And I had to laugh at myself for waiting so long to do a fairly simple task. 

This weekend I added to the story again by replacing my front door. A lot of cold air was coming in the warped storm door and through the very old wooden frame.  The old door was a dingy brown and didn't quite match the charm of my farm house.  Come summer I will be slapping on a fresh coat of poppy-orange paint to this beauty. The entry into my home will sing.

close your eyes & imagine it orange

I think the entryway into a home should articulate what you want those entering to feel and experience in your home. What exactly does an orange door, that keeps out the cold and holds in the warmth, say? I hope it properly welcomes those who choose to visit me, and those future visitors to whoever then lives in this old, blue house.