Two posts ago, I went back to the beginning of our house renovation—how my husband and I decided to buy an old house and fix it up… a decision based around the front-door’s antique hardware. And an imaginary before-and-after picture that lived in my head—a picture designed by a DIY-enthusiasm that came from not ever having fixed anything.
We thought it was a good idea to move into a crumbling Victorian house… restore it… do all the work ourselves… while living here.
If you missed:
Part One, we tour the house and decide to buy it.
Part Two, we move, begin renovation, and reality sets in.
This is Part Three, where I realize the true meaning of fixing up an old house.
For the first two years, there were always multiple rooms with “containment issues” Meaning: one part was “livable” and the other was trashed. Destroyed. An explosion of plaster and lath and 120 years of dust.
And we were always trying to keep the “trashed” part separate. Or? One of us was: me.
The other of us thought containment was over-rated.
The other of us thought the ONLY acceptable use of time was action… To wade in and just GO.
