How we got here… Part One.
This is the first of three posts…Part 2, Part 3.
Over three years ago, my husband and I bought an old house.
There were a lot of reasons… but none of them were necessity.
Our previous house was perfect. A 1920’s Arts and Crafts cottage — charming and adorable and pristine. Although, woefully undramatic.
Paul had finished every last inch of that house. And he had done it all before he met me.
Which A- demonstrated to me: Paul’s magical fixing ability.
And B- showed me NOT AT ALL: the work involved.
We looked at this Victorian house out of… curiosity? Possibility? Because it was there?
Because we are the sort of people who look at houses they do not need?
Because we cannot afford Downton Abbey?
I love anything Victorian, ornate, crazy, giant, old, gilded, broken, or useless… This house wasn’t giant or ornate. It didn’t have elaborate moldings. It wasn’t even much bigger than our old house. But it was definitely Victorian. And broken.
But I didn’t see the broken parts.
I THOUGHT I saw them. But what I really saw was something Paul could fix. Those are two separate things. But I combined them into one idea: broken things that can be fixed/therefore are not broken.
In fact, I was able to overlook ALL the house’s problems. Because Paul would fix them.
In my defense, this IS correct. But I didn’t understand the 18,956,324,072 steps between broken pile of crap… and finished product you will enjoy living in.
I have an affliction/ability to look at something long past fixing. And see what it once was. And if that thing was originally incredibly beautiful, it doesn’t matter what it looks like now.
I’m talking about things that have been broken for years. Things no one has cared enough to maintain… Which is fine– if it’s something that costs five dollars at a yard sale, and you can put it on your mantel and call it architectural salvage.
But if you’re buying a house, I recommend you weigh your soul’s desire to own the hinges. Against the possibility that the house will collapse around your feet.
For me, the hinges on the front door were the only salespitch I needed.
We walked in… and I was like OOOOOOOOOOh. Did you see the hinges? Paul? Did you see the hinges? Paul? Did you see the hinges?
Paul?
Did you see the hinges?
No matter that the bottom ones weren’t connected to the frame. And no matter that the doors didn’t even lock, unless you leaned on them with your shoulder, while also pressing your heel into the bottom left panel.
Paul gave me his signature look. The one that says: CALM DOWN.
Not to be confused with his other signature looks: Have you seen the hammer? I’m busy. Hand me the crowbar. You’re working too slowly.
In return, I gave him mine. The one that says: I have seen something. There will be no talking me out of it.
Do not try to keep me from the hinges.
We left. And I didn’t say anything about the hinges. This is what my mother calls choosing your battles. And what I call: sending threatening, psychic messages.
We talked about it. We made lists: the pros-and-cons of exploding your life and living in a dumpster… At the time, I thought this was how everyone made decisions about buying a house. And? To me? It was a very nice dumpster… with a wraparound front porch.
A nice dumpster that could be had for a good price, if we were willing to overlook certain things most people take for granted in a home.
Like what? Like windows and doors that perform their intended function of differentiating the inside of your home, from the outside of your home.
Paul said things like—the house is LITERALLY full of holes. Their heating bill MUST be at least $1,000… So I made a note: call power company—get average electric and gas bill.
But? In my head, I was already lying on the divan. Ringing for tea in the library.
Also, I thought I’d better start shopping for silk dressing-gowns.
Paul said—the FIRST thing we need to do is insulate the attic.
I was like, absolutely. By all means. Totally. That’s where the library is going. So we’d better get to work on it IMMEDIATELY.
Paul did not fall in love with the house the same way I did. He certainly liked it… in fact, it was his idea to go look at it. But it appealed to him differently than to me.
He saw ALL of the problems… without the hazily-conjured idea of how they would just sort of magically fix themselves.
He certainly wasn’t imagining tea in the library.
Paul is a man who cannot stand sloppy workmanship or uncareful stewardship. The kind of man who bundles construction trash neatly and pulls ALL nails out of scrap wood… Even though it takes forever, and as far as I can tell is a total waste of time…
It’s trash…put it in the trash.
Then.
Do not step in the trash.
I think he saw the house as a challenge. Not to his skills or his ability… but to his sense of putting something right. To his sense of logic.
He was finished the house we lived in. Therefore he could do another one. And this was a house that needed doing. Someone would fix this house… why not him?
So we bought it.
Okay. I have to go write Part Two… come back later. Or sign up below, to get email updates. That way you don’t have to sit in front of your computer for the next three days, hitting refresh.
RELATED POSTS:
- Remember back when you didn’t understand what it meant to make a giant mess out of your house and then have to live in it?
- Part two: we move in and begin renovations.
February 13, 2013 @ 10:06 am
This is great. I had no idea why you did this but I can SO see your headspace as you’ve described it, here. You and the mister are a fabulous team even if he can’t see tea in the library and you can’t see non-tetanus-threatening scraps. 🙂
February 13, 2013 @ 1:29 pm
I know YOU can see the library!!
And I usually get the crap-tedious jobs, so I’ve pulled more than my share of nails… after you do it enough, you start to think you’d rather take your chances with whatever it is that happens when you get tetanus.
February 13, 2013 @ 10:34 am
Those are truly incredible hinges. We live in a historic district dating to about 1835, and I have never seen a hinge like that. I completely understand why you had to purchase that house.
Ours was also full of holes. One set of windows was held together with wires. The carpenters had a very hard time because the house had been settling on its pilings for 100+ years. No right angles anywhere. It actually required mathematical equations to make ceiling molding and picture rails on competing slants appear (almost) parallel.
I can’t wait for part two. I want to know how you and Paul solved these problems and made your house so beautiful… it definitely needed you. Those paint colors? Migraine. Your house is much happier now that you’re in it.
February 13, 2013 @ 1:41 pm
I hear wires are the technically-correct way to repair windows. 1835… It’s amazing when you think about a house that’s been standing for that long. And not at all surprising they’re having a hard time standing up straight.
Those colors… looking back at the photos I am no less baffled by them now, all this time later.
February 13, 2013 @ 10:50 am
Well, VE – you know in a past life Paul and I might have been brothers, both perishing when a rafter from a 14th century cottage fell on our beans. We just hate crappy workmanship. If a fella doesn’t know how to use an adze he should just stick with making mud bricks I say. I suppose I’m lucky – my wife would have never noticed those hinges…
February 13, 2013 @ 1:42 pm
I WISH you were Paul’s brother.
p.s.- Paul would consider you the luckiest man alive. Or the smartest, to marry your wife. Sadly for you, you’ll never get the honor, since I would never tell Paul that there are women out there who do not get irrationally attached to small pieces of brass…
February 13, 2013 @ 11:23 am
Those hinges! I understand.
February 13, 2013 @ 1:43 pm
Hinges are the new “location.”
February 13, 2013 @ 11:41 am
Victoria,
I’ve seen those hinges at a little antique hardware store in Orange for $25 each, would you like me to pick some up for the next house? You’ve done a great job with the rooms and porch that you’ve shown us. How many rooms are left to work on? You don’t want to risk “Paul burn out”.
I will anxiously await the next chapter…will you share more photos of the rooms you’ve finished? I’ve seen the fabulous bathroom and the dining room and hall (upstairs, I think).
Karen
February 13, 2013 @ 1:44 pm
Yes… I’m trying to get back to the original plan of blogging about the house. I had gotten distracted— blogging about disco balls, blogging about blogging, blogging about me, me, me, me…
But I’m refocusing, and I figured I’d go back to the beginning… I never really did any of this in a coherent way… I just jumped in with the bathroom.
p.s.- you mean you can just buy antique hardware individually? You don’t need to buy the whole house?
February 13, 2013 @ 11:56 am
It makes me feel so much better to see what you started out with. There is a lot of work to be done in my house, but most of it is cosmetic. I have not had to deal with holes in the walls. I look forward to reading part II.
P.S. I would have fallen in love with those hinges too!
February 13, 2013 @ 6:08 pm
We had holes everywhere… walls, roof, doors, floors… Paul said it was like heating a colander… futile.
I’m showing Paul that everyone here liked the hinges too… in support of my irrational attachment.
February 13, 2013 @ 1:04 pm
I can see why you love this house…. THOSE HINGES!
To be honest, I would have been sold on the wrap around porch. Swoon!
(not so)patiently waiting for Part 2!
February 13, 2013 @ 6:09 pm
You’re right… the porch really is better than the hinges… much more comfortable and usable. 🙂 Especially considering you only see the hinges for about a minute a day during the winter.
February 13, 2013 @ 1:47 pm
“architectural salvage” – I am so stealing that from you so every time I drag home yet something else to stash in our basement that we are supposed to be finishing but yet are not finishing b/c I keep more stuff down there, that’s what I am going to call it and justify my thrift store expenditures. You know I love your house. I would trade in my McHome anyday for anything that remotely had been around for 100 years and a heating bill that I could fix. Because I love character. Hydro be damned.
February 14, 2013 @ 12:44 pm
Ah, well… full disclosure, I didn’t invent architectural salvage. It’s a “thing” here. There are people who do nothing but deconstruct old buildings… and then sell the pieces at mindboggling prices.
Like 20’ marble pillars. Who doesn’t need a few of them?
February 13, 2013 @ 3:09 pm
The hardest part is seeing what others cannot see, and then trying to let them see, even when there’s nothing to be seen yet. We were in the same boat. Friends said “I can’t believe you guys would buy a place that is so…crappy.” We didn’t see crappy, we saw then what we see now, a beautiful house that we will some day have. When we went through our house the only thing Wendy really liked about it was the front door’s rim lock. I saw the molding worth stripping, original doors worth saving, hardware worth salvaging (or replacing with salvaged), fireplace mantels worth loving, plaster worth repairing, and floors worth correcting. There wasn’t much to see that wouldn’t be changed in some major way, but it was all there, in it’s raw and tarnished form, just waiting for us. When I stand in front of our windows on a windy day and I can see our heavy silk curtains blowing, I see the original windows worth saving, not the dollar bills that are jumping from our pockets and floating out around the windows. Those windows will be perfect one day, and just maybe, those windows will keep someone warm for another 100 years. We’ve spent 10 years working and hunting for just the right hinges, just the right transom lift, just the right rim locks, all salvaged and not reproductions. IF we had finished the whole house in a matter of months, I don’t think it would be *our* house nearly as much as it is today. We may have no human children, but we have a cat, dog, and old house, and each is as much our child as I can imagine.
Can’t wait for part two.
February 14, 2013 @ 12:53 pm
I think my parents thought we were crazy to even consider it. They tried to be supportive, but you could tell when they came over they were totally overwhelmed by what we’d gotten ourselves into.
I should have done a better job initially, of not caring what people thought. I didn’t want anyone to come over and hang out or really spend time here… it was fine if they came for a tour, but I didn’t invite anyone for dinner or have a party or anything. I really put the life-in-the-house on hold. And if I could go back, I’d do it differently… (I’d also spend more time choosing a shutter color since the more I look at it the more I dislike it.)
February 13, 2013 @ 3:37 pm
Brave, intrepid, balls-y. These are the words that come to mind as I read this Victoria. Some people jump off the cliff of home improvement and others (me) just linger on the ledge…
And I just had a color-gasm when I looked that the blue and green paint combo in the last photo. Is that too much information?
February 14, 2013 @ 1:00 pm
Lol… not at all. I take it that means you approve of the colors? I’m not sure you would, if you could see the room with pink walls and a bright orange ceiling. I actually really like the robins egg blue color… but the previous owners had a serious commitment to VARIETY.
February 13, 2013 @ 6:01 pm
A blog friend of mine called it “keeping the after photo burned into your brain.” Of course, that is before any after photos are taken. It might even be before the before photos… Umm, my husband belongs to the tribe mentioned above as well. I’ve pulled out lots of nails. In fact the other day I dropped a board, looked down and sighed. Then I picked it up and took out the nails without being told…I’m glad we don’t have a Victorian– though I love them–it’s way too much pressure.
applehillcottage recently posted http://applehillcottage.org/2013/02/12/48-not-just-sp…-bronze-finish/
February 14, 2013 @ 1:11 pm
Wow… you’re a better co-captain than me. I totally try to hide the unfinished boards at the bottom of the pile and pretend like I did them all.
It’s good advice to keep the end result in mind. It’s hard when the mess is so unremitting…
February 13, 2013 @ 6:03 pm
Okay, so I just showed what a dork I am by posting the wrong link. Sorry about messing up your comments…
February 14, 2013 @ 1:12 pm
Lol… not a dork. the commentluv can be confusing.
February 13, 2013 @ 7:38 pm
“This is what my mother calls choosing your battles. And what I call: sending threatening, psychic messages.” I am all over that.
I leave this quote for you:
““Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing.” ~Camille Passarro
February 14, 2013 @ 1:15 pm
I am blessed, then. (Paul, would say that’s what’s called a mixed blessing.)
February 14, 2013 @ 3:22 am
The loft! oh, i love it and can totally picture that space as a library. And really, a finished house is BORING!
And they are the prettiest hinges i’ve ever seen. 🙂
February 14, 2013 @ 1:13 pm
A finished house IS boring… and I CANNOT wait to be bored. 🙂
February 15, 2013 @ 8:51 am
Love the post. I think having a vision is the only thing that keeps me going on our house. We have been in our old money pit over 12 years and we still have so much to do. I go through periods where I want to abandon it and move into new construction. Although then I drive up to it and smile (then curse whatever happens to be broken). If it makes you feel better when we bought out house my parents didn’t see it until after the closing and my mom was pretty close to crying. Granted it looked pretty sad covered with gold asbestos shinges. She then spent the next several years sending me house listings just in case we might want to move. She also suggested removing the back stairs when I was pregnant for the safety of her impending grandchild.
February 15, 2013 @ 5:08 pm
My father hasn’t ever fixed anything not using duct tape or twist ties, so I think he could not imagine anyone voluntarily taking it on. Also, he is the type to believe all free time should be spent reading Plato… not spackling.
The vision thing is true. But at the same time, I feel like none of it is exactly as I imagined it. With the possible exception of the bathroom… I have fought compromise at every step of the way, only to end up accepting some form of it anyway. I guess you can probably relate to some part of that.
February 15, 2013 @ 4:52 pm
I missed you! Great post! Can’t wait for more.
February 15, 2013 @ 5:09 pm
Hey thanks! Moving the blog was crazy… but feel like I am finally getting it under control!
February 18, 2013 @ 11:09 pm
I love those hinges – so intricate. Glad to see you made the new platform without any impact.
February 20, 2013 @ 12:23 pm
I love them too!! The switch was intensive… and I find myself spending time fiddling with behind-the-scenes stuff more than I should. I should spend the time actually writing, but it’s easy to get sucked into clicking one more button…
February 19, 2013 @ 1:25 pm
I began following your blog part way through so this post is a wonderful way to catch up on where you started, great idea, waiting for part 2! The state of the house when you got it might not have scared me off but OMG, those green walls!
February 20, 2013 @ 12:21 pm
I KNOW! The green practically glowed. When combined with the orange ceilings in some of the rooms, it is literally unfathomable to me what they were thinking!!
February 20, 2013 @ 11:37 pm
I’m pretty sure we need to spend an afternoon looking at houses with you and Paul because we’ve had basically this same conversation. We looked at an old victorian once and the only thing that kept ME from booking a moving company was that it was called The Bloodsoe House which sounds like the title of a new horror flick. Tyson could get passed the name, but not all the work it would take to make it livable. Love those hinges though. I could buy a home with those hinges.
February 21, 2013 @ 12:16 pm
Bloodsoe would have turned me off too. That’s like asking to be murdered in your sleep.
We had looked at another house a few years ago… it was a disaster, and went under contract the same day we looked at it, so it was never a real possibility, but it was called Toad Hall… thrilled me to no end. It had a metal sign at the end of the driveway and everything.
Looking at houses is some kind of illness I caught from Paul.
May 13, 2013 @ 3:46 pm
“It’s trash…put it in the trash.
Then.
Do not step in the trash.”
Bwahaha 🙂 That made me giggle. I’m stunned by your remodel. The photos of the rooms with the walls stripped out are downright scary. Bravo for all your work!!
May 16, 2013 @ 1:25 pm
Your comment got absolutely buried in my email… why does real life think it should interfere with my blog-life like that?
The scary rooms are EVEN scarier when you realize that you’ve just gotten used to them… and now it seems normal!
Thanks for the visit! I’m checking out your bee-keeping! It’s been on my list of things to do… one of the things that keeps getting postponed until next year…