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.
June 16, 2013 @ 1:27 am
Thank you thank you thank you for showing just how very divorced my husband and I would have been if we had bought the falling down Victorian mansion that we found in our price range. I did not have a Project Paul. I did have three small boys under the age of 8 and a Handy Hal with absolutely no interest in restoring a lovely house to life. Thank goodness I listened to him. I do covet those hinges, though.
June 16, 2013 @ 11:10 am
It’s like a service I offer— debunking the myth that DIY old-house-fixing is fun and romantic.
I literally have NO idea how anyone renovates a house, AND has children… or a life… or any money left to do anything other than try to finish the project before one of you kills the other.
Unless you have lots of money… in which case it’s probably awesome and fun.
June 22, 2013 @ 12:22 am
I totally get your love of houses with character…or anything old for that matter. My deal right now is cars…I am restoring a 1975 Cadillac Sedan Deville that I bought on Craigslist. My dream is to buy a Prairie style two story house but it has to have a staircase in the living room and one in the kitchen…better yet, it should have one that is combined! anyway, I just stumbled on your blog and I love it
June 28, 2013 @ 7:12 pm
I totally dig your writing style.
June 30, 2013 @ 8:18 pm
Absolutely great blog.
August 1, 2013 @ 5:18 pm
I have (as Anne of Green Galbes would say) a kindrid spirit! thank you for being there for me to find.
March 17, 2014 @ 12:22 pm
I enjoyed reading your story. Thanks for sharing. I can relate on many levels.
My husband and I also own a Victorian, a three-story Queen Anne built in 1895. We bought the dilapidated mansion in 1994 for only $39,000 and lived it in until 2000, when I received a high-paying contract from a popular web company. We moved into a fabulous new house. Then, that web company went under, and we had a complete reversal of fortune. Our new house was foreclosed on, and we had to move back into the Victorian in 2003.
We sank our remaining $120,000 into it to make it “livable,” which included rebuilding a collapsed brick exterior wall, new furnaces, air, plumbing, and electric, but, cosmetic-wise, you can barely tell that we put a penny into it.
I hate living here so much. I’ve become a recluse as I’m embarrassed to have anyone over. The ceiling is out in the lower and upper hallway and covered with foam insulation to keep the drafts out, paint and old paper mars the walls, the pine floors are unfinished and splintery and impossible to keep clean, some of the woodwork is missing, the kitchen and bathrooms are ugly, and squirrels and raccoons get in in droves and chew in the ceiling. In addition, I have an abiding fear that the whole thing is going to collapse and kill us all.
My husband is lazy and won’t work on it. He hasn’t touched it since around 2004. And anything he worked on in the past, never got finished. There’s still plastic hanging around the ceiling trim in our bedroom from when he put up the trim in 2003. I confess, I harbor some resentment for him. I’m also depressed about living here. My only hope is that, maybe, we can eventually get out of debt and sell it. For now, we’re stuck here.
I highly recommend that anyone thinks twice before buying a home that needs extensive renovation. It will be hard in countless ways, but, especially, on your marriage.
March 17, 2014 @ 2:12 pm
I am sending you virtual hugs. I truly do not think anyone can comprehend the stress until they are actually living in it… At which point it is too late.
March 31, 2014 @ 6:16 pm
My wife and I were very much interested in your blog. We are now in negotiations for an absolutely dilapidated 1870 Victorian and were wondering how much it cost to renovate yours. We love the house, but it is 2,600 sq. ft. are afraid that the renovation costs will exceed what we can budget. Thank for your great blog and for any advice you can give us.
April 1, 2014 @ 9:44 am
Cost:
All time
All sanity
All money
The problems you can see will only be outnumbered by the ones you can’t. My advice is don’t live there during construction, if you have another option.
April 24, 2014 @ 10:52 am
Thanks for sharing – it looks great. I love the hinges, too!
December 10, 2014 @ 5:59 pm
I felt like I was reading MY story as I read this post today. We too have an 1890 Victorian. When we first looked at it, I too pictured the house in all its beauty while my husband saw all the work. We don’t have the breathtaking hinges, but we do have the wrap-around porch! I”m so excited to read more about all your projects!
December 11, 2014 @ 2:38 pm
We just bought a 1900 stone Queen Anne with a turret. A turret. I think that perhaps you have more personality similarities with my extremely handy husband, while I’m the one pulling nails out of scrap wood and neatly piling trash… That being said, I think you’re hilarious and honest and I would like to be more like you. I’m currently living in plaster dust, and I think your blog might just be the key to my survival and sanity.
October 23, 2015 @ 10:43 pm
VEB
Love your story and your style.
December 10, 2015 @ 7:42 pm
Thank you for writing this post and seeing the worth in historic homes. It feels so refreshing to find someone who {is a bit crazy} thinks like me. My hubby and I bought an 1893 run-down farm in rural Kansas a year and a half ago. Restoring the farm is slow going and every time we finish a project we find new problems, but we are having a blast! The hardest part of our choice to do this with our life is constantly having to convince the people that we aren’t stupid.
No one else sees the elaborate millwork, original windows, cast iron hardware, original heart pine floors, ect. as valuable. (Honestly, I sometimes get overwhelmed that we have no kitchen and we have rotted siding and think maybe they are right, maybe this was a bad idea.) Your blog has been one of those things that helps me go back to the reason we bought this farm. Because the breathtaking craftsmanship of historic homes is unmatchable and otherwise unattainable.
Thank you for being on our side!
April 3, 2016 @ 11:25 am
Love this! How are you supposed to notice the termite damage, the windows that won’t open, lack of insulation, etc, etc… When there is picture rail molding, old glass knobs on the doors and lovely old hinges? I speak from experience!
July 29, 2016 @ 11:27 am
Thank-you magical Facebook overlords for delivering VEB to my news feed, you finally got one right! I want to binge read every word you’ve ever written so I can live vicariously through you! I mean THE HINGES!!!!!!! They make me cry happy tears!?
November 26, 2016 @ 11:42 pm
My mother has been telling me for years that my name is Lisa Too Much. You seem to be a kindred spirit. Love your writing and all of you GFTs!
November 30, 2016 @ 2:02 am
Love!
January 17, 2017 @ 11:10 pm
Thank you. I now know there’s someone else out there entranced by Giant beautiful things! I think your house is wonderful and I so enjoy your colorful descriptions of your view of the possibilities. Can’t wait to see your future projects.
March 9, 2017 @ 8:58 pm
Heh, we have those hinges. And the matching doorknobs. And stained glass. It’s a huge house, we were young and foolish to buy it but we love it, too!
January 15, 2018 @ 12:18 am
Hi, how curious? My name is Mica and I moved to Philadelphia when I was 8. We lived in a old Victorian style house in the frankford neighborhood. The details from that house have stayed with me. My husband and I bought an 1890 folk Victorian in the Ivyland Boro neighborhood. Our house was almost gutted from the disaster left by the mother and daughter that lived here for nearly 65 Years. We have a barn and there was an extension added (horribly) in the 70’s. I have been slaving doing research, buying on Craigslist and trying to add back character to our house. I stumbled onto your blog while looking in houzz. We have to replace the tree out front we recently took down because the man that built our little neighborhood “pictures streets lined with trees”. You have to check out Ivylandboro.com also check out the “hotel” for sale on trulia in Ivyland pa. The story behind it is on the site. Please email me with any Victorian pieces you find and may not need or vice versa. I am adding in push button switches to the entire house currently and then want to move onto antique floor vents covers. Any ideas to source them would be great. I also want to buy an antique store display to use in our kitchen for store, with open shelves above. Please help me convince MY husband that this is the only way we should live moving forward in this life. ☺️ The house looks great. I need a mirror for my upstairs bathroom. Keep an eye for me. Something dark, funky. The inspiration was a Victorian English conservatory. Thanks again.
July 30, 2019 @ 4:21 am
I never actually read posts like these. I only stumbled on it after looking up ‘growing lisianthus in the garden’ and then followed ‘you must grow giant benary zinnias’, which I happen to be this summer and waiting for them to flower. You are hilarious! You write with my sense of sarcasm and humour. I have actually gone searching for your first post. It’s 2019 and I realise it’s been a while since you started, I hope I have the time to make it to you recent posts. I am currently sitting in the waiting room at my local surgery (UK’s GP office) and I have a lot of time to kill.