Our little party is just beginning

The big day finally arrived. Closing was painless and practically effortless. The entire process only took 41 minutes, by Rob’s calculations. Our loan officer and realtor were there as well, naturally. And, while their roles were limited, they had the mutual satisfaction of "high-fiveing" each other in congratulations for the speedy closing. It took a record-breaking 23 days from start to finish. I gathered that, in real estate terms, that was like parting the Red Sea.

As this was my first closing, it was quite the eye-opening experience. We signed a lot of very, VERY important papers. Papers that said that we didn’t live in a flood zone, followed by another form that said, but if we did, we’d buy flood insurance. Another important paper that we signed said what we signed was indeed our signature!

If that wasn’t funny enough, I thought I was going to die when our loan officer’s cell phone went off, and her ring was the tune, "You Work Hard For Your Money." The Appraiser’s Report was both interesting and enlightening. I found some satisfaction in discovering that even HE didn’t know what style to classify the house. He ended up referring to it as "Bungalow, Colonial, Victorian." Now, there are some interesting combinations for you! I took umbrage at how he referred to the house as "average" this and "average" that, as if it were a slow child. He did end up appraising the house for more than what we paid for it, so I can’t be entirely disappointed with his otherwise less-than-glowing comments. (Keep in mind, this was the same guy that said the kitchen had been "updated.")

We did shake the cobwebs around a couple of the contractors, the other day. Both returned our calls within 30 minutes of each other, and both had pretty much the same story: the reason we don’t have an estimate yet is that they’re still waiting to get prices from some of their suppliers. We did get a figure as far as the electrician’s part of the job. Rewiring the downstairs, converting the two breaker boxes back to one, adding 3-way sockets in all the rooms, installing light switches, all comes in to the tune of 5 grand. That’s some tune! Actually, this was pretty close to what Rob had originally estimated, so there wasn’t an "Oh, My God!" moment, as you might think.

As you can see by the picture above, we tore out the upper kitchen cabinets, last night. We estimated their weight at approximately one ton each. As you can see, there is an interesting color palate behind them. I’m not sure what to do with the window frames. I took off those nasty, black shelves; and the middle board between the two windows is virtually chewed up with nail holes, screw holes, etc.

Well, that’s about it for now. Stay tuned for the next exciting episode when we hear Rob say: "I just swept up a cat poopy underneath the vinyl in the kitchen that was 4-inches long! It looked like a TOOTSIE ROLL!!"

Spring Cleaning On Christmas Eve

You couldn’t expect us to just sit around and not do anything, could you? How many times can you go over and just look, inspect, take measurements and plan without so much as taking one nail out of a wall? Well, today, we reached our breaking point. We reasoned: Who’s going to care if we clear away all that dead brush from the house? I mean, really. Anyone should appreciate us doing that, from an international bank to the neighbor next door.

That was all the motivation we needed to gather up shovels, rakes, tools and the trash cart and cross over to the "other side" (of the street, that is).

A small fenced-in area between the garage and the house had, at one time, been a dog pen. Large soup bones (at least, we hope they were soup bones) lay buried just under the top of the soil. A chewed Frisbee was unearth in the corner. They had made a brace to hold the garage door open so the dogs could come and go as they pleased. The door itself was inoperable, and had been for some time. The stump of a tree at least 20 years old that still maintained it’s steadfast hold on the earth, sat directly in the path of the door, as it would have slid open on its track.

At least a foot of soil lay higher than the garage floor itself. She must have later had it hauled in for her garden area, although why anyone would want it so close to the house is beyond us. It was this spot where she must have grown record-breaking tall sunflowers. The stalks were ten feet long, at least, with trunks as big as your fist. Most of the brown javelins had fallen down, probably with the weight of a recent heavy snowstorm. The dead sunflower stalks, along with the brown vines of bindweed created a cushion effect, as you walked through the faded, untamed garden. Each step sent up a cloud of fine, white dust billowing into the air. Rob threw rake full after rake full over the dividing chain-link fence, and I drug the scratchy mess back behind the garage. For an hour, we pulled out the carcasses of summer’s progeny. At one time, this area must have been choked solid full of all sorts of blooms. Now, we just wanted to clear the dead debris away from the house before mice or termites started to read in the classifieds that there’s a nice place that’s "conveniently" located.

After about an hour, we decided that the only way we could possibly restore the garage door to its original position was to cut off the bottom three or four inches with a reciprocal saw. Since A), we didn’t have that kind of saw, and B), we didn’t have electricity, we made do with just cleaning all of the junk out. I worked on tearing down an old compost bin, its wooden sides made from leftover fencing materials. The rich, black soil smelled sweet and sour, as each shovel full produced remnants of rotting garden plants. Grubworms the size of Kennedy halfdollars lay still, the cold keeping them deep in hibernation. A child’s doll came up with one shovel scoop. Its little plastic head was perched on a remarkably preserved cloth body. I brushed the dirt away from his face, which had an expression that made me suspicious of his sincerity – after being under all that dirt, he was still smiling! I propped him up on the fence, to keep an eye out on things.
After a couple of hours work outside, we were satisfied that we had made a significant advance in the clean-up effort. Now we were ready to tackle a few jobs inside.

We figured an innocent enough job, considering that…well…..er….the house isn’t technically ours yet, would be to take out all of the nails and screws that spotted the walls like a connect-the-dot game. Being careful to pry against a thin piece of board, so as not to crack the plaster, Rob methodically went from room to room, downstairs, filling an old ice-cream container full of nails and screws. I stood on the window seat of the bay window in the dining room and unscrewed the brackets that formerly held blinds. Working on one bracket, I could see a thin line of white just above one of the boards in the window frame – it was daylight! Make a note: Insulate windows.

The afternoon sun was beginning to leave us, and the shadows grew to envelop and conceal more and more. It was just as well, really. We had an ice-cream container full of old nails, screws and brackets. There really wasn’t much else we could do, even if we did have the light. A Christmas Eve spent like no other for either one of us. What better day for a few surprises and even more rewards?

Our First Tour

Our First Tour


The thick front door weighted down with heavy, beveled glass framed by the ubiquitous egg-and-dart pattern creaked subtly as we stepped into the front room. Our steps boomed throughout the empty house, the rough, badly worn floors acted like a soundboard to every sound we made. The echoes bounced off of the cracked, plaster walls and 9-foot high ceilings. Narrow columns on each divider separated the living room (front room? sitting room?) from the dining room. Very understated crown moulding (painted white!) framed the ceiling of the living room. Dark shadows on the walls where pictures formerly hung were topped by screws or nails left undisturbed.

A built-in china hutch lurked in the shadows on the opposite wall of the dining room, its old finish turned to a hue similar to used motor oil. Bay windows brought in a wealth of southern exposure (and a view of the neighbor’s garage). A window seat with incongruous finish and styling betrayed its recent addition. (We can’t have that!). Four doors led off from the dining room. The first to the left, as you faced into the dining room, opened into the middle bedroom, the second, the bathroom, the third, the stairway, and fourth, the kitchen.

The first question that we had about the house was whether or not the original staircase was still there. The house had been divided into a two-family dwelling, with a garish, red fire escape attached to the north side. A window on the upper floor and been converted into a door, and the proper porch and roof attachments were added. Our further interest in the house hinged on whether or not the inside staircase was still there.

It was.


Hidden behind a narrow door just to the left of the china hutch was a darkened stairwell, long since seal off from above. A disconnected house alarm hung from the wall in a tangled, confused mess. Sewer and water pipes sprang out from some of the steps like weeds on an unused sidewalk. The upstairs floor hovered ten inches above the landing. Water stains on the floor joists indicated a flood at one time. The second-floor bathroom and kitchen were situated directly above.

The downstairs kitchen was roomy but woefully in need of a complete makeover. What cabinetry there was had not been changed since the Carter administration. The linoleum on the floor probably went back to the Truman administration. Black shelves – black shelves – ran across the windows right above the sink, which, oddly enough, was not centered with the window. Chunks of gray/greenish grains lay in little piles in one corner of the kitchen – remnants of the cats’ litter pan.

The original back porch led directly off of the kitchen. Now, it was a dark, unfinished laundry room. The floor sloped noticeably, and insulation covered with thick, clear plastic filled in holes in the walls where windows were planned to go in at one time. A solid, steel door opened up to the back yard. [Upon later seeing this room for the first time, Rob’s mom exclaimed: "I’d be afraid my clothes would never come clean, taking them out of a room like that!"] A superfluous window was still in the wall, between the kitchen and the laundry room.

Walking down the short hallway, the next door to the right was the pantry. The old, wooden porch floor was painted green, as were the walls. Makeshift shelves were put up with gray, steel brackets. A dirty window, clouded by a heavy sheet of plastic for insulation, still managed to admit a warm, glowing light.

A rickety stairway with very narrow steps led down to the darkened basement (the power had been shut off to the house, did I mention that?). Two hot water heaters stood precisely at the bottom of the steps. To avoid crashing into them, you had to step off of the next to the last stair step and make a sharp turn to the left. We were pleasantly surprised at the size of the room itself – much larger than we had imagined. The ceiling was just a little over 6 feet tall with new ductwork and electric wiring suspended from it. It had the unusual distinction of having a bay window in one of the window wells (what were they thinking?). A new furnace stood in close proximity to the chimney. Large access doors led to the space under the front porch and the north side of the house. We were really happy to see another room almost as big as the basement area on the opposite side of the north wall. Not a square inch of that extra room had not been insulated. It was everywhere.

Carefully making our way back up the stairs, we continued our house tour by turning left into the corner bedroom. This room had the unusual distinction of having – I’m not kidding – a black ceiling. It was a big enough room that had a long, narrow closet that appears to have originally been part of the back porch.

A unique feature of the first-floor bathroom was that it had three doors. Three doors! From the corner bedroom, middle bedroom and dining room, you could access a long, somewhat narrow bathroom that pretty much still has its original fixtures. Now, we pretty much appreciate all things vintage: books, furniture, cars, dishes, parents (hehe). . . but we do have our limits. Right away, we knew this would all have to go. You practically hit your knees on an ancient ball and claw bathtub, when you first walk in. In the far corner sat le potty, and opposite it, a very rusty sink. [Rob, reflecting upon it later, said "…. it was just horrid. Just horrid."] If the fixtures weren’t scary enough, the color scheme was -- pink and black!

The former owner’s granddaughter must have used the middle room for her bedroom, as it was painted a Pepto-Bismol pink with a decal of Tinkerbell hovering high on the west wall. Feel free to draw your own conclusions.

On the other side of the Tinkerbell room, and just off the living room, was what would probably have been referred to as the parlor area. It still had the original pocket doors (beautiful, big, heavy things) and portiere fasteners. Massive windows facing west and north permitted a commanding view of the block. I could tell right away that I’d enjoy spending a lot of time in that room.

We all wandered freely about the first floor, taking in every detail, commenting liberally, expressing opinions readily. After being satisfied with our inspection of the downstairs, Al, our round realtor, locked up the front door and led the way up the weathered fire escape to the top floor. This was a part of the house I was most curious about. Over the years, I had it pictured a certain way: A small kitchenette to your left, as soon as you walked in, a combination bedroom/living room in the rest of the space. What a surprise to find that, after so many years, I was so wrong.



The first space you walked into was a long room that ran the width of the house. On the opposite wall, three windows flooded the area with light from the south. A gas heater was installed in the wall to your right, and ran from floor to ceiling. The floor was decidedly newer, and it reminded me of basketball courts I had played on in school gymnasiums as a kid (not that I played much basketball, mind you).

A door to the right led into the bedroom, or, at least, what could be used as a bedroom. Closets behind the knee wall on either side of the room provided tons of storage space. Three windows on the west side let in a lot of afternoon and late-day sun. Standing in front of the middle window, you looked down squarely on the house we currently live in. It was an interesting perspective.

A small hallway (and, really, the only "hallway" in the entire house) going off to the left, as you enter the middle room, leads you to the bathroom. And what a bathroom it is! Gray, ceramic tile hung precariously, or has completely fallen off, due to the humidity. A sink that is attached to the wall has rust stains that make it appear to be bleeding. The toilet…..well, I’ll just leave that to your imagination. (As Rob would say, "Horrid! Horrid!")

In the southeast corner of the second floor was the kitchen. As a kitchen goes, it wasn’t too bad, really. In fact, it was better than the one downstairs. All the cabinetry had been coated liberally in a white, enamel paint. The design of the room managed to include two of the three east windows. A closet behind a knee wall appeared to have been used for a pantry, at one time. A small dining area set off to the side of the cabinets.

We only let one day pass, before we called Al for a second tour. This time, we brought a ladder to peek up into the attic area. We thought we had seen the entire house, by now; but there were still surprises yet to come. Like a good book, the house revealed itself in a compelling, well-paced manner.

Stay tuned for more chapters!

Name That Style!

It is something that I enjoyed ever since I moved on the block 20 years ago. I’ve long admired the elegantly matronish look of the house directly across the street. Being situated where it was, it was naturally within the frame of my perspective. Whenever I looked out the front window to admire the sunrise on a summer morning, it was there. When I monitored the progress of spring thunderstorms that made a surprise advance from the east; or when we watched fireworks cascade in luminescent showers over the river on the fourth of July, its towering roofline cut a pie-slice silhouette into the sky. Whenever I backed out of my driveway, it loomed large in my rearview mirror. It was part of the comfortable surroundings of the neighborhood, like an old honeysuckle vine whose sweet, summer blossoms make the air taste like sugar cookies. Its staid presence was like the maple tree that could be counted on to provide a moment of shade for the old woman in the motorized wheelchair that walked her toy poodle on July afternoons.

In a surprising and sad turn of events, the house went on the market in August. The large windows were shorn of their curtains, giving it a sad, hollow-eyed look. Flowers that once choked the yard vanished within minutes. Hollyhocks. Moonflowers. Sedum. Daisies. All in full bloom; all at the peak of their season, and all, with sickening swiftness, torn to shreds and strewn across the yard -- handiwork of the landscaping company hired to maintain the yard for the bank that now owned the property. I could not watch, the day they did that; it smelled as if a thousand front lawns had just been mown.

"Would you ever consider living there?" Rob asked me one morning during breakfast.
"Where?" I asked, in wide-eyed confusion.

"The house across the street. Did you ever wonder what it would be like to live there?"

Giving it some thought, I responded, "I guess I never considered it before. I always liked how it looked from the outside; and it certainly would have a lot more room than this house, now that you mention it." We tossed the idea around for a few weeks before we even so much as walked around the house.

Whenever I work out in our front yard, I can feel its gentle presence as it sits high on its foundation, seeming to keep watch over the neighborhood. Three large windows on the south side partially reveal the half basement. For an old frame house that was (supposedly) built in 1910, the foundation and walls are as straight as the day the builder lined them up. Aluminum siding has long concealed the original clapboard sides, but a fairly recent paint job gave it some pleasant colors with interesting contrasts in the trim pieces. The bay windows off of the dining room do not hover in cantilever style but are anchored firmly to the ground.

The ½ story ends in a steeply pitched, gabled roof, giving the front of the house a Classical look. Smaller gables set on both sides provide for an interesting, if not dramatic roofline. The pinnacle of each gable on the upper floor hovers high over a set of three vertical windows, the middle one being taller than the two sides. Reverse eaves are a unique feature, and they end neatly tucked under the roof of the front porch that runs the width of the house.

It’s a style that’s hard to pinpoint. It has some of the simple austerity of Arts and Crafts, yet it’s also a house that likes its "bling." "Egg-and-Dart" (or Egg-and-Tongue, Egg-and-Anchor, Egg-and-Arrow, Egg-and-Leaf) pattern is a motif throughout the first floor, appearing on the top of window and door frames, as well as providing decorative ornamentation to the doors of the built-in china hutch. (Egg-and-Dart goes all the way back to Greek architecture and is symbolic of, take your pick, fertility, struggle between the sexes, life and death, or life intersecting death.). Nine-foot ceilings give each room, downstairs, a feel of being larger than they really are. Heavy pocket doors discreetly separate the parlor from the living room. Ten-inch wide baseboards make for a clearly delineated border to the hardwood floors and stand as tall and as elegant as a Victorian woman’s high-button shoe.

The house doesn’t fit the definition of a bungalow entirely, but it does have some of its features. When you walk in the front door, the china hutch that is built into the far wall of the dining room immediately captures your attention. Built-in furniture was a big selling point to the kit homes of the day. Gustav Stickley – practically the father of kit houses – wrote in his 1909 issue of "The Craftsman Home":

.

. much time and many steps are saved also if the principal china cupboard
is built in the wall between the dining room and kitchen . . . with doors
opening on both sides so that dishes may be put away after washing without
the
necessity of carrying them into the dining room. Such an arrangement
results in
a great saving of broken china as well as added convenience . . .

Until someone can set us straight, our best guess is that the house was constructed in what is sometimes referred to as Builder’s Style. As you might guess, homes built in this fashion reflect creative instincts of the builders themselves. Oftentimes, a house would be built before there was a buyer; so confident was the builder that the look would be deemed desirable to the up and coming middle class workers and their families. The multiplicity of features and fashions gave the homes their eclectic spirit, yet didn’t draw too much attention to themselves, risking, in this case, the offense of certain Midwestern sensibilities. One writer succinctly, and somewhat dryly, labeled it "a re-worked vernacular style."

Okay, then. It’s a Builder’s Style with latent Bungalow and Victorian tendencies, right? Wrong. Within this general category of Builder’s Style is a design called the Homestead (how many layers does this onion have?). Homestead houses had pitched roofs with gabled fronts (check). They were often 1 to 1 ½ stories tall (check), and they worked especially well for narrow city lots (check). This captures the house that leaves a big "footprint," as my brother-in-law said, the best. A narrow driveway area that originally ran on the north side of the house (before a fire escape was installed there – more on that later), could comfortably accommodate Henry Ford’s latest invention, the Model T. The house sits up towards the front of the lot, making its front porch enticing and inviting. (Keep in mind, that was back in the days when you actually wanted people to come and sit on your front porch.) A small, easily maintained front yard wraps its skinny arms around and to the back of the house, where it opens up into a roomy backyard that spreads out peacefully in the shade of two ancient walnut trees.

Welcome to our house! Welcome to our blog! We’d warn you of the mess, but you’re used to that. Thanks in advance for all your comments, suggestions, and responses to our SOS’s.