Doing Time on Cedar Street

In 2007 I started watching a house.  Let's go with 'watching'. Stalking is a such an ugly word. Said house looked perfect. From the street.

The asking price was high. A two comma price tag.

Time went by and it sold and I kind of forgot about it.

About three years ago, it was back on the market. Short a comma this time. But, still too much price.

Around then we actually started getting serious about moving. We loved our house, our first home but we'd outgrown it. We bought it when we had no children. Now with two, the two small 'kid' bedrooms and open floor plan were killing me. There were toys everywhere. No guest space. As much as we loved it there, it was time.

And so, we met an agent. Told her - new house please. Must be new. No projects.

But, while we're looking, there's a house down on Cedar Street. I just want to go in. It's been in the back of my mind. Let's go in, see that it's a wreck and then cross it off our list.

We did that. Except for the crossing off our list part.

But, price was still too high.

Looked at other houses for almost a year. She sat there on Cedar Street. Stoic. Waiting for a family. I would stop by and visit every once in awhile. She was vacant. I don't like to use the term breaking and entering but I was sans agent quite often.

Finally, with a stroke of luck for us and a worn down previous owner we bought her.

Oh, pink tile. How I don't miss you. At all.

Matching exactly zero of the requirements given. We bought her.

No projects? How about infinity projects?

New? How about 106 years old?

She had character - moxie, if you will. She was ugly. Oh, boy was she ugly. But, under all that green carpet and the pink and orange walls, there was potential. She was the girl with the good personality.
The girl with suchaprettyface.

I named her, Stella. It fits. I yell at her a lot. When I'm not yelling at one of the previous owners. Mentally of course. Although I'm pretty sure I catch glimpses of one of them wandering around the driveway from time to time. He's no longer of this earth, so to speak.

So, I got out some tools and carefully burned the house down.

Here's the thing about old houses. They stand the test of time. They're standing there crooked, but they're standing. Everything is crooked around here. Even the floor. It's a little disconcerting to walk down hill to the kitchen. It honestly drives me crazy(ier) but I'm working on letting it go. Which is very difficult for me to do. When my eye twitch acts up, I try to make a note of the needed repair, add it to the list and walk away. If I didn't walk away at least some of the time, I'd need additional mental healthcare.

With all that's been done, there is still much to do. It keeps me out of trouble, mostly. Five rooms of green carpet removed, three to go. 16 rooms have been painted, I think. Four to go. Plus the basement. The leaky basement. A new sump pump on the list - because sump pumps are fun! Wait, what? In the least, a new sump pump will make me less bitchy. And that's good. For all of you.

And then there's the outside. The sun has faded some of the pink. It's kind of salmon colored now. It's due to be painted. There will be much scraping, scrubbing and painting.  And then the re-staining of the sidewalks because you can't have pink sidewalks if the house isn't pink anymore. Right? RIGHT?

The projects won't end unless I win a large lottery. And even then, they won't end, they'll just be larger in scale.

So, this will keep me busy for a long time. Probably for forever. At least until I'm the one wandering around in the driveway...