Hello? Remember me?
If not, it’s my own fault. I’m sorry for abandoning you. It was holiday time, I was swamped at work.
Then, on December 19, I closed on my new townhouse.
Now, I’m excited about this townhouse thing. I won’t have to do *any* maintenance on the outside of my new home. I have always loved outdoor work but our family home has half an acre and lots of upgrades, such as a hot tub and generator, miles of gutters, a stone walkway, extensive gardens, and a back yard in need of sprucing up. I’m exhausted. In fact, I’ve started to feel resentment toward this house I swore I’d never leave.
We bought this house in 1994. Think back. In 1994, the hottest thing in real estate was a transitional 2-story in a brand-new planned neighborhood with a pool and lots of cul-de-sacs where kids could play basketball and street hockey without fear of being mowed down by motorists.
Our house was not that.
We got a great price on a house that wasn’t the bomb at the time. People looked sideways at us, except for those prescient enough to give us a wink and a nod.
Today, my house is the hottest thing going. A true-blue mid-century mod by a locally noted architect. I am sick to leave it. I might have to stalk whomever buys it to make sure they appreciate it and don’t do any rude renos. Confession: I did a couple of rude renos before I understood. Is it possible for me to write into the contract that all modifications must be run by me first? Definitely want to say that I have first dibs on the FireHood engine-red fireplace, should they want to remove it. But why would they?
Anyway, the new place was built in 1980. Nothing much was remarkable about 1980 except that I graduated from high school that year. Architecture wasn’t really a thing then, unless you were Jon Condoret. But I digress.
I have had to strip 1980 wallpaper and 2010 wallpaper. I need to replace sliding glass doors. The bathrooms are tiny. On the good side, the kitchen needs a total reno, and, amazingly, I work at a kitchen place! I sit at work with the most amazing woman who has helped me with so many decisions and is designing my new kitchen.
Maybe I shouldn’t put this much money into this home. But I need to not move into a hovel. I need it to be a little jewel box because I have lost so much, and now I am losing my treasured home, a home that is a little museum piece, a little piece of architectural art. It is exactly all I ever wanted and I am losing it, just another thing in a long line of loss.
So let me have my moment. Let me overdo. I’ll keep you posted.