"Southern identity is not really connected with mocking-birds and beaten biscuits and white columns any more than it is with hookworm and bare feet and muddy clay roads... An identity is not to be found on the surface; it is not accessible to the poll-taker; it is not something that can become a cliche. It is not made from the mean average or the typical, but from the hidden and often the most extreme. It is not made from what passes, but from those qualities that endure, regardless of what passes, because they are related to truth. It lies very deep. In its entirety, it is known only to God." ~ Flannery O'Connor, Mystery and Manners
Our house was built in 1934. For all you people out there who failed math (me toooooooo!), that makes it 76 years old. It's right inside the historic district of a little town whose former claim to fame was Nascar. So there you go. In three sentences, you have no doubt already made your own judgements about our house (smelly and old) and the town we live in (Redneckville). But let's not be too hasty, my dear Ents. We must approach these things with an open mind!
Our first house was brand new. But it was also a cookie-cutter replica of every other house in our neighborhood. We often lamented our house's sameness, its lack of charm and individuality. So when we went looking for another house, we had something in mind, though we didn't really know what, exactly. We spent a long time driving around on our own, looking for houses, usually getting lost, and never quite finding what we were looking for. When our realtor decided to show us this house, I was totally disinterested when I heard 1934. To me, that spelled $$$$$$$$. I mean, LOTS of $$$$$$$$$$$$. But the minute we walked in, we knew it; we felt it; we were home. (For now, anyway.) The wood floors. The old coal fireplace. The 9 foot ceilings with picture moldings. The built-in bookshelves. The giant oak trees in the backyard. The front-porch settin' front porch. And hey! The kitchen was redone... 20 years ago! Alright!
Three years later.
I am ready to move. I want a cookie-cutter replica house. Charm? Who needs it??? New? I want it!!!
Let's see now. When we moved in, we discovered that the upstairs shower had a distinctive feature: it also showered the dining room below. Those wood floors that everyone is such a big fan of? They have to be swept and mopped every 15 minutes, and when you get into bed, all the little pieces of dirt on the floor that you missed get in with you. Who doesn't like crusties in the sheets? The laundry room slants. I guess I shouldn't complain about this, because when a pipe burst this winter, all the water went out, instead of into the rest of the house. The laundry room is also not heated. Not only is it not heated, but you can see the outside through the gaping cracks in the walls. (I can only assume this has something to do with its slant.) So doing laundry in the winter requires a coat and gloves. Want to paint a room? Whoa, there. Do you have three consecutive days off in which to complete this project? Because that's what you'll need. 76 year old wallpaper has been painted over, in every room, several times. So you can't just spray and peel. You must scrape. And scrape. Then you must patch, because we're talking plaster walls here, with big cracks in them that have to be patched, and sanded, and primed. Then you can paint. Are we done yet? No way! Don't forget the trim! This lovely shade of faded, old, off-white takes 3 coats to cover it in white paint.
Want to open a window? Okay. First check to see if it's painted shut. If it is, you're out of luck (if your husband isn't home). If it's not, get ready to brace yourself. About 100 pounds of push/pull torque is needed to move it. And just realize that once you get it up, you might have to hang on it like a monkey to get it back down.
Anyone sleeping upstairs? Those vents up there look like they should work, but nothing actually comes through them. So in the winter you need space heaters, and in the summer, you need at least 3 fans blowing on you at high speed to feel like you're not melting into a puddle in your bed.
What about all that peeling paint on the outside that looked like a piece of cake to scrape? No. Not a piece of cake. A horrible, nasty, lead-paint mess that takes forever to clean up, and doesn't scrape off easily, AT ALL. You must pressure wash it. Then you must scrape it. Then you must sand it. And possibly scrape it again. Then you can paint it. Did I mention that our house is built on a hill, and is about 50 feet tall? Anyone for jiggly ladder painting? (Sorry, we won't cover your ER bill if you fall.)
The truth is, we bought this house at such a good price, we naively thought, "Hey, we'll fix it up and make a good profit." Then we had kid #2, and then SURPRISE! Kid #3. So I'll let you guess how much fixin's been going on here... And what we have managed to fix will have to be redone once the kids are through with it, no doubt.
So let this be a lesson to us all. What you think you want isn't really what you want at all, but is rather an impression in your brain placed there by other people who think that is what they want and try to get you to want it too.
PS - This post will be deleted when our house does finally go up for sale. ;)))
