I wish we'd painted the office before we moved in.
The office is half of what was once the downstairs bedroom. When the previous owners converted the parlor/living room to their bedroom (I suspect he had knee issues that made the upstairs difficult for him), they used a little less than half the small bedroom down here for a closet, and turned the larger portion into an office. (If we ever do the whole wild plan involving expanding the house slightly, I think we may undo this.) The office, like the parlor and closet, has blonde laminate floors (I'll undo this even if we don't expand or undo the office/closet split). It also, probably a result of depersonalizing for sale, has beige, beige, wow, I hate beige, walls. And trim. And doors.
When triaging activities, I determined we could live with it.
I forgot one key thing: it's the most-used room in the entire house.
And I really, really, really hate beige.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Old house update
Except for the yard, which used to be my pride and joy and is now a huge mess of not-so-benign neglect (there's a reason my original blog years ago was called "The Weeds are Winning," and now they've won, and you know, I need to give up and find where I put my Chicago Manual of Style, because the punctuation inside this parenthetical just looks off, though I haven't worked as a proofer since back in the time of said original blog, and maybe my more technical career path since has destroyed my ability to tell if a sentence is well-formed, that part of my brain now given over to XML), the old house is looking pretty good.
Exterior paint (needed to be done when we moved in, frankly) has been applied, the missing bits of siding patched, the bedroom and its little roomlet to the side given a fresh new floor and appropriately sized for the era trim, the kitchen got a refresh, and the only real major project left is finishing the built-ins. And then some serious clean up, but the heavy lifting, it's mostly done.
It only took, umm... six months.
Six months is a lot longer than we thought it would take to get the place in shape. I think the spouse thought he could do it all in two weeks (ahahahaha--pardon me while I breathe), and I was working under the 1-2 month assumption.
Since July, it's been "almost done" in my head. Now it's really rounding into that, but wow, can we ever pick crappy timing for this kind of thing. (Hell, we bought the place right before the tech crash cost me my old job! We are EXPERTS and bad timing!)
At some point, we're going to have to make the call: list it in the joke of a market, knowing we don't have that much wiggle room in the pricing; or keep it as a rental and hope for the best.
I'm kind of holding out for option 3: jet engine falls from sky, lands on house.
I mean, we *are* directly under the flight path there...
Exterior paint (needed to be done when we moved in, frankly) has been applied, the missing bits of siding patched, the bedroom and its little roomlet to the side given a fresh new floor and appropriately sized for the era trim, the kitchen got a refresh, and the only real major project left is finishing the built-ins. And then some serious clean up, but the heavy lifting, it's mostly done.
It only took, umm... six months.
Six months is a lot longer than we thought it would take to get the place in shape. I think the spouse thought he could do it all in two weeks (ahahahaha--pardon me while I breathe), and I was working under the 1-2 month assumption.
Since July, it's been "almost done" in my head. Now it's really rounding into that, but wow, can we ever pick crappy timing for this kind of thing. (Hell, we bought the place right before the tech crash cost me my old job! We are EXPERTS and bad timing!)
At some point, we're going to have to make the call: list it in the joke of a market, knowing we don't have that much wiggle room in the pricing; or keep it as a rental and hope for the best.
I'm kind of holding out for option 3: jet engine falls from sky, lands on house.
I mean, we *are* directly under the flight path there...
Thursday, August 14, 2008
The old place, recapping
When you spend your weekends either solo preschooler wrangling while the other half works on the other house, or letting your mother wrangle while you and the other half work on the other house, apparently, time flies.
It's like having fun, only without the fun part.
At long last, months and months behind schedule, the old house is almost ready (for certain values of almost) to list for sale or for rent.
Woo.
It's kind of depressing going over there now, doing all the things I've been trying to get done for the last seven and a half years. Hey! Look! Patches in the living room plaster! Ooo! Wow! Our bedroom is now something other than the deep plum I thought was a good idea and had regretted for years! Hey! Check it out! New countertops! And a stainless steel sink! And... my goodness! The hallway wall has SHEETROCK. No more exposed studs!
Oh, and the ugly, broken screen door? GONE.
It's why I fear starting ANYTHING at all over here. I know us. We will hit a wall, declare good enough, and before you know it, five years later, you're still living with exposed studs.
It's like having fun, only without the fun part.
At long last, months and months behind schedule, the old house is almost ready (for certain values of almost) to list for sale or for rent.
Woo.
It's kind of depressing going over there now, doing all the things I've been trying to get done for the last seven and a half years. Hey! Look! Patches in the living room plaster! Ooo! Wow! Our bedroom is now something other than the deep plum I thought was a good idea and had regretted for years! Hey! Check it out! New countertops! And a stainless steel sink! And... my goodness! The hallway wall has SHEETROCK. No more exposed studs!
Oh, and the ugly, broken screen door? GONE.
It's why I fear starting ANYTHING at all over here. I know us. We will hit a wall, declare good enough, and before you know it, five years later, you're still living with exposed studs.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Rotten is the new sour (grapes, that is)
Ahahaha.
All that angst over my inability to get to the cherries, only to discover after fetching the ladder that they are riddled with rot. Well, riddled with cherry fruit fly maggots.
Tree, you win. Next year, I am totally looking into the approved for organic gardening methods of destroying those squirming white things. This year, I'm sticking to store bought. And not angsting about the ones I can't reach for love or money.
Aside from the cherry debacle, it was a productive weekend on both houses. Painted two rooms at Beacon, and put in a raised bed for our daughter (who was told we'd make her a bed with plants she was allowed to munch on weeks ago).
My annual Oops, Missed a Spot! sunburn is in. Two neat and tidy bright red wings of pain below my shoulderblades, right next to the racerback of my tank. Ouch.
All that angst over my inability to get to the cherries, only to discover after fetching the ladder that they are riddled with rot. Well, riddled with cherry fruit fly maggots.
Tree, you win. Next year, I am totally looking into the approved for organic gardening methods of destroying those squirming white things. This year, I'm sticking to store bought. And not angsting about the ones I can't reach for love or money.
Aside from the cherry debacle, it was a productive weekend on both houses. Painted two rooms at Beacon, and put in a raised bed for our daughter (who was told we'd make her a bed with plants she was allowed to munch on weeks ago).
My annual Oops, Missed a Spot! sunburn is in. Two neat and tidy bright red wings of pain below my shoulderblades, right next to the racerback of my tank. Ouch.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Tree 1, me 0.
Dear Self,
Repeat after me:
Birkenstocks were never meant for climbing trees.
Four cherries were probably NOT worth the scratches gained in the effort to get to them.
Patience is a virtue, wait for the blasted ladder already.
Birkenstocks were never meant for climbing trees.
Also, you need to clean the moss off the garage roof.
Repeat after me:
Birkenstocks were never meant for climbing trees.
Four cherries were probably NOT worth the scratches gained in the effort to get to them.
Patience is a virtue, wait for the blasted ladder already.
Birkenstocks were never meant for climbing trees.
Also, you need to clean the moss off the garage roof.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Things that are not fair, short list
I don't know why I assumed that the cherry trees here were identical. I really don't. I think I just assumed that the one in front was the bastard child of the one in back. Which it's not.
The one in back (growing up against our garage, and somewhat butchered on one side from the recent construction of the neighbor to the rear's own, enormous garage) is your standard Bing or Bing-like tree.
The one in the front? Sour. Red skin, yellow fruit, probably Montmorency, perfect for pies and all sorts of deliciousness.
Neither tree is going to make it easy to get to the fruit, though. Unlike my friend's cherry tree (in the middle of her yard, low sprawling branches), mine are awkwardly placed and, most annoyingly, suffering from a severe case of high branches.
Which brings me to the part about things that fail to be fair: my ladders are at the other house (currently holding up the curtains in the living room, so that Prying Eyes can't tell the place is vacant, well, not unless they open the mailbox and see the lovely "vacant" post it placed there by the mailman). I can't get to my cherries. My finally ripe cherries.
It is to weep. WEEP, I say.
(Other things that fail to be fair include our inability to get the able-bodied people in our theoretical family work crew together for a big push so we can do SOMETHING about getting the other place either off our hands or earning its keep, but somehow, my priorities being about as straight as Portia and Ellen, the inability to access the cherries seem like a vastly greater offense on the part of the universe.)
The one in back (growing up against our garage, and somewhat butchered on one side from the recent construction of the neighbor to the rear's own, enormous garage) is your standard Bing or Bing-like tree.
The one in the front? Sour. Red skin, yellow fruit, probably Montmorency, perfect for pies and all sorts of deliciousness.
Neither tree is going to make it easy to get to the fruit, though. Unlike my friend's cherry tree (in the middle of her yard, low sprawling branches), mine are awkwardly placed and, most annoyingly, suffering from a severe case of high branches.
Which brings me to the part about things that fail to be fair: my ladders are at the other house (currently holding up the curtains in the living room, so that Prying Eyes can't tell the place is vacant, well, not unless they open the mailbox and see the lovely "vacant" post it placed there by the mailman). I can't get to my cherries. My finally ripe cherries.
It is to weep. WEEP, I say.
(Other things that fail to be fair include our inability to get the able-bodied people in our theoretical family work crew together for a big push so we can do SOMETHING about getting the other place either off our hands or earning its keep, but somehow, my priorities being about as straight as Portia and Ellen, the inability to access the cherries seem like a vastly greater offense on the part of the universe.)
Sunday, June 22, 2008
A smattering of items for the Dream Kitchen
NatureMill composter although probably without the Williams-Sonoma exclusive cabinet mount system (it seems like a body should be able to figure out how to mount it without that, you know?).
Vetrazzo countertops (in reality, Paperstone is more likely, because those Vetrazzo ones are $$$. But they sure are pretty.)
Real linoleum floors with an inlay.
Neil Kelly cabinets (these are gorgeous in person--I like the farmhouse style for this place).
Of course, this is all for the Pipe Dream Updates. Which are several years down the line, if at all.
As I live with the existing kitchen (neither a dream nor a nightmare), I'm figuring out what aspects of it I like and want to keep (walk in pantry, lots of light), and which aspects I want nuked from orbit (poor positioning of stove and fridge, no dishwasher, cheap cabinets that were never hung quite right, random door to the bathroom behind the stove), and which aspects I don't care about as much as I thought I would (no net gain in counterspace from the old place, single sink instead of a double). Both kitchens have a lot of space, oddly used, but this one's a little more livable for me. I have less pantry space (I had two freestanding ones at Beacon), but that mainly means I don't have food that goes missing behind other food (yes, there's such a thing as too much pantry).
Vetrazzo countertops (in reality, Paperstone is more likely, because those Vetrazzo ones are $$$. But they sure are pretty.)
Real linoleum floors with an inlay.
Neil Kelly cabinets (these are gorgeous in person--I like the farmhouse style for this place).
Of course, this is all for the Pipe Dream Updates. Which are several years down the line, if at all.
As I live with the existing kitchen (neither a dream nor a nightmare), I'm figuring out what aspects of it I like and want to keep (walk in pantry, lots of light), and which aspects I want nuked from orbit (poor positioning of stove and fridge, no dishwasher, cheap cabinets that were never hung quite right, random door to the bathroom behind the stove), and which aspects I don't care about as much as I thought I would (no net gain in counterspace from the old place, single sink instead of a double). Both kitchens have a lot of space, oddly used, but this one's a little more livable for me. I have less pantry space (I had two freestanding ones at Beacon), but that mainly means I don't have food that goes missing behind other food (yes, there's such a thing as too much pantry).
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Garage contents: the rest of Beacon
We did a labor exchange today: I went up to Greenwood, where the kidlet's godmother wrangled her while I wrangled their front garden into looking slightly less like a sea of horsetails; and her husband went down to Beacon with mine, to wrangle the remaining contents of the old house into a moving truck (our third in almost two months).
Almost everything that's going here has now gone here.
And is in the garage.
You accumulate a lot in seven years. If you are us, you accumulate a lot of unsorted, random crap that you were planning on looking at/dealing with later.
The other day, I found a whole stack of unopened Christmas/Holiday letters from 2004.
Oops?
Anyhow, now that it's out, the mad rush to get the old place ready to stage and list (ah, I remember when the beginning of May seemed a doable plan, but that was before my father-in-law had to go have a lobe of his lung removed) is on. Whee.
Thankfully, I'm just in charge of interior painting and gardening.
Oh, for $10k to just fall in my lap so I could hire someone to go do everything left for us.
Almost everything that's going here has now gone here.
And is in the garage.
You accumulate a lot in seven years. If you are us, you accumulate a lot of unsorted, random crap that you were planning on looking at/dealing with later.
The other day, I found a whole stack of unopened Christmas/Holiday letters from 2004.
Oops?
Anyhow, now that it's out, the mad rush to get the old place ready to stage and list (ah, I remember when the beginning of May seemed a doable plan, but that was before my father-in-law had to go have a lobe of his lung removed) is on. Whee.
Thankfully, I'm just in charge of interior painting and gardening.
Oh, for $10k to just fall in my lap so I could hire someone to go do everything left for us.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
I'm going to need a bigger pot...
I have this old aluminum pot, one we've been trying to get out of rotation in the kitchen for ages.
In need of a sanity break from unpacking, I decided to make it officially off limits for food prep by boiling some door hardware.
Of course, it didn't all FIT in the pot.
No, no, I had to rotate things midway through. Oh, and while doing it, I suffered from baking soda boil over.
So on the shopping list, a large, cheap pot for hardware. Given that I have bunches and bunches left to boil.
Until then, I'll just admire my one paint-free doorknob.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Researching the house, online edition
Through wonder that is my Seattle Public Library card, I have online access to some of the Sanburn maps. As the date on the tax records is the default, "Err, old?" one of 1900, but the house is said to be older than that, I held out hope that the 1894 one might hold a clue.
Sadly, it did not, as only the edges of Ballard around Salmon Bay were even on the map.
It was on the 1904/05 map, however.
It just took me a while to find it.
See, when my house was built, Ballard was not yet part of Seattle. No, Ballard was a feisty little city all of its own, with its own leadership, its own character, and its own freaking street names.
Most of which were completely and totally different than the ones we have today.
Eventually, I found the map with the Seattle/Ballard border, and was able to figure out that, once upon a time, the street where I live was called Polk Street, and my house was [Number Redacted]. With any luck, armed with this information (which would look quite grand on a plaque, if I do say so myself), I'll be able to dig up more dirt about my home's sure-to-be glorious past.
Sadly, it did not, as only the edges of Ballard around Salmon Bay were even on the map.
It was on the 1904/05 map, however.
It just took me a while to find it.
See, when my house was built, Ballard was not yet part of Seattle. No, Ballard was a feisty little city all of its own, with its own leadership, its own character, and its own freaking street names.
Most of which were completely and totally different than the ones we have today.
Eventually, I found the map with the Seattle/Ballard border, and was able to figure out that, once upon a time, the street where I live was called Polk Street, and my house was [Number Redacted]. With any luck, armed with this information (which would look quite grand on a plaque, if I do say so myself), I'll be able to dig up more dirt about my home's sure-to-be glorious past.
Where I'm a potty mouth.
When we moved in, we soon discovered two things: one, that the toilet in the bathroom was 51 years old; and two, despite it being a water hog from hell, the thing couldn't flush for crap.
Ahem.
So, as we are Not Broke Yet (the time of Extreme Budgeting technically starting in May), we weighed our options, looked at toilet reviews, looked longingly at the beautiful, antique-style ones like we have back in Beacon, and bought Ballard an American Standard Cadet 3.
It's so dainty and wee! And functional! And *cheap* compared to our other options!
It's also quiet. The old toilet rumbled and roared, all sound and fury and all that jazz.
My eventual wishlist for this place includes a fabulously stylish and ornate toilet, the one that will go perfectly with the clawfoot slipper tub I'm SURE we'll have, but this one will certainly do for now.
Ahem.
So, as we are Not Broke Yet (the time of Extreme Budgeting technically starting in May), we weighed our options, looked at toilet reviews, looked longingly at the beautiful, antique-style ones like we have back in Beacon, and bought Ballard an American Standard Cadet 3.
It's so dainty and wee! And functional! And *cheap* compared to our other options!
It's also quiet. The old toilet rumbled and roared, all sound and fury and all that jazz.
My eventual wishlist for this place includes a fabulously stylish and ornate toilet, the one that will go perfectly with the clawfoot slipper tub I'm SURE we'll have, but this one will certainly do for now.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Painting: not for the faint of heart.
We closed a week ago Friday, and are still 75% in the old place, due to everything taking longer than we were anticipating.
Of course, we haven't done a huge painting pass in this, the old place, in about 5-6 years, and the last room we painted was only 10' x 10'.
Lessons learned: painted beadboard wainscoting takes a very long time to repaint, especially when you're using a dark color. Oh, and if you're using a dark color, it's a waste of time and effort and tape to tape around the wainscoting and trim before painting. (Note to self: find small paintbrush to touch up the edges of the wall color.) Floor paint takes a really, really long time to cure. Plan on wearing socks for a few days. You WILL underestimate both the time and amount of paint required. Plan on multiple trips. Also, triage the rooms. The kitchen will be fine until you have time to deal with it.
These past owners are vastly superior to the ones for the old house. Any trim pieces removed were stored in the detached garage, and any updates at least attempted to be true to the age of the house.
Speaking of the age of the house, my biggest to do item is to figure that part out. Older, probably, than the tax records state. I think I've tracked down the original address (the house was already a few years old when Ballard was annexed by Seattle and the street names changed). Now I just have to get some library time.
Of course, we haven't done a huge painting pass in this, the old place, in about 5-6 years, and the last room we painted was only 10' x 10'.
Lessons learned: painted beadboard wainscoting takes a very long time to repaint, especially when you're using a dark color. Oh, and if you're using a dark color, it's a waste of time and effort and tape to tape around the wainscoting and trim before painting. (Note to self: find small paintbrush to touch up the edges of the wall color.) Floor paint takes a really, really long time to cure. Plan on wearing socks for a few days. You WILL underestimate both the time and amount of paint required. Plan on multiple trips. Also, triage the rooms. The kitchen will be fine until you have time to deal with it.
These past owners are vastly superior to the ones for the old house. Any trim pieces removed were stored in the detached garage, and any updates at least attempted to be true to the age of the house.
Speaking of the age of the house, my biggest to do item is to figure that part out. Older, probably, than the tax records state. I think I've tracked down the original address (the house was already a few years old when Ballard was annexed by Seattle and the street names changed). Now I just have to get some library time.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
To-do, part two
(Yes, fine, I hate the look of an empty blog. Back when I had one for this place, things were uphill in the snow both ways, no fancy automation, and you hosted it yourself! Offa my lawn! Grr!)
The good:
The majority of the old hardware is still there. (I have nightmares where the soon to be previous owners take it, I swear.) It's gorgeous, typically ornate, late-Victorian stuff.
The bad:
One hundred years of paint.
The ugly:
Well, see the bad, really.
I'm going to attempt a baking soda boil on the interior pieces, but I'm stumped for the front door, which looks more complex in terms of removal. Should I do an in-place pseudo-soak? Tie a freezer bag of hot baking soda solution around it and hope for the best? Give up, get a gas mask, and go at the sucker with a heat gun?
Hmm. It occurs to me that I could test the pseudo-soak on my closet doorknob... you know, the one I've been meaning to strip for seven years...
The good:
The majority of the old hardware is still there. (I have nightmares where the soon to be previous owners take it, I swear.) It's gorgeous, typically ornate, late-Victorian stuff.
The bad:
One hundred years of paint.
The ugly:
Well, see the bad, really.
I'm going to attempt a baking soda boil on the interior pieces, but I'm stumped for the front door, which looks more complex in terms of removal. Should I do an in-place pseudo-soak? Tie a freezer bag of hot baking soda solution around it and hope for the best? Give up, get a gas mask, and go at the sucker with a heat gun?
Hmm. It occurs to me that I could test the pseudo-soak on my closet doorknob... you know, the one I've been meaning to strip for seven years...
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
The planning stages
It's weird to be moving into a place that's basically move-in ready.
You know, by our peculiar "please, no heavy lifting for at least a year or two!" definition of the term. No ugly wallpaper to strip, no drop ceilings to remove, no inexplicable brick wings added to the fireplace that will need tearing down (it doesn't even have a fireplace), no fake wood panels covering up old windows (the wood paneling is original old-school beadboard that just requires a nice coat of paint).
No impromptu junction boxes made up of knob and tube, Romex, and huge wads of electrical tape lurking in the attic.
Nope. Mostly, we're looking at bad paint jobs in dull colors. Which, I might add, is the kind of fix I'm totally down with right now. I LIVE to paint. I clap my hands with glee at mistint sales. The sitting room off my current bedroom has four different wall colors as a result. So painting's our first step in the new house. Then, after we move, I have to paint this place as well.
To that end, and allowing for the whole Will Be Paying For Two Houses Until This One Sells thing, I hit up the local Habitat for Humanity outlet store.
I was in mistint heaven. Paint! Glorious paint!
Six gallons of American Pride paint in acceptable colors, all for $24.
Considering that the stuff sells for $25 or $26 a gallon at the Environmental Home Center, I consider this an epic score. It's my favorite paint, it really is. We did the kidlet's room in it, and it was abso-smurfly dreamy to apply.
(Sadly, planning the other big item (reflooring the bedroom we'll be using as our own) isn't going quite so well. I have yet to find an acceptable mid-priced, DIY flooring surface that's period-appropriate and easy to install.)
You know, by our peculiar "please, no heavy lifting for at least a year or two!" definition of the term. No ugly wallpaper to strip, no drop ceilings to remove, no inexplicable brick wings added to the fireplace that will need tearing down (it doesn't even have a fireplace), no fake wood panels covering up old windows (the wood paneling is original old-school beadboard that just requires a nice coat of paint).
No impromptu junction boxes made up of knob and tube, Romex, and huge wads of electrical tape lurking in the attic.
Nope. Mostly, we're looking at bad paint jobs in dull colors. Which, I might add, is the kind of fix I'm totally down with right now. I LIVE to paint. I clap my hands with glee at mistint sales. The sitting room off my current bedroom has four different wall colors as a result. So painting's our first step in the new house. Then, after we move, I have to paint this place as well.
To that end, and allowing for the whole Will Be Paying For Two Houses Until This One Sells thing, I hit up the local Habitat for Humanity outlet store.
I was in mistint heaven. Paint! Glorious paint!
Six gallons of American Pride paint in acceptable colors, all for $24.
Considering that the stuff sells for $25 or $26 a gallon at the Environmental Home Center, I consider this an epic score. It's my favorite paint, it really is. We did the kidlet's room in it, and it was abso-smurfly dreamy to apply.
(Sadly, planning the other big item (reflooring the bedroom we'll be using as our own) isn't going quite so well. I have yet to find an acceptable mid-priced, DIY flooring surface that's period-appropriate and easy to install.)
Ballard to Beacon and Back Again
The Timeline
June, 1999:
April, 2002
The House in Ballard is at least a quarter century older, and I'm sure her quirks will drive us nuts as well, but she's got one thing going for her that this place doesn't.
She's in Ballard.
And in about two weeks, knock wood, we'll be there as well.
Right back where we started from.
June, 1999:
- Go out hunting in Seattle's terrible rental market and find The Perfect Apartment.
- Angst and curse about the fact that said apartment is in, GASP, Ballard. But apply anyway. Because again? Perfect.
- Small building on a quiet street, spotless, 2br/1ba, lots of closets, hardwood throughout, cats allowed, storage in basement. All for $725.
- Say good bye to Queen Anne, hello to Ballard.
- Hey, maybe Ballard's not so bad.
- Get married.
- Realize that the Perfect Apartment might just be slightly too small, what with all the Wedding Gifts and Stuff Parents Had Held Onto Until You Were Settled And Have Determined You Should Really Take Now.
- Discuss options with Friendly Real Estate Agent, AKA Mother.
- Start househunting.
- Realize that $200,000 is NOT going to get you very far in your Chosen Area when offer on a 1br, 3/4 bath fixer with NO HEAT is turned down.
- Decide to expand the search.
- Start looking in Beacon Hill.
- Throw out every single carefully considered rule (Nothing south of Bennett. Nothing on a Busy Street. Nothing with no proper dining area. Nothing overly modernized.) for reasons that have yet to be determined, but which we suspect may be the effect of the seller using Darkest Magicks or Orbital Mind Control Lasers on us.
- Move in.
- Start working on the house.
- Discover that you are in a pizza delivery dead zone.
- Miss Ballard.
- EARTHQUAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
- Get hired on full time at Small Tech Firm.
- Tech crash hits Small Tech Firm Hard. Half the staff laid off. Yes, this includes you. Though you have to stay on to finish up the next release. Or else.
- Glumly drag Dead Man Walking Ass to work.
- Continue to work on the house.
- Take a well-earned bath on your last day of work. Notice the bathroom wall is squishy. This will be your last bath in your own tub until November of 2004.
- Begin gutting main bathroom, while using the sinkless 3/4 bath in the basement.
- Spend severance check on a new toilet, a new sink, and a lot of tile. Order windows for the two blank spaces you've uncovered that used to have them. Look for work. Work on house. The usual.
- Very bad things happen, and Seattle's economy goes further down the tank.
- Finally get windows installed. Burn out on working on the house.
April, 2002
- A year after being laid off, begin contract job.
- Contract
- Grow increasingly frustrated with lack of progress on the house and lack of services in the neighborhood.
- Hey. Look at that. Two lines on the stick!
- Start another contract job.
- Miss Halloween party due to mild case of late night ER visit.
- Bedrest.
- Declare that, really, if you're on bedrest, maybe you shouldn't be going up and down the basement stairs to pee all the time, and remind spouse that the toilet, sink, and tile are all paid for and in the basement, awaiting motivation.
- Have first bath in own house in three years.
- Lose second bedroom/office to your new tiny human creature.
- Return to work.
- Get hired full-time at Large Tech Firm.
- Start seriously considering getting the heck out of Dodge.
- Stare at tax-assessed value, shrug, and apply for a HELOC, dam the torpedoes, full speed ahead. (After making a spreadsheet to indicate ability to pay two mortgages and a HELOC, of course.)
- Start looking for houses.
- Agent (no relation this time) takes you to house around the corner from the erstwhile Perfect Apartment.
- Other agent (also no relation) prepares comps.
- Dither about the house around the corner.
- Eh, what the hell. Offer on house.
- Offer accepted!
- Holy crap, what have we gotten ourselves into now???
The House in Ballard is at least a quarter century older, and I'm sure her quirks will drive us nuts as well, but she's got one thing going for her that this place doesn't.
She's in Ballard.
And in about two weeks, knock wood, we'll be there as well.
Right back where we started from.
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