(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...
Thursday, March 20, 2008
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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