So in less than a month we’ll enter the mortgage-with-no-house phase. Barring yurt-building or the purchase of an RV, this means we need to find a 'second home'. A really cheap one.
Our dogs are already anxious, seeing the parade of empty boxes making their way up from the basement and being filled with things they like to look at, pee on or chew. They stalk us from room to room and bark at the top of the stairs when we're going up and down, batting at each other for prime parent-watching position.
Unfortunately, packing has transitioned from the easy stuff to the miscellaneous - the square-shaped piece of plastic that's a part for either the fan or the bike rack (Or neither? Is it worth keeping?), the old heart rate monitor strap that works with the watch I lost (What if I find it? and how do I categorize a heart rate monitor - bathroom? bedroom? medical supplies?). Boxes and boxes of those question mark miscellany, left for another time when I have more patience.
Unlike packing for a vacation, packing our house is an exercise in regret. I found my old flute, which I promised myself I would keep playing as an adult. I found gifts from others and to myself that I barely used. I found puzzles unopened (not making enough time for fun), a punching bag unpunched (never did take those boxing classes), and even old resumes (why didn't I ever apply for that job?). Even prints and photos that I meant to frame could create anxiety, if I let them.
But back to the issue of needing an apartment. Last week, we scoured craigslist for a suitable place, and by a stroke of luck, we found a studio in the building above Verite Coffee in Madrona, just two blocks from our house!
We toured the next door neighbor’s place (who has the same layout), finding not only is 250ish square feet really small, but some people (like maybe our future next door neighbor) are unashamed of showing off their dirties. We tip-toed around dirty dishes, dirty clothes, a bathroom that looked like a throwback from the frat house, pizza boxes, and dozens of video games. No joke – I think I threw up in my mouth when I saw the bathroom. Undeterred (and a touch desperate), we immediately filled out the rental application.
Apartment = check! The only obstacle that remains is the dog interview … Fortunately, we have some leftover muscle relaxants from when Felix hurt his back, and although they’ll probably need to be carried into the interview, the dogs will pass the test with flying colors.
Before pictures coming soon…
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The beginning
Today is not the beginning. The beginning was years ago, when Mark decided there was no getting around the inevitable. The house, though filled with post-war charm, a built-in liquor cabinet, and a red vinyl and formica bar in the basement, had to come down.
The beginning began even before I met Mark, before I moved in a groaned about the kitchen (no counter space! no dishwasher! no garbage disposal!), before we tripped over the extension cord that connected to the one working outlet in our living room, before we wrangled for position in the 1ft by 1ft bathroom, and before we bought a queen sized bed that was so big for the bedroom that the closet door couldn't swing open or shut. So it's just always open.
As Mark tells it (and evidenced by photos and still-exposed dry wall in the kitchen), he tried his best to make it the house he really wanted. He cut a hole in the kitchen to install a back door, built a deck, re-wired and dry walled the bedrooms, and made the front and back yard lush with flowers, japanese maples, forest pansies, mondo grass, a yellow magnolia and beautifully landscaped walkways.
But there was that awful bathroom. And those bedroooms that, ideally, would suit a child in a twin bed rather than two adults who like clothes and shoes and spaces for all our books. And the low-ceilinged basement that would only serve as a dumping ground for our bought and forgotten junk.
So it was decided at some point years ago, that because we love our neighbors, our neighborhood and the proximity to work, it was better to rebuild than move. And here we are, on the eve of demolition, hoping we're making the right decision.
We'll post pictures, details, and hassles or delights of the day. Please make comments and suggestions - thanks for supporting our adventure with your thoughts and insights!
The beginning began even before I met Mark, before I moved in a groaned about the kitchen (no counter space! no dishwasher! no garbage disposal!), before we tripped over the extension cord that connected to the one working outlet in our living room, before we wrangled for position in the 1ft by 1ft bathroom, and before we bought a queen sized bed that was so big for the bedroom that the closet door couldn't swing open or shut. So it's just always open.
As Mark tells it (and evidenced by photos and still-exposed dry wall in the kitchen), he tried his best to make it the house he really wanted. He cut a hole in the kitchen to install a back door, built a deck, re-wired and dry walled the bedrooms, and made the front and back yard lush with flowers, japanese maples, forest pansies, mondo grass, a yellow magnolia and beautifully landscaped walkways.
But there was that awful bathroom. And those bedroooms that, ideally, would suit a child in a twin bed rather than two adults who like clothes and shoes and spaces for all our books. And the low-ceilinged basement that would only serve as a dumping ground for our bought and forgotten junk.
So it was decided at some point years ago, that because we love our neighbors, our neighborhood and the proximity to work, it was better to rebuild than move. And here we are, on the eve of demolition, hoping we're making the right decision.
We'll post pictures, details, and hassles or delights of the day. Please make comments and suggestions - thanks for supporting our adventure with your thoughts and insights!
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