I love my new house.
I love my new yard.
I love my new mower.
The hill it is all situated on...
...that I hate with a fiery vengeance.
Showing posts with label Joys of homeowning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joys of homeowning. Show all posts
Monday, June 18, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Ikea goodness
Monday, March 05, 2007
Kryptonite
In case anyone has missed it, right now my life is insane. I just moved, and I am directing a play, and I have this pesky full-time job. Nearly everything I own is in boxes, the only place in my house that has any semblance of normalcy is my living room, and I have exactly 7 outfits unpacked that I can rotate to wear to school. So, when I have a day off, of course I spend it unpacking and organizing, right?
Wrong. Being me, I go to Ikea, 3 hours away.
Ikea gets mixed reviews -- some people hate it and think it is all absolute junk, some people could not care one way or another, and some people -- like me -- love it and could live there forever. Yes, their stuff is trendy and cheap, but I am way too fickle to spend thousands of dollars on furniture, knowing I will get tired of it in six months and start to hate it in a year. I have heard people say that they want to invest in quality pieces they can pass to their children, but let's face it, it's that kind of attitude that created the plague of hideous brown and orange plaid couches currently inhabiting half college apartments and dorm rooms in the country. Who am I to assume that my children (theoretical) will have the same taste as me? Goodness knows, my mother and I could not possibly be more disparate in our decorating choices, and the few pieces of furniture I got from her turned out...well, we'll just say things got unpleasant, and leave it at that. Which brings me back to Ikea, a Swedish wonderland of trendy furnishings for those of us not interested in leaving some sort of furniture legacy, other than perhaps to donate our used stuff to replace those ugly plaid couches.
One is best served to take a large vehicle to Ikea, because even though the furniture is flat-packed, come of it can be pretty big. But since this was a spur-of-the-moment trip, and I was more interested in preliminary looking than actual buying, I took the teeny tiny Tercel. I ended up doing a bit more buying than I originally intended, but it was mostly textiles, so everything fit nicely. I'll try to post some pictures later this week once I have everything up -- or maybe next month -- summer for sure.
Wrong. Being me, I go to Ikea, 3 hours away.
Ikea gets mixed reviews -- some people hate it and think it is all absolute junk, some people could not care one way or another, and some people -- like me -- love it and could live there forever. Yes, their stuff is trendy and cheap, but I am way too fickle to spend thousands of dollars on furniture, knowing I will get tired of it in six months and start to hate it in a year. I have heard people say that they want to invest in quality pieces they can pass to their children, but let's face it, it's that kind of attitude that created the plague of hideous brown and orange plaid couches currently inhabiting half college apartments and dorm rooms in the country. Who am I to assume that my children (theoretical) will have the same taste as me? Goodness knows, my mother and I could not possibly be more disparate in our decorating choices, and the few pieces of furniture I got from her turned out...well, we'll just say things got unpleasant, and leave it at that. Which brings me back to Ikea, a Swedish wonderland of trendy furnishings for those of us not interested in leaving some sort of furniture legacy, other than perhaps to donate our used stuff to replace those ugly plaid couches.
One is best served to take a large vehicle to Ikea, because even though the furniture is flat-packed, come of it can be pretty big. But since this was a spur-of-the-moment trip, and I was more interested in preliminary looking than actual buying, I took the teeny tiny Tercel. I ended up doing a bit more buying than I originally intended, but it was mostly textiles, so everything fit nicely. I'll try to post some pictures later this week once I have everything up -- or maybe next month -- summer for sure.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Endings
Today, February 28, 2007, is officially my last day as a renter. It is basically a technicality, since I have been living in my new house for 12 days and moved the last few things out on Saturday. All that is left in the house now is a bit of trash, a bed frame that will be picked up this weekend and a couple of boxes that would not fit in my car this weekend as I cleaned out the last few little nooks and crannies. The house has been professionally cleaned, the garage emptied and the attic cleared.
Last night I went with my best friend to see the house one last time. I lived in the house a total of nine years, and for the first three she and I lived there together, in those formative years just after college graduation, the years when life beats you over the head with its harsh realities, when you wonder if the meager paycheck will stretch to cover the bills and whether all that education was really worth it when you are working for minimum wage. Over the years we were there, we played host to more people than I can remember; people whose lease had run out, a mother and infant who had no where else to go, a friend's Ukranian mother who spoke no English and did not understand the thermostat, so she opened a window in her room that we did not discover until we went looking for the source of our triple-digit electric bills. On no less than four occasions I walked out in the morning or got home at night to find people waiting or sleeping in the driveway, hoping that they could come in for a few nights and share what little we had. I remember it through, I'm sure, rose-colored lenses, but upon reflection those years seem halcyon and bright. We built shelves out of boards and cinder blocks we painted green, and kept VHS movies in the openings in the blocks. I had a rickety loft bed made of cheap lumber that now I would never dare climb in, never mind sleep on. Every morning I would get up and take a shower, then go wake up J to make sure we would both make it to work on time. We shared my car, a mid-eighties Honda that I bought from a former professor, the first major purchase I made on my own, until J bought a similar one that never seemed to run quite right. We were poor and exceedingly silly, but everyone else we knew was too, so it was not as difficult as it might seem.
I learned a lot in that house. I learned how to share my space, that money can only go so far, and I began to grasp how selfish I really am. On a memorable day sitting in the living room, repainting those cinder blocks, I started to learn how to let go, and how to survive on my own. In that house I learned how to suffer, and how to get up and go on with life even when I want to do nothing more than to lay in bed and look at the wall. I learned that God can handle my anger, and loves me enough to want to hear from me, even when all I can pray are obscenities worse than anything I would ever inflict on another human. I learned that I need help, and how to find it and ask for it and accept it graciously. In that house I learned how to heal the wounds inflicted by my past, and how to break chains put on me by others, and that I piled on myself. In that house I learned about life and abundant life,and how to have both.
It was odd to be there last night, in the big empty echoing rooms, holding J's 5 month old son. His were not the first baby gurgles to be heard there, and I am certain they will not be the last, but there was something perfect and poetic about them. It seemed apropos that I held that new life while I said my last goodbye to the place where J and I had lived all those years ago.
Farewell little house. I hope everyone who lives in your rooms experiences life as richly as I did.
Last night I went with my best friend to see the house one last time. I lived in the house a total of nine years, and for the first three she and I lived there together, in those formative years just after college graduation, the years when life beats you over the head with its harsh realities, when you wonder if the meager paycheck will stretch to cover the bills and whether all that education was really worth it when you are working for minimum wage. Over the years we were there, we played host to more people than I can remember; people whose lease had run out, a mother and infant who had no where else to go, a friend's Ukranian mother who spoke no English and did not understand the thermostat, so she opened a window in her room that we did not discover until we went looking for the source of our triple-digit electric bills. On no less than four occasions I walked out in the morning or got home at night to find people waiting or sleeping in the driveway, hoping that they could come in for a few nights and share what little we had. I remember it through, I'm sure, rose-colored lenses, but upon reflection those years seem halcyon and bright. We built shelves out of boards and cinder blocks we painted green, and kept VHS movies in the openings in the blocks. I had a rickety loft bed made of cheap lumber that now I would never dare climb in, never mind sleep on. Every morning I would get up and take a shower, then go wake up J to make sure we would both make it to work on time. We shared my car, a mid-eighties Honda that I bought from a former professor, the first major purchase I made on my own, until J bought a similar one that never seemed to run quite right. We were poor and exceedingly silly, but everyone else we knew was too, so it was not as difficult as it might seem.
I learned a lot in that house. I learned how to share my space, that money can only go so far, and I began to grasp how selfish I really am. On a memorable day sitting in the living room, repainting those cinder blocks, I started to learn how to let go, and how to survive on my own. In that house I learned how to suffer, and how to get up and go on with life even when I want to do nothing more than to lay in bed and look at the wall. I learned that God can handle my anger, and loves me enough to want to hear from me, even when all I can pray are obscenities worse than anything I would ever inflict on another human. I learned that I need help, and how to find it and ask for it and accept it graciously. In that house I learned how to heal the wounds inflicted by my past, and how to break chains put on me by others, and that I piled on myself. In that house I learned about life and abundant life,and how to have both.
It was odd to be there last night, in the big empty echoing rooms, holding J's 5 month old son. His were not the first baby gurgles to be heard there, and I am certain they will not be the last, but there was something perfect and poetic about them. It seemed apropos that I held that new life while I said my last goodbye to the place where J and I had lived all those years ago.
Farewell little house. I hope everyone who lives in your rooms experiences life as richly as I did.
Friday, February 23, 2007
First hurdle....hurdled.
I have to say, I am pretty happy with the whole homeowner thing, overall. I love that I am not at all concerned with my landlord, and that in considering what sorts of things I want to do with the house, I can do whatever I want, even if it means painting the living room day-glo pink and intalling black lights.
The biggest fear I had when I was considering buying was the thought of dealing with major repairs -- the nice thing about renting is that if something breaks, you just call the landlord and then, magically, it gets fixed at no additional cost to you (or, in the case of my landlord, you call and convice him that it isn't actually your fault that the well ran dry or the 70 year old furnace broke again, and THEN he fixes it.) When you own your house, if something breaks YOU have to fix it, even if it costs a thousand dollars. To be quite honest, that scared the crap out of me.
So yesterday when I realized the gas I was smelling was not, in fact, all in my head, and I called the gas company and the nice gas company man met me at my door, I was pretty much shaking in my Birkenstocks. Fortunately, the problem was minor, and less than a hundred dollars later I had overcome my first homeowner catastrophe. Let's hope they are all as minor.
Speaking of doing whatever I want to the house, I still have no earthly idea what to do with the house. Any decorating geniuses out there have any ideas?
The biggest fear I had when I was considering buying was the thought of dealing with major repairs -- the nice thing about renting is that if something breaks, you just call the landlord and then, magically, it gets fixed at no additional cost to you (or, in the case of my landlord, you call and convice him that it isn't actually your fault that the well ran dry or the 70 year old furnace broke again, and THEN he fixes it.) When you own your house, if something breaks YOU have to fix it, even if it costs a thousand dollars. To be quite honest, that scared the crap out of me.
So yesterday when I realized the gas I was smelling was not, in fact, all in my head, and I called the gas company and the nice gas company man met me at my door, I was pretty much shaking in my Birkenstocks. Fortunately, the problem was minor, and less than a hundred dollars later I had overcome my first homeowner catastrophe. Let's hope they are all as minor.
Speaking of doing whatever I want to the house, I still have no earthly idea what to do with the house. Any decorating geniuses out there have any ideas?
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Quick update
For anyone wondering -- I am all moved, I still have some junk in my attic and garage that needs to be taken care of, but overall everything is moved, and I am starting the long process of unpacking. There is some furniture I still need, so I am soon venturing to Estate Specialists in the search, and since I have as show opening in 5 weeks, I will probably be living with the chaos for quite a while.
There has been an unforeseen consequence of all the stress in my life right now; between teaching, and directing, and moving, and trying to manage everything else, my mind and body have started to shut down, and I am so overwhelmed I am not terribly functional. I feel like a board that has gotten overloaded and is cracking on the way to snapping in two. I probably won't be updating much for a while until I can get adjusted, or until my stress level drops. Any prayers or positive thoughts would be appreciated.
There has been an unforeseen consequence of all the stress in my life right now; between teaching, and directing, and moving, and trying to manage everything else, my mind and body have started to shut down, and I am so overwhelmed I am not terribly functional. I feel like a board that has gotten overloaded and is cracking on the way to snapping in two. I probably won't be updating much for a while until I can get adjusted, or until my stress level drops. Any prayers or positive thoughts would be appreciated.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Wow.
It's really here. Tomorrow I will go to my title company and sign papers promising to pay back more money than I have ever seen in my life, and they will give me the key to the first real asset I have ever owned (I don't consider mid-90s cars assets. Call me crazy). In two days 25 people are coming to my house to load everything I own onto a rented truck and move it 3.6 miles to what will be, I hope, a great new home.
I am running through the entire human emotional experience on a 15 minute cycle, but they are mostly good emotions -- excitement, happiness, and that quivery sort of fear you get in the bottom of your stomach just at the top of a big hill on a roller coaster.
There are a few down sides to all this -- I am going a tiny bit crazy trying to get everything packed, there is a chance of snow on Saturday, which would create quite an issue, and, worst of all, I won't have Internet at home most of next week. Laugh if you will, but I'm an addict, and it will be hard to go without.
So, gentle reader, don't expect to hear from me much in the next week or so, and think good thoughts. I'll let you know how it all goes. Thanks for your support!
I am running through the entire human emotional experience on a 15 minute cycle, but they are mostly good emotions -- excitement, happiness, and that quivery sort of fear you get in the bottom of your stomach just at the top of a big hill on a roller coaster.
There are a few down sides to all this -- I am going a tiny bit crazy trying to get everything packed, there is a chance of snow on Saturday, which would create quite an issue, and, worst of all, I won't have Internet at home most of next week. Laugh if you will, but I'm an addict, and it will be hard to go without.
So, gentle reader, don't expect to hear from me much in the next week or so, and think good thoughts. I'll let you know how it all goes. Thanks for your support!
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Single digit reality
Seven days from today I will be moving, assuming all goes according to plan. My house is packed up (mostly), the books are off the shelves, and I have boxes of stuff ready to go to whatever charity will take it. The lists have been checked off, and I am experiencing the joy of living in a cardboard city.
Every time I go through any kind of major life change, I end up wallowing in nostalgia, and wondering if I have made the right decision. This time, though, as scared as I am of taking this step, and as intimidating as my remaining to-do list may be, I'm not sad to leave. I have been here nearly a decade, and my time in this house has been filled with emotion and change; I've gone through roommates, changed careers, laughed, cried, and learned how to really live. Now it all seems old and tired, and I feel...finished. Let the next chapter begin.
Every time I go through any kind of major life change, I end up wallowing in nostalgia, and wondering if I have made the right decision. This time, though, as scared as I am of taking this step, and as intimidating as my remaining to-do list may be, I'm not sad to leave. I have been here nearly a decade, and my time in this house has been filled with emotion and change; I've gone through roommates, changed careers, laughed, cried, and learned how to really live. Now it all seems old and tired, and I feel...finished. Let the next chapter begin.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Erin's guide to home shopping
When one decides it is time to buy a home for the first time, there are many, many useful websites to help guide you though the process. But you will very quickly learn that the websites have left out some important bits of information. The most important bit -- unless you have a LOT of money, the process is not as easy as the websites make it sound. Almost equally important is the vocabulary. See, when it comes to real estate, all that glitters cannot be escrowed. So, in order to help future home buyers avoid surprises, I have compiled this useful list of terms.
Adorable bungalow: No closets. Anywhere.
Beautiful lot: Enjoy the yard, because you are going to cry when you see the inside.
Cozy: Roughly the size of a dollhouse.
Charming: None of the three windows open.
Enthusiastic seller: Owner needs to move before his bookie tracks him down.
Enjoyable country living: A total of 10 square feet in the middle of nowhere.
Fabulous investment opportunity: You better have some extra cash and a spare house because you'll need to make this place livable before you can move in.
Fixer-upper: You don't really NEED floors, right?
Great starter home: Good luck fitting furniture in.
Hot area!: Your neighbor will be a crack dealer.
Lots of character!: Unidentifiable smell will never go away.
Motivated seller: Owners entering the witness protection program.
Near Public Transportation: Behind the railroad tracks. On the wrong side.
Needs a little TLC: Ugliest paint and/or wallpaper in the history of the universe.
On golf course!: Windows will need to be replaced.
Original hardwood floors: Oldest, creakiest floors you've ever seen, will never come clean.
Priced to sell: Owners want to get out before the rats actually take over.
Secluded Hide-Away: No utilities.
Waterfront view: Mold may eat your pets.
Young, vibrant neighborhood: College students partying all night next door.
And the most important one of them all.....
Sold as is: Run. NOW.
Adorable bungalow: No closets. Anywhere.
Beautiful lot: Enjoy the yard, because you are going to cry when you see the inside.
Cozy: Roughly the size of a dollhouse.
Charming: None of the three windows open.
Enthusiastic seller: Owner needs to move before his bookie tracks him down.
Enjoyable country living: A total of 10 square feet in the middle of nowhere.
Fabulous investment opportunity: You better have some extra cash and a spare house because you'll need to make this place livable before you can move in.
Fixer-upper: You don't really NEED floors, right?
Great starter home: Good luck fitting furniture in.
Hot area!: Your neighbor will be a crack dealer.
Lots of character!: Unidentifiable smell will never go away.
Motivated seller: Owners entering the witness protection program.
Near Public Transportation: Behind the railroad tracks. On the wrong side.
Needs a little TLC: Ugliest paint and/or wallpaper in the history of the universe.
On golf course!: Windows will need to be replaced.
Original hardwood floors: Oldest, creakiest floors you've ever seen, will never come clean.
Priced to sell: Owners want to get out before the rats actually take over.
Secluded Hide-Away: No utilities.
Waterfront view: Mold may eat your pets.
Young, vibrant neighborhood: College students partying all night next door.
And the most important one of them all.....
Sold as is: Run. NOW.
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