Or something closely resembling a dining room. Sort of. We took out the wall dividing the room, put up a big ol' header, and then replaced half of the floor. We'll need to replace all the floors at some point.
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No! We thought it was quaint!
Here's how delusional we were. We had plumbing problems (of course), and in an effort to fix a leak, some plumbing guys were crawling around under our house. They emerged holding some yellowed, crumbling, rolled-up newspapers, which they'd found wrapped around our pipes, apparently as insulation. We carefully unwrapped one of the newspapers and found that it was a Miami Herald from 1927. It had a story in it about Charles Lindbergh.
So there we were, confronted with stark evidence that our pipes, in addition to leaking, were very old. It's like being aboard a boat in the middle of the Pacific and discovering that not only were you sinking, but also your hull was made entirely of Triscuits.
How did we react to this horrible news? We were thrilled! Charles Lindbergh! It was so charming! The plumbers were also very excited, but in their case it was because they knew we would be putting all their children through Harvard.
Our House Delusion Disease is very powerful. Usually, when you buy an old house, you hire professional house inspectors. These inspectors are very thorough: They spend a whole day crawling around the house, and then they give you a detailed, written report, which says "Do not buy this house, you idiot!"
INSPECTOR: I want to show you something in the living room ...
YOU: Don't you love that room? It has such character! The molding!
INSPECTOR: About the molding -- I wanted you to see this. (The inspector takes a screwdriver and taps it against the molding. The molding disappears in a smokelike puff of wood particles. Then a large part of the wall itself collapses, leaving a gaping hole, through which can be seen, in the gloom, an exposed wire that periodically emits a shower of sparks, illuminating a dripping pipe covered with green slime. A rat darts by, pursued by what seems to be a boa constrictor.)
YOU: Ha ha! These quirky old houses! That can be repaired, right?
INSPECTOR: Well, I suppose it could, if you're willing to ...
YOU: I'm not worried about cosmetic problems, as long as the house is structurally sound. (You stamp your foot on the floor to emphasize this point. Your foot goes through the floor.)
INSPECTOR: Um, that's another thing. Your floor joists have been almost entirely eaten away.
YOU: (retracting your foot) Termites? No biggie! A lot of these old houses have termites! We can just have it treated by ...
INSPECTOR: Actually, it's beavers. They're building a dam in the basement.
YOU: (silence)
INSPECTOR: I've never seen that before.
YOU: (recovering) Well, the kids have been wanting a pet!
At this point the inspector, who has dealt with OHDD before, gives up and edges out of the room, taking care not to put too much weight on any one part of the floor.
You, of course, buy the house. As a true OHDD victim, you would buy this house if it were on fire. Once it's yours, you begin calling what will become a never-ending parade of highly paid craftsmen, who will spend so much time at your house that eventually they will become a part of your family, and invite you to attend all their children's graduations from college.
Nora Stories
Old Man across the street says she was always mad about all the apples all over her front lawn, and so she would try to get him to put them back up in the tree for her.
She was independent, and didn't want help from anybody, though she needed it. Neighbor on the left says he used to come every Monday morning to put her garbage can out by the street. She didn't want him to, but he kept doing it, though she stood on her porch and yelled at him the whole time.
She was independent, and didn't want help from anybody, though she needed it. Neighbor on the left says he used to come every Monday morning to put her garbage can out by the street. She didn't want him to, but he kept doing it, though she stood on her porch and yelled at him the whole time.
HISTORY
We never met the lady who owned the house before we bought it, but from the stories I have heard, I would have liked to. I don't know how long she had lived alone in the house; She trusted very few people, but did have one neighbor she would let in to change her light bulbs when they burned out (just no more than one at a time). There was some slight evidence at the back of the house of fire, and it is generally believed that she started this fire herself by accident. Not long after the fire she went into a nursing home and the house was put up for sale by her extended family. However, we received an inside tip suggesting that her family actually started the fire to convince her she needed to be in a home so that they could sell the house. Just four months after entering the nursing home, she died.
Home Sickness by Dave Barry
Old House Delusion Disease
More than once I have had my brain paralyzed by what psychiatrists call Old House Delusion Disease (OHDD). My wife and I bought an old house that had every known old-house problem, including termites, not to mention a grand total of one closet, and an entire room that had no electrical outlets -- a clear indication that the house was not built by or for people with a need for, say, lighting. Were we discouraged?No! We thought it was quaint!
Here's how delusional we were. We had plumbing problems (of course), and in an effort to fix a leak, some plumbing guys were crawling around under our house. They emerged holding some yellowed, crumbling, rolled-up newspapers, which they'd found wrapped around our pipes, apparently as insulation. We carefully unwrapped one of the newspapers and found that it was a Miami Herald from 1927. It had a story in it about Charles Lindbergh.
So there we were, confronted with stark evidence that our pipes, in addition to leaking, were very old. It's like being aboard a boat in the middle of the Pacific and discovering that not only were you sinking, but also your hull was made entirely of Triscuits.
How did we react to this horrible news? We were thrilled! Charles Lindbergh! It was so charming! The plumbers were also very excited, but in their case it was because they knew we would be putting all their children through Harvard.
Our House Delusion Disease is very powerful. Usually, when you buy an old house, you hire professional house inspectors. These inspectors are very thorough: They spend a whole day crawling around the house, and then they give you a detailed, written report, which says "Do not buy this house, you idiot!"
Love Is Blind
Not in so many words, of course. The report breaks the house down by major defects, then sub-defects. The house, according to the report, consists entirely of defects. You read the report, but because you have OHDD, none of it actually penetrates your brain, even when the inspector goes out of his way to warn you about serious problems:INSPECTOR: I want to show you something in the living room ...
YOU: Don't you love that room? It has such character! The molding!
INSPECTOR: About the molding -- I wanted you to see this. (The inspector takes a screwdriver and taps it against the molding. The molding disappears in a smokelike puff of wood particles. Then a large part of the wall itself collapses, leaving a gaping hole, through which can be seen, in the gloom, an exposed wire that periodically emits a shower of sparks, illuminating a dripping pipe covered with green slime. A rat darts by, pursued by what seems to be a boa constrictor.)
YOU: Ha ha! These quirky old houses! That can be repaired, right?
INSPECTOR: Well, I suppose it could, if you're willing to ...
YOU: I'm not worried about cosmetic problems, as long as the house is structurally sound. (You stamp your foot on the floor to emphasize this point. Your foot goes through the floor.)
INSPECTOR: Um, that's another thing. Your floor joists have been almost entirely eaten away.
YOU: (retracting your foot) Termites? No biggie! A lot of these old houses have termites! We can just have it treated by ...
INSPECTOR: Actually, it's beavers. They're building a dam in the basement.
YOU: (silence)
INSPECTOR: I've never seen that before.
YOU: (recovering) Well, the kids have been wanting a pet!
At this point the inspector, who has dealt with OHDD before, gives up and edges out of the room, taking care not to put too much weight on any one part of the floor.
You, of course, buy the house. As a true OHDD victim, you would buy this house if it were on fire. Once it's yours, you begin calling what will become a never-ending parade of highly paid craftsmen, who will spend so much time at your house that eventually they will become a part of your family, and invite you to attend all their children's graduations from college.
1 comments:
Spacious!
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