Happy two-year anniversary, you giant, paycheck-stealing, pretty, endless, battleship of a house, you.
As Hurricane Sandy was hitting NY and rain and wind were threatening to close the attorney’s office and registrar where our signing would be recorded that day, we were doing our walk through. Lou was already fixing things and we didn’t even own you yet.
We’ve since replaced the gutters. Who knew gutters cost so much?
You’ve brought us so much joy, Deep Eaves.
You make our boring weekends sound fun (we built a fence!). You make our lame Friday nights acceptable (can’t go out, need to save for that new toilet!). You give others a way to fill awkward silences: “So, how’s the house?!” is asked with feigned interested. I appreciate it. I mean, it’s not like we can whip out photos of the kids.
After our first winter spent washing both the dishes and our faces in the same ancient sink in a decrepit, unheated bathroom (if you can call it that), you have surely strengthened our immune systems and fortified the bacteria in our digestive tracks to resist almost anything.
Are you grossed out yet? I am.
Well, except for that one 24-hour episode. But I still blame the crockpot.
We spent the morning of the Marathon Bomber chase in the backyard with my parents, despite orders to stay indoors, arranging bushes while helicopters buzzed overhead.
All but two of those bushes died. Figures.
We have planted two rounds of grass seed in the backyard, fingers crossed this last round will survive the coming winter. The first round didn’t survive the painters and fence project.
We found that $200 your previous people shoved in the cracks of the basement walls. Thanks for keeping it dry so we could promptly spend it on wine and cheese and a football game.
Speaking of the basement, our most valuable possessions in the entire 3,747 square feet of you are the Very Nice Tools in the basement. Not joking.
Jesus came with you and watched over us until we started up airbnb a couple months ago, at which point he now simply watches the ceiling in the laundry room from the top of the cabinet. Because a creepy Jesus bust does not a positive review make.
We (the royal we) have painted every room in this house, including closets, minus the interior stairwell to the basement, which i think about painting every time I’m in it, but have to remind myself NONONONO! NO MORE PAINTING.
Two years has brought all new plumbing. New electrical in many of the rooms (running wire was probably my least favorite, most hated project). Two new kitchens. Two new baths with a third on the way (with subway tile!). New paint on the exterior of the house. Credit cards. Loans. No signs of ghosts. Or the million dollars I was hoping was buried deep in the walls. Living in the best part of Boston, one of the few parts I will sincerely miss when we move away (someday). Paint on a majority of the clothes I own. Shoes that should have been replaced a long time ago. And Lou and I are still together!
Someone learned to use a snow shovel.
This post marks the 50th blog entry. Pitiful for two years, but it sounds great when you consider that Lou is still trying to find the perfect pen with which to write a rough draft first post. Wait, I take that back. He’s busy drawing up countless plans for the next projects, the ones I’ll be posting about here. Because that’s how it works.
Deep Eaves & Empty Pockets 