After years of fits and starts I have found a wonderful new house which meets all my requirements. For many a year I searched for a house that was large and roomy, with beautiful details and many fireplaces, plenty of bedrooms, and that was basically left unremuddled (a term I love from The Old House Journal). A house in a state of deshabille, in short, a house that needs a rescue.The kitchen is everything I dreamed of : a mishmash of the past with remnants of the original kitchen, the butler’s pantry, subway tiles and a white hex tile floors living companionably with cabinets from an indeterminate age, possibly circa Mrs. Cleever.Happily, none of this is worth saving and I feel no compunction about tearing into it with a chain saw and ripping out its guts. Two sun porches, one huge one with the most glorious exposure (Southwest), and a small one off the dining room (Southeast exposure).The latter is begging to be a breakfast room. The kitchen is asking me to break the wall down that separates them and join them together as God intended.
And there’s so much more. I can’t stop thinking about it. If you’re that kind of person (and you know who you are), a house can be a fury of obsession. The wonderful Tabula Rasa that invites you in and you listen, and ponder, and seek, and meditate, all until you make your move and seize the day: choose a paint color, consider a lamp, whatever to do with the floors. And it’s not quite a Tabula Rasa because there is already ones furniture, and books and all those things.
Behold, the object of my affection:
Sleeping Beauty, shrouded in cobwebs, slumbers on.