For those who have followed the long, long, LONG tale of this humble house renovation, you’ll find it hard to believe that this project is almost done.* A mere 16+ years of my life consumed by sawdust and drywall mud. THAT’S TWO HUNDRED MONTHS of plans, dreams, sweat, tears, wounds, failures and regrets. And many, many years of inertia.
*Done (adj.): a state in which the house could be put on the housing market, (potentially) sell, and (theoretically) pass basic inspections.
Last summer was dedicated to construction, and this summer to surface details. I am exhausted by the endless plodding through these final projects. I was 36 when I bought this house – young, eager, and naive. One tends to bounce at 36 and simply move on. At 54, I splatter and stop. Time is no longer on my side.
I am slowly working through each of my five main level rooms (yes – just 5 rooms), bouncing back and forth between them depending on the day’s project(s). Once done, there should be some telling before and after shots of each.
Until then, here’s a reminder of how it all started. A less than charming 900 SF cottage with tar paper siding in a depressed neighborhood in small town that had not yet found its footing. It was a huge risk to purchase that house. Not fiscally, but emotionally. Had there not been a socioeconomic and cultural uptick in Staunton over the years, this would have been a much different post.