I think I looked at this house for the first time back in December 2015. As the seller led me on a story-filled tour I was struck by how comfortable I felt in this place. I'd looked at other properties but this was the only one where that I-could-totally-live-here feeling washed over me this way. Full disclosure, I looked at some absolute shit-holes so perhaps the bar was lower. Also if you talk to my good friend and real estate agent, April, she'll probably tell you I was out of my mind or that my mind was all over the place. I couldn't articulate what I was looking for so that she could narrow the choices for me. All I could say was I was looking for the perfect place. If that turned out to be a two-flat that needed gutting, or a condo, or a single family home, the answer was Yes. As long as it felt right.
But this house! This block! The history of its owners! I was smitten from day one. It needs a lot of work. A LOT! But it checked off some boxes. It has a proper dining room that is big enough for plenty of friends and family, and dare I say it finally I can throw that Big Night Timpano party. Hell yes! The outdoor space is perfect for me, room for a few raised beds, a shady area with a patio, a built-in gas grill and a huge garage. And guys, I've loved this block for years. I closed on May 26 but it still hasn't sank in that I own a house here.
I hear horror stories about renovations but it is something I have always wanted to do. I don't mean doing the work myself, I mean buying a place with potential, finally releasing all those pent-up ideas and transforming it into a personal sanctuary. I know living through it will be hell but I'm hoping to embrace the process and who knows, maybe I can work on transforming myself in parallel. God knows I need it.