Sometimes I look back at my decision to buy this old house and wonder if I really knew what I was getting into. There were problems from the get go. After buying it I had to move into it myself, with little help from Daniel because he had school and work. Then my work schedule prevented me from getting much done, add to that the fact that money was tight and that there was just SO much stuff that needed to get done I couldn't figure out where to start. That was a few years ago. It took over a year for me to really get moving on the house. Once I started I realized that all my planning was for nothing. The paint colours I chose were no longer the ones I wanted to work with. The floors turned out to be only HALF finished (so, picking up a corner of carpet and checking to see what's underneath doesn't always work out). Someone had stained and finished the floors....but left a section in the middle, where it looks like a throw rug sat, completely bare. Just wood. Splinters. Knot holes. The walls were covered in wallpaper that wrinkled when painted over. The ceilings were half finished with "popcorn". Fun fun fun.
The past two weeks I have been working on our back stairway. It is one of those steep, curving stairwells that so many old houses have. My Grandmothers' house had a set, and I remember loving them when I was a kid. The back stairs here were closed up by me after moving in. Thanks to a nasty leak from the roof the area smelled funny. The wallboard that was there was put up in the 1970's and covered crumbling plaster. I needed to start on this area so that we have an alternate route to the bedrooms and bathrooms so that my floors downstairs can get done. It was time to open up the old servants stairway and get to work. I pulled down the funky 70's wallboard panels. I saw much of the plaster come with it. The rest of the plaster was in sad shape, spotted with mold, horsehair sticking out here and there. I started scraping off the loose plaster, and cleaning the mold off of the good plaster that is still intact. Now I have begun replastering the walls at the bottom of the stairs and scraping the wallpaper at the top of the stairs. It's a slow, messy project. I can see a difference already, though. The little bit I've gotten done gives me hope.....reminds me of the awe I felt when I first saw the house with my realtor and admired the "good bones" and spaciousness of it. I love this house. Like any relationship though, there are the ups and downs. When I am feeling down about it I head to my dining room and look at all the work I put into it....and I am reminded that my work is always rewarded here. The house is slowly becoming a home. Again. The house once belonged to a man who helped found the little village I live in. I am hoping to restore some of the beauty that was lost in the careless years. Wish me luck.
