Being fifty-something, I should have my feelings more under control.
But I haven’t. I am fickle.
When we bought our current home more than 12 years ago, I fell in love at first sight. This grand old dame had me at “verandah”.
We settled in fast, devising a ten-year plan to boost our investment in a high capital growth area while we enjoyed life in the city. Surely by then My Girl and Wonder Boy would have flown the nest and we’d be ready for a move to the country.
We were right on one count only.
My Girl has made her way out into the big wide world several years ago.
Wonder Boy is still hanging on, teetering on the edge, almost ready to take flight.
And I’m not ready for a move to the country.
Feck. There go our best laid plans …
When we moved here in 2000, we set about renovating. Serious renovating. I mean knocking out walls. Unearthing beautiful period features of our home that a previous generation of 1970s renovators had eaten up.
We painted. We polished. We plastered. We sandblasted and glazed and painted some more. It seemed never-ending. But over the years we got tired, maybe bored, and slowed down on the work.
We busied ourselves with other things and learned to live with the undone renovations, as if they didn’t exist.
We dropped the ball.
In the last eighteen months or so, we swung our ten-year plan into action.
We needed to ready our house for sale so we could downsize to something smaller.
Something in the country.
We picked up that renovating ball and got it bouncing.
We turned this, into this
And this, into this
And this, into this (still a work in progress)
ANd this into this (WIP)
We even renovated the bathroom and I got this dreamy bath.
Now I’m not sure I can leave. I am falling in love with this house ALL over again. I’m motivated more than ever to show this home some more love.
Yes, this grand old dame still has me at “verandah”.
“Here” doesn’t feel like a rut whatsoever.
And a move to the country doesn’t seem nearly as inviting as it did ten years ago.
Eventually our retirement is likely to depend on us unlocking some capital from this house as we move on to something smaller and more manageable.
For now (for the next wee while, at least) I’m loving making this house our home again … a fifty-something home. We’re creating a new legacy and something to leave behind … something for the next generation of renovators to rip out and re-fashion.
Yes, I’m loving falling in love with our house ALL over again. There I said it. Again.
Time to break it to Mr P that my heart belongs
to another here.
My spidey sense tells me he might be feeling the same way and loving this resurgence of our renovation mojo as much as I am.
Why else would he be calling himself the “roofing ninja” this week?