I like the moment in life when you’re standing on the front porch watching a selling agent take her sign out of your newly purchased front yard—it’s a really good moment. I am the happy owner of a fixer-upper packed with potential that sits ever-so-perfectly on a corner lot in one of the friendliest neighborhoods in town. My house is located smack-dab in the middle of a street that is home to two families—the Hunts and Thomases—who are dear to me and the street is dotted with friends both new and old.
I love where this house is locationally but I really LOVE where it is physically. It’s a wreck. While it sat empty, a pipe burst and the great flood of Bradford Avenue went down right there inside the house. Every wall soaked up a little bit of the action. Every single piece of hardwood buckled. Some of the ceiling gave up the ghost and fell straight to the floor. This house is a moldy mess ready for remediation and renovation.
With the help of a ridiculously talented contractor, whose vision absolutely blows my mind, the rest of the summer and better part of the fall will be spent taking things apart and putting better things together. You are welcome to watch the whole thing happen. Hopefully, you’ll be inspired.
So, in the words of Ryan Adams—and the song that runs through my mind each time I pull into the driveway—this house is definitely not for sale. Not anymore.