When I bought my mess of a house almost two years ago I remember hoping that somewhere under all the walls that would be ripped out and rearranged, that anywhere there might be just a tiny bit of brick. I wanted to peel back a layer of drywall or section of icky paneling and find a strip, a sliver, just a smidge of brick. Of course, I had these grandiose dreams of brick because of pictures like this:
I recall the day Brad let me know he & the demo guys found some brick. You might have thought—if you were a stranger watching me receive the trail of text messages—that I had won the lottery or bumped into Adam Levine while crossing the street. I was that happy at the prospect of it all.
Even if only a sliver of brick like this:
Not so much. This is what my house handed me: Brick with gloppy mortar hidden in the middle of a wall that would soon be torn out to open up the kitchen. And, that was the end of that. No interior brick for me. Some dreams die a quick death.
Nearly two years later I’m standing in Allen’s kitchen helping him decide on a cabinet layout when he says, “I think there’s brick under this wall.” Really? “There’s brick in the basement right below us that’s in pretty good shape.” Guess what was hiding under Allen’s drywall.
People dream of this. I dream of this…
The hard part (making selections) is over and the rest is like clockwork: floors, cabinets, counters. I’m eager to see this kitchen come together over the next few weeks!