my younger self is on display

[saw]

In 1975 my twenty something self bought this row house near Lake Montebello in the northeast quadrant of Baltimore....they called it a Handyman Special and it was dirt cheap....it took all my resources to swing the deal, but it all worked out and I moved in with carpenter skills but no money....the house was heated with oil and the old woman that died here from smoking too many cigarettes used an oil company called Operators Heat....so I called them up and scheduled an appointment to have someone look at the furnace.

On the designated day a man in a suit and tie knocked on the door...I let him in, and we marched down the basement steps and opened the door to the furnace room....He took one look at my furnace and proclaimed in no uncertain terms that my furnace would not last through the winter. I told him i was broke, and he said well at least you should buy a service policy...I agreed to do that

As I was tearing old plaster from the walls to expose the gorgeous brick, the dust fouled up the thermostat...so armed with my new service policy I called the oil company so a serviceman could come take a look.....this time instead of a man in a suit, a man with coveralls showed up...once again we marched down those basement steps and opened the door to the furnace room....this is what he said..." God damn, an old National Boiler, you'll never burn that thing out !" ....the furnace is still there and runs like a deer.....

And so it was the new, young homeowner began to see the world in a different light.

One of the coolest things for me, still here some forty years later is to look around and see my twenty something self in every corner....the care and creativity. the themes that changed a rundown abode with grease and nicotine covering every surface including the glass window panes into a space that feels really nice...there is the warmth of the brick, but also Western Red Cedar, and Atlantic White Cedar, and old doors that people were throwing away....I built my kitchen cabinets.....I remember all the evenings after work when I trucked down to my friend Ole Olson's wood shop to work on them....and I would begin and grind away and at some point I'd think to myself it must be after midnight , I had better go home and get some sleep since work comes awfully early in the morning, so I'd peek around the corner at the old schoolhouse clock that read 3 am.

And so it was, a great deal of my youth ended up here in this house....so much of what i like here is what others did not.....I found ways to incorporate castoffs into the "decor".
so it's an eclectic smorgasbord that somehow actually works....

Since then I've painted murals, added on a sun porch, built decks, and built-in bookcases, and put in a wood stove. That makes the oil man angry....he only comes now about once every 4 years....I've chopped a lot of wood, and gathered a lot of kindling in 40 years, and it has never felt for one minute like work....I'm always joyful knowing my investment will keep me warm.

[mnaz]

Good story. So the first oil guy was basically lying through his teeth about the furnace that "wouldn't make it through the winter" (but has in fact made it through forty of them since then). Freakin' salesmen.

I used to do a lot more work on my place in my younger days, but then I got lazier as time went on. I need to get back to it though, because my place definitely needs some work.

[judih]

So cool that there is such a place that is home.

A compilation of history and love.
mnaz - being lazy in your home is your constitutional right. i salute you.

as a kibbutznik, I don't own my place. I live here. This spot for only 3 years. Smaller than the last place but without termites! Nothing gobbles at my bed or wooden closets. A relief, indeed.

Unfortunately, we're located at the crossroads of 3 roads. We see everyone who walks to our health clinic, who heads towards the Kibbutz Dining Room, or who rides bikes, motorcycles or clattery kick-em kid wheely things, full speed an inch from our front door.
But, there is a door. And a roof, and walls, albeit a little cracked after a mortar landed a little too close for comfort a few years ago.

In short, I'm lucky.
Let us all be lucky.