In trying times, I am easily distracted by shopping. And, like many men, the bigger the item the better. Thus, real estate becomes a siren calling out to me. Friends are looking at real estate in Montana, giving Roomie and I the opportunity to vicariously experience the thrill of real estate shopping.
While we were shopping for our house in Takoma Park, we came very close to buying the Perfect Little House. It was in our price range, and the neighborhood was ho-hum. The house was a mock-Tudor built in 1949 and had been occupied by the original owners since then. From the entrance foyer, there was a small living room on the left and a small dining room with a built in corner-hutch on the right. At the back of the living room, a tidy screened in porch projected from the house. Behind the dining room, a smallish kitchen with breakfast nook had all its original cabinetry.
Upstairs, there were two bedrooms. The larger of the two had a small additional room with a window coming off of it. The capacious closets had lights and were lined with cedar. The woodwork throughout the house was immaculate. This couple must have made the kids remove their shoes in the house. Or maybe, like us, they didn't have kids.
Downstairs from the kitchen was the rumpus room. It was finished in black and red linoleum tile and had an electric fireplace. I don't think there was a bar there, but there could have been. The water pipes were orginal and copper. The previous owner paid for top quality stuff.
The garage was a stone one-car affair. Cute as a bug, but too small for our needs. Something would have had to remain outside, and it was not going to be the motorcycles. Because the garage was smaller, the yard was decently-sized. Furthermore, it was fenced and well-maintained to boot. The dogs would have loved it.
Alas, the house was one room too small for our needs. But it was a real one-owner cream puff, the single-family residential equivalent of the car that the little old lady drove only on Sundays, when she had it waxed. We went for a larger house with a larger garage and a smaller yard. Compared to the PLH, the place we ended up with was a dump when we took possession. Once the floors were done and the interior was painted, it was nice in its own way. But it was restored, rather than conserved, the latter making even the wallpaper at the PLH tolerable. The thought we could live in such a place filled us with the idea that we could be a couple worthy and deserving of stewarding such a home. I think we are over it now.Posted by webs0080 at January 5, 2005 7:44 AM