Someone bought it and tore it down and built a new house in its footprint and I've been watching the progress of this project for months. It is for sale by owner, so there's no MLS, and no website but I scanned a couple of photos from the flyer.
The price is a tad ambitious at $385,000 for an 1800 square foot cottage on a shabby block of a busy street. It is lovely, though, with high ceilings, and built-ins, with an antique cupboard incorporated into the kitchen, a beautiful system of built-in drawers in the bedrooms. The house is bright and light and has little thoughtful touches like the chalkboard paint on the side of a narrow cupboard--with a little tray for the chalk-- in the kitchen.
Grace, who came with me to the open house, wanted to buy it immediately. It was so seductive, those clean neutral walls, and shining, smudge-free windows, the lot, innocent of weeds and covered with straw and baby grass. I was half-ready to make an offer myself. It was like, if we moved into this house, our lives would become perfect. I have since come to my senses and remembered that the minute we moved all our seedy, doggy, scratch-and-dent paraphernalia into this pristine little house, it would immediately become a wreck, and our lives wouldn't change at all, except that we'd have a much bigger mortgage payment and I'd have to back my car out onto a busy street, which would quickly drive me mad.
A fact about having kids and dogs: they trash your house to shit. The day our new couches were delivered, I told my kids in thunderous tones that they absolutely were not allowed to eat on them. Within ten hours--TEN HOURS--someone had spilled chocolate pudding onto the arm of the new loveseat. Do you have kids? Do you have dogs? If so, share below something of yours that they've wrecked.
But let's say a fairy gave me sparkling and perfect furniture to put into this new house. There's still the problem of selling my current house, which is over 100 years old and has many, many things wrong with it. For example, there's some sort of unspeakable leak between one of the chimneys and the wall. Previous owners concealed under drywall the evidence of a fire in the closet under the stairs. Last year when Jon and I exposed the charred underside of the floorboards that make up our landing, we tried to fortify it with wood putty. Now chunks of the charred floor are breaking off. An alarming crack has appeared between two of the boards. Someone is going to end up putting their leg through the floor, or possibly even falling into the closet. I shudder at the memory of the day when, oblivious to our disintegrating floor, we brought the new washing machine upstairs and it was stuck on the landing until we found a way to force it the rest of the way up the stairs.
I'm not really being fair to my house, here. It has *loads* of potential and has housed us comfortably for nearly thirteen years and something in its construction must be right, because it has survived several earthquakes and countless hurricanes. Once we get done with two kids in college, we'll start another project.