Even before my fiance said those seven words that would change my life, I knew the house I just stepped into was going to be my future home. It was one of those days when you just knew it was going to snow and we had pushed open the door to The Paneled Palace. I remember looking around, seeing those ceiling tiles, the paneled walls and the plush 70's carpeting. Which strangely appeared to have some sort of a zebra stripe running through it. The house was still completely furnished from the previous owner. An old man, absolutely. Perhaps European?
It was only a moment after we stepped inside that I heard him whisper, "I think this is our new house." My first thought was that he had lost his mind. Although I knew we were looking for something to fix ourselves (Mr. B is a carpenter by trade) I didn't think we were looking for that kind of a fixer. The longer we stood there in the cold living room, I noticed some strange things. Was that a hand stitched needle point of a Scandinavian country on the wall? Upon closer examination I came to the realization that yes, yes it was, complete with the Norweigian name printed out on a label and affixed to the bottom of the frame. (That was just the start of finding labels on everything) And don't let your eyes fool you, those are two large golden roosters on the wall. We ventured further into the house and that's when I realized that the living room was only the beginning of the excitement.
With each room that we moved into, more treasures were found. The large gun rack, at least five feet wide hanging on another paneled wall. Wait a minute, not another paneled wall, but wallpaper meant to look like paneling. (Suppose there wasn't enough in the living room and kitchen) And then we made it to the bathroom where the door wouldn't even open all the way because it hit the extra long counter behind it. And don't go thinking that this was a woman's dream with long counter tops, just made for pretty canisters to hold tolietries. No, this wasn't that at all. This was strange, extra counter space behind a door that you couldn't even get to. I'm still not sure what the point of that was.
So we made it through the whole house and Mr. B kept getting more and more excited. "This is our house! I just know it!" By the time we had looked through the entire house the snow had blanketed the ground and we told the realtor we'd think about it. It didn't take one minute into the car ride home for him to suggest we put a bid on the house. I still couldn't get past the red heat lamp in the bathroom that made it feel like The Bates Motel. Still, he asked that I see past it's current look and trust that he could turn it into my dream house. (A quaint, coastal, Nantucket style cottage by the way) Not exactly the look of the one that we had stepped into.
Still, we decided together that if anyone was going to make a change to this place, it was us and so we put in a offer. Four excruciatingly long weeks later we received the call. The place was ours. We just had to decide what to do first.
It was only a moment after we stepped inside that I heard him whisper, "I think this is our new house." My first thought was that he had lost his mind. Although I knew we were looking for something to fix ourselves (Mr. B is a carpenter by trade) I didn't think we were looking for that kind of a fixer. The longer we stood there in the cold living room, I noticed some strange things. Was that a hand stitched needle point of a Scandinavian country on the wall? Upon closer examination I came to the realization that yes, yes it was, complete with the Norweigian name printed out on a label and affixed to the bottom of the frame. (That was just the start of finding labels on everything) And don't let your eyes fool you, those are two large golden roosters on the wall. We ventured further into the house and that's when I realized that the living room was only the beginning of the excitement.
With each room that we moved into, more treasures were found. The large gun rack, at least five feet wide hanging on another paneled wall. Wait a minute, not another paneled wall, but wallpaper meant to look like paneling. (Suppose there wasn't enough in the living room and kitchen) And then we made it to the bathroom where the door wouldn't even open all the way because it hit the extra long counter behind it. And don't go thinking that this was a woman's dream with long counter tops, just made for pretty canisters to hold tolietries. No, this wasn't that at all. This was strange, extra counter space behind a door that you couldn't even get to. I'm still not sure what the point of that was.
So we made it through the whole house and Mr. B kept getting more and more excited. "This is our house! I just know it!" By the time we had looked through the entire house the snow had blanketed the ground and we told the realtor we'd think about it. It didn't take one minute into the car ride home for him to suggest we put a bid on the house. I still couldn't get past the red heat lamp in the bathroom that made it feel like The Bates Motel. Still, he asked that I see past it's current look and trust that he could turn it into my dream house. (A quaint, coastal, Nantucket style cottage by the way) Not exactly the look of the one that we had stepped into.
Still, we decided together that if anyone was going to make a change to this place, it was us and so we put in a offer. Four excruciatingly long weeks later we received the call. The place was ours. We just had to decide what to do first.
