Hidey Holes

By Saturday afternoon, I've usually spent at least 6 days pretty much constantly in the company of someone who is trying to talk to me.  It's delightful having small children, it really is, but I am a person who reaches a point where another discussion of volcanoes, earthquakes and black holes becomes just another wave of noise breaking over my head, and one more round of "Let It Go" might send me underwater for good.  So this Saturday afternoon, my nice husband packed me off for some quality time at our (blissfully unoccupied) house.  Because I have a knack for forgetting things, I got to the house and discovered that though I brought the camera I left the battery behind, and frankly, I didn't love you enough to drive the four whole blocks back to the apartment to get it.  So here's a post made entirely of phone photos.

There's probably still some chile peppers the wall under that plywood.  Drat!

They pretty much finished framing on Friday, and for a while on Saturday morning got started with the sheathing.  I'm surprised how having actual walls changes the feeling of the space--I thought it would feel smaller because everything is closed, but the rooms that are sheathed actually feel bigger.

I spent some time looking at the play of light through the windows, now that they're actually windows, but then wandered around (enjoying the quiet and) checking out spaces that I don't usually get to go.  The visit kind of became all about the cozy spots, intentional and unintentional, that are emerging in our new old house.

Here's my feet next to the framing in an intentional cozy spot--we had a walk-though meeting with our contractor and architect Friday morning, and, among other things, I asked if they'd mind making this little nook.  "No problem!" they said.  "That will be a great place for storage."  And here it is on Saturday, done, and, um, yes, I'm sure it could be a great place for storage.  Or a great place for sitting and reading or napping.  And this is the only picture you get because it's secret.  What on earth would be the point of building your own half-house if you don't get to have a secret room?

We also discussed Friday adding some decking to the existing attic, which is really a pretty nice attic, when it's not 8 million degrees.  Because it's often 8 million degrees, because I've always been afraid of falling through the ceiling, and because you can never be sure what's hanging out in the attic of an old house, I haven't really poked around in the attic in 9 years of living in our house.  Fling boxes and run is my general M.O.

Those are creature footprints in the attic insulation.  See, I was right to not hang out there.

Because a wall is gone, it's pretty bright and open for the moment, so I got to wander a bit.  I didn't find any secret treasures, but I did get to peek out the windows at the front of the house, which was fun.

How are there not treasures in this little corner?

I also got a chance to see the original wiring in-situ before they rip the last of it out, which was fun in a look-how-close-I-came-to-death kind of way.

Really old knobs and tubes, ad hoc new wiring, and weird old powdery insulation.

Wiring they'd already removed that a few months ago was supplying electricity somewhere in my house.
THAT'S not a fire hazard, not at all!

That's all pretty uneventful, I know, but I'm glad to get rid of that shady insulation, dangerous wiring, and unwelcome guests and reclaim the old attic as a clean and useful place again.  When you're a mom who can remember the origin and event history of every toy and article of clothing each child has ever had and who consequently invests a lot of emotional weight in "stuff," places to store the stuff are pretty special.  Even if it's just providing me license to become a hoarder, at least I'm going to have a nice hoard, you know?

We're going to have TWO other attics--they might connect above the library, but it will be tight, if they do.  I like them, too.

Attic door #1

Attic door #2

The porch is going to be a cozy spot, I hope.  They got a wall up and we chatted Friday about the floor, but I'm still feeling tentative about it.  It's big, and it's changing the face of the house, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it.  My brain thinks it's super, but my heart is giving it the stink-eye, or at least some suspicious side-eye.

 It helped that I got to poke around under the porch, which is not usual (you know, ROUSs and stuff). Spelunking through a hole in a building is a great spirit lifter.

There's not much down there--a few broken flower pots, our rusty water main, a whole lot of ancient and venerable dirt, and a few oyster shells.  Old-timey builder snacks, or former driveway paving?  I'm not sure, but they were neat and gross.  I also found an old bottle, which would have cost at least two dollars at a junk shop, so I felt like I'd won the lottery.

It's a Horlicks Malted Milk bottle, it's an unusual shape, it's iridescent with age, and it's probably permanently dirty.  I love it, and I love that it was a gift on top of the gift of an hour of quiet bonding time with the house.  It made me feel better about the new porch, actually, as if the house was reminding me that the life in a house is what makes a home.  And if that's not a neat (and cheesy, but totally genuine) enough ending for you, I got nothin'.