It was a romantic notion, to buy an old house & fix it up. I had never owned a house before, had very little concept of what it took to "go housekeeping"-as my grandmother called it when she first got married. I had always wanted an old house from the time I was very small. My grandparents lived in a semi-detached American four-square. It had a big grate where the heat came up from the furnace below and a staircase. I used to bounce down it on my behind when i was a child. The house had a porch and an old metal glider swing. It was smack in the middle of Hershey, Pennsylvania & always smelled like chocolate.
My elementary school was within walking distance of our house-a flat-roofed 1950's rancher. Everyday on my way to and from school, I passed a lovely farm with white fencing & rose arbors at the gates. The barn had a little weathervane on top. There were acres & acres of fields with wild roses, cornflowers, Queen Anne's lace, & white field daisies. They had an old horse, he was more of a pet than a saddle horse. I always saved him something from my lunch on the way home. My school friend lived in a great stone mansion-(like all old houses-it needed work). I loved to go there-I was just awestruck. She said the basement smelled & it made scary noises at night. I loved it-it had nooks & crannies - back staircases - a great room with a massive fireplace & a balcony-(the artist that had once owned the house used it for his gallery) - a tragic, romantic history. Yes-I wanted an old house.
I started going to fleamarkets with my Mom when I was about eight. We took comfortable shoes to change into after church. It was at the local drive-in every Sunday morning. I bought old dishes, linens, prints & bric-a-brac-of course for my old house. When I needed extra pocket money, I would relinquish some of my booty to other treasure hunters on their quest at the drive-in fleamarket. My collection outgrew our house, so up it went to my grandmother's attic.
When I met my boyfriend-(now long-suffering husband) in high school, he had no interest in anything old-except when I pointed out its value in simple terms he could understand-spending money. My mother gladly offered him the position of driver to cart me off to the fleamarket with my boxes of dishes, & clothing & knicknacs. As long as I promised him dinner afterward, he was a reluctant, but willing participant. When we became an "item" my tresures spilled into his parents' basement as well-I could now move on to bigger treasures-chairs & hutches-all for my old house. Err, well, our old house.
I was finally bringing him around-our favorite hang-out was along the river by a fabulous old house turned state museum. Wouldn't an old house be lovely I asked? He sighed & nodded his approval. Did he really have a choice? He proposed to me there & appropriately gave me an Edwardian engagement ring. We were on the right track. We planned the wedding in an old church-I'd wear a vintage gown-take photographs on the grounds of the museum-(where we got engaged) & take a carriage ride. All we needed now was the old house.
Armed with the multi-list book-(remember this was before computers) we dashed our realtor though one old house to the other. Exasperated as our search netted not one prospect, she-(the blasphemer) suggested a brand new split level home-ugh! She finally gave us the book to browse through & said, "Give me a call when something looks interesting". She thought that just any old house would do. One evening while my fiance was at work, I earnestly cruised that book. Crusising the multi-list book is only akin to reading the phonebook but with little thumb-sized pictures. I found a picture that looked like the one. All you could see were tall evergreens & a chippendale or carpenter-style porch railing. I was so excited I could barely sleep. I was on a mission. Again, this is before the computer age, so I couldn't "Map Quest" it. I thought-thought-I knew where I was going. I drove around aimlessly till by some miracle of miracles I came to the street I was looking for. Ok-after I passed it. The anticipation was making my spine tingle-and there it was a grand old Victorian, painted entirely white surrounded by trees. When I say surrounded by trees, I mean I couldn't even see the front of the house because of the forest in the front yard. Just as I made my second loop of the property, snowflakes began to fall-was it a sign? Could this be the one?
I drove down to the local HandiMart-(again-no cell phones yet) & called my fiance. I almost shouted, "Get the realtor on the phone". He told me to calm down & breathe-he'd be right on it. I did another loop of the property-(secretly my property) & drove home to tell my parents.
The clock was ticking & time was running out-(we were four months away from our wedding day) with no place to live. Really at this point the basement was looking pretty good. I was this close to my old house. I was on a natural high by the time he showed up after work, but from the look on his face, I was about to crash big time. The house-(my house) was already SOLD. SOLD!?! How could it be sold?! The sign was still on the corner-it still said FOR SALE.
He explained he had talked to the listing agent & there might be a glitch in the sale-we were to sit tight & he would call us if the sale fell through. It did-and the rest as they say is history.
We settled the day before we got married. We took a quick whirl-wind honeymoon & a week later moved in. I finally had my old house!
