When our family moved from St. Louis to New Hampshire, many things happened. New neighborhood, new friends, new schools for the kids, and a new house. Well, new to us anyway. Built in 1880 however, our house is in fact an exceedingly old house. Par for the course here in New England, though. A home of this vintage would require close attention of any homeowner, but for me, that attention has turned into something of a condition. A nervous tic you might say. One that my younger daughter has noticed and finds particularly comical.
In my defense, the home we left in St. Louis was practically a new build, and one that required little more than occasionally installing decor on easily found studs that were evenly spaced with corners that were perfectly square. In our “new” 140-plus-year-old home, the studs are … somewhere, the walls are plaster, and the corners look like a Dr. Seuss drawing.
I have learned many things since we’ve moved in.
Namely, don’t pull on anything unless you have a few hours free, because there is no such thing as a quick project in a very old house. I’ve also — I think — ended up with some form of home owner anxiety as a result of situations like water running inside the chimney and down the walls during a rain storm or water coming in through the walls of the basement or … really anything related to water where it shouldn’t be.
In the first few years of living here, we’ve poured quite a bit of blood, sweat, and tears into our home — and money, lots of money — to get it where we want it. And as a result, I’ve become strangely attuned to things out of place, odd noises, and seemingly minor problems that if left unattended, will lead to long-term major problems.
This means I can often be found standing in a hallway, silently staring at the ceiling.
Or walking around a room prodding the walls. Or looking at a window. Or on my hands and knees examining an errant nail head. As you might imagine, I make quite the scene, and my younger daughter finds it endlessly entertaining.
She likes to point at me, while in a house repair trance, and yell to anyone else in earshot, “He’s staring at the walls again!” and “Dad’s looking at the ceiling!” She’s right. It is absolutely ludicrous, and I look like a lunatic. But when you discover things like a porch — which is attached to the house — is “supported” by nothing more than hollow metal poles in the ground below or realize you can lift joists out of the floor on the second story of the barn by hand because they’re not secured with any kind of hardware, I say you’re allowed to lose your marbles just a bit, which I have.
I’m glad we bought this old house. It’s got so much character and feels very cozy. But man, trying to keep it running while chasing around three kids that are making fun of you the whole time is enough to drive anyone nuts — in the most lovingly hilarious way possible.
