This used to be the back of our kitchen. That small redwood stoop they're destroying was built by my wife and her dad, and was the spot where numerous party guests perched, where we stood to watch a lunar eclipse, where our first kid sat blowing bubbles out into the back yard. Now it's kindling. The landscaping is already gone, and the French doors to our tiny dining room on the right -- a converted porch no more than six feet wide -- are already detached and stashed somewhere safe.
We'd been talking about how tiny our small house had started to feel for years. A decade earlier, we'd bought it as an estate sale, slightly shabby from neglect , the proverbial worst house on the best block. With no budget to have anyone else do the work, we threw ourselves into the rehab.
I worried that any house big enough for our needs would either be too pricey, or require a ton of work to become as nice as the house we now lived in -- admittedly small. We'd be signing ourselves up for years more DIY, and waste all the sweat and tears we'd already put into this house.
So we opted to remodel and expand what we had. The project launched almost three years earlier, when we first spoke to an architect about what we wanted to do. We cut him loose after a few harebrained attempts at what we wanted. We turned to a family friend -- where we should have started -- someone who has been to the house and knew what we wanted out of it. She came up with an awesome plan, but we still had to get it past the city historic commission, and its planning department. The search for a contractor also took several twists and turns.
Finally, we got started.
This all happened a year ago today, on June 6, 2017. I had planned to create a diary, to chronicle what I was sure would be a monumental journey in our lives. But the demands of the everyday tore up that plan before it got anywhere. So I decided, with this anniversary arriving, to look at the journey a year on, through the lens of hindsight.
We did, of course, post some of the progress on social media, but no more serious or thoughtful chronicle than that. I shared the above photo, saying, "I guess we're really doing this."
The view is looking into our back yard from what used to be my office, where I did all my writing for the previous 14+ years. My desk faced the wall at right, and I loved the corner window, and being able to spin around my chair and drink in the greenness of our yard, enveloped in passion flower vines and citrus trees. When we first bought the house and the yard was dry and barren, I said I'd probably cry when I could look out the window at a lush lawn, to welcome the dog and future kids. I thought I might again, this time for the wastland that had returned, and seemingly invaded my room. But I was sanguine -- a little wistful to see the chunks of wall plaster that had been the ombre blue walls and ceiling that we blended ourselves all those years ago, but eager to see what was coming next.
Good thing I didn't know how long we'd wait.
