Tuesday, November 6, 2007

I have a key from 1949

And it unlocks my front door.

I simply cannot believe it. I have a door. Several doors. I have a hot water heater. I have built-in shelves, they are mine. I have flagstone on MY back patio! Of course I could go on and on. I also have dangerous wiring and threadbare carpeting from 1949.

But I must say, I love it all. Every little piece of asbestos, because it's mine. Say what you will, but that asbestos floor tile has character.One of the bedrooms has a cement floor, but it's been treated somehow. It's been stained and sealed and it actually looks pretty good. If I thought I could achieve the same results with whatever is beneath that carpeting, I'd give it a try. Probably cheaper than hard wood or bamboo. Definitely looks better than vinyl, which is likely too pricey for me anyway.

I roamed the house in a dazed state after the Realtor departed. Turning lights on and off, inspecting closet shelves, admiring the old light fixtures. I commented to my friend, "Look at this medicine cabinet! Now THIS is AUTHENTIC!" She snorted. "Yeah, it's old. You can't even see yourself in the mirror, the reflective stuff is missing." Well so. It's old, what do we expect? When Friend had seen enough and left for her own $500,000 late eighties nightmare, I was free to indulge in more euphoric fantasies with no disturbances.

Tomorrow the home warranty people are coming over to take pictures. I'm not sure that buying a home warranty will be worth it if these people already know what shape my appliances are in. Oh well. Maybe the electricity will be shut off so they can't test anything out.

When I got back to my apartment, I started packing again. I detest moving. But I keep reminding myself that I may never have to move again!

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