Okay, so we are remodeling the house we've lived in for the past seven years. I call this my nervous breakdown house (NBH), because it is...uh, was. More about that in another post. But here is the photo of same-said NBH.
Here's my current house on a day we were having
Estate, Garage, Tag, Oh, Just Take It Sale.
I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I am thankful for a roof over my head. I have witnessed entire families living under the overpass of an L.A. freeway. I've seen families living in abandoned school buses (yes, in this country). I am thankful for my safe community, wonderful neighbors, and loving family.
Here's the house I really wanted. When it was on sale, my husband
didn't think it was the best time to buy. When he decided last summer, we could buy another home,
my Dream House (DH) was no longer for sale. I am trying to get my current home
to look like my Dream House.
The DH has a wonderful flagstone front porch. I am going
to try to recreate that on my front porch with the help of my contractor.
Here's the completed sunroom slate floor. I need to make pillows for the sofa
and add a few more accessories.
I Am Not My House
But my house is a hot mess for a lot of reasons. And as I attempt to make it right, I am always pushed back by something. I think it's God's way of telling me that there's so much more important in my life. This, I don't want to believe, but it's true. For many, many years, I believed that I WAS my house. And though one's home is a reflection of who they are, I really internalized this to the extreme. I had believed that if my house was ugly, so was I...if my home was not neat, nor was I.
So after having said/written all of that, here's my house remodeling adventure that I won't take too seriously. I won't have a meltdown just because I can't find the right tile, or the Brazilian teak hardwood floors come apart again. Maybe they should have remained in Brazil.
I won't lose it if the handles on the faucet come off in my hands...that's not the most important thing in the world. It's just a house. It's a home. And it's the place my family is to be nurtured and cared for, including that thing the kids call a dog.
I found these items at the Goodwill Store today. The Flor tiles, brand new, were $10 per box of twelve. I purchased two boxes to make an area room for Malcolm's room. He'll soon have hardwood floors in his bedroom, but to soften things up, I'll use these tiles. No one else in the Goodwill today seemed to know what these were, but I did. My interior designer had brought samples to me just two weeks ago. I think I'll go back tomorrow and purchase the other five boxes of these tiles to make an area rug for my family room...maybe.
The other lucky find is this late 50s, early 60s chair plus ottoman. I don't know how to reupholster furniture, but for the $20 bucks that this set cost me, I can learn. I'll get a few books from the library and research online to learn some techniques. I cannot afford to have it professionally done, even as I remodel this house.
My hope is that this remodeled chair will end up in my studio.
I can't wait to practice reupholstering on these two pieces.