Muscles still groan in slight hesitation these months later. The day we left the city, snow fell in torrents. I backed the rental truck into the loading dock, the wrong way up a one way street, and gritted my teeth. The scene is March, and Winter theoretically was to release its grip. Fed up with city-traffic, I later reversed the truck into the front yard, grass be damned. We slid the ramp directly onto the porch. We shoved all of our shit into our new house and returned that fucking truck. Our water wasn't on. Our electricity wasn't on. We took our few blankets, the dog, and the cat, and we made the best of the worst.
The first night was sleepless. After leaving The City, the calm and quiet of the street became a deafening shrill. Suddenly, I was on the ground level, no longer seventeen stories in the air and my immediate safety could be in jeopardy. The City provided a personalized pin to enter the door of its high-rises, followed by an electronic sensor to activate the elevators, and only then did you arrive at the deadbolt to enter the domiciles. I laugh this now. They live in a tomb, one fire away from entrapment.
I digress. Many months have passed. The power is on as well as the natural gas. The water runs and things are so quickly normal. There have been hiccups along the journey; already I've entertained crews replacing the main pipe from my house to the city sewer line, the culprits standing idly like sentinels while they labored beneath their hundred year old branches. My air-conditioner/heater has to completely be replaced, which is happening next week. Surprise. These are expenses I've never had to worry about in The City, yet I'm fortunate for the ability to have them repaired.
it used to be such a lovely backyard.
Have I mentioned that I've never been happier? This home, Sycamore, is not through the help of roommates, or someone I know having a great deal, etc. This house is mine, and I made this happen. It's an accomplishment of the first pedigree.
Yes, yes, now on to the photographs.
This is Sycamore
Most afternoons, one can find me on the porch swing with a good book and a fresh Manhattan.
I've gated in the back yard, however, made the section of fence free standing so that it remotely swings inward like a secret passage, allowing private and protected parking in my backyard.
Oh how I hung my lanterns with care.
Sycamore was constructed in 1932. The original glass work and front door remain mint. There are several features as old as the house, such as the rose bush in the front yard. My home is a registered National Historic Home and will remain such as long as I maintain the original trim/brick work, wood floorings, claw foot bathtubs, and raised-tank-toilets.
There is a ornate phone nook, where one would place their telephone calls, between the living and dining rooms, conveniently away from both rooms to exclude ones self from company should a caller summon the host.
Let's not forget the reason I wanted this house. The shelves are oak, built in to the wall leading into the guest bedroom/bathroom. The doorway into the extra bedroom/(my room) is original cedar from 1932.
The Kitchen cabinetry is quite lovely, so much so that I've had to upgrade many of my wine/martini glasses so they don't look out of place.
The dining room is central to the home, and it overlooks the back yard through three large windows. The previous owners believed Nacho Cheese Yellow was a viable color for the room, and I aim to correct their mistake within the next month.
There is also a fireplace, which will be quite lovely for the next blizzard. If the power goes out, between my gas stove and my fireplace, I believe we'll be better than most.
Lastly, I mentioned a "guest bedroom." This is actually "my" bedroom. The one I sleep in with my girlfriend is mainly hers. This one is mine, with my dresser and clothes and own showers. Primarily, I wanted an area to write, and here I have made one, surrounded by orchids in an ambient light.
I've been away prosebox, but I've been busy. I'll write more starting now. Thanks for stopping by my home.
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