Solo Mother

The Magic House (What $1600/month rent gets you in DC)

by christina on November 6th, 2006

We live in the hood. Folks have been pounding on this door all night looking for Miss Tanya, or Alex, or any number of folks who apparently used to live here.

There are nails sticking out everywhere. The baseboard quarter molding isn’t actually nailed down, and is missing in big chunks all over the house. Of the two and a half bathrooms in the house, we have three working toilets, one and a half working sinks, and one shower. Everything is slightly askew. I think some small rodent was living in the gas stove before we got it. I’m afraid to light the oven. It’s FILTHY. The water filter on the fridge tastes like old red peppers and i think there’s a slow leak somewhere in the kitchen sink, cause it smells dank under there. Big chunks of wall are missing and don’t even get me started on the staircase. The house is freezing cold, the A/C has no filters on it anywhere. The outside of the house looks like the wrath of God took a swipe at it.

But it’s ours. The floors are sunny warm honey stained hardwood, there are little niches and such all over the house to put a piece of art or some other visual surprise. it’s got more than one bathroom, which is rare in these old houses. The King of Everything spent about half an hour in the little back room dancing his silly butt off and declared that that room was for TV and for guests to sleep in. It’s a bright house, and it has so much potential. If I owned it, I’d be in heaven. As it is, I’m dreaming of paint chips and wondering how to get a queen box spring up the staircase.

Friday night I borrowed a friend’s car and got most of my stuff out of my generous friend’s house. I stood in the darkened living room, looking at my meager belongings, and thought, ‘i’m home’. Saturday morning brought another round of stuff driven around the park and to the new house, then waited for the Safeway (our local supermarket) to deliver groceries. And waited. And waited. And finally tracked them down (because why on earth would you print a phone number on the order receipt — in case something goes wrong? Surely you jest) after I watched the delivery truck, an hour late, pull up to my house and then leave. Without delivering. Turns out the order had been cancelled for some odd reason and no one had bothered to tell me. So, rather than spend the afternoon shopping for household bargains around town, I had to spend it at the grocery store.

I didn’t have a single thing to cook on, not a pot or a pan, so I ordered an extraordinary white pizza, whole wheat crust, with broccoli, squash, feta, cheddar, hot peppers, all kinds of good stuff. I popped the cork on a decent Shiraz, lit a few candles, and sat at my little breakfast nook in utter bliss.

Home.

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POSTED IN: home repair, housing