One of my granddaughters got married recently near my house. The pictures of the wedding contained, as expected, the exquisite moments of a private and very intimate wedding. What I did not expect to see, however, was how much my house played a part in it, not just as a backdrop but overall. It’s hard to put into words how it felt to be perceived through the lens of the house I have lived in for over 40 years. The photographer, was visibly moved when she talked about how it made her feel. There was admiration and awe and respect in her words and in her eyes. I was surprised because that wasn't always the case.
When Charlie and I bought the house in 1978, we were derided for buying a house in a “transitional” neighborhood. Calling it transitional was generous back then, we found out later that most of the houses nearby were rented, not owned, some were crack houses, and many, like ours, had been abandoned for years. We were told that Grant Park would never amount to anything, succinctly reflected in the asking price at the time: $15,000 for what we affectionately called 4 walls and a leaky roof. Even my mother told us that, if nothing else, just the land was worth the price. We bought the house on the promise of a renovation loan that did not materialize, the first of several setbacks on the journey to home ownership. So we worked weekends and evenings in between our full time jobs, scrimping together money for lumber and tools. It took two years just to move in, we lived without heat, plumbing or a kitchen for another 2 years. It was hard, there was a lot of blood, sweat (mostly Charlie’s) and tears (mostly mine) as we navigated getting the house liveable in the decades before YouTube and DIY videos. Armed with a rudimentary set of how to books (plumbing, electricity, etc) Charlie figured out how to do what came next while I handed him the hammer or the scewdriver and made lunch in the backyard. Meanwhile friends refused to even visit, horrified at the enormity of the work left to be done. Only Bert Arps, a dear friend and former FBI agent, helped us put up the tin ceiling in the kitchen. Over time, we were able to hire out the rest of the heavy lifting but still did as much as we could ourselves. It became more of a work-in-progress, evolving to what it is today. The upstairs bathroom was finished in 2011. The front and backyards were completed in 2021. There are still a few more things we had planned to do, maybe they’ll get done.
We rescued the house from someone who tried to turn it into a duplex. He ran out of money before he could ruin it completely and then just left it standing for 13 years. The “duplexness” gave us the idea for a working side and a living side, a radical idea in the 70’s, long before Work From Home became a thing. We were told that doing so devalued the house and we would never be able to sell it “as is.” We were told the exterior red paint color was not appropriate. We were told by GP residents(!) “Oh, you live on that side of the park” as if there was an inferior side. Most recently, I was told that I needed to “rip out” (ouch!) the clawfoot tub and replace it with an “appropriate” shower. The list goes on. The thing is, when we first opened the door all those years ago, we saw neglect, sure, but also the potential to create a space that could be tailor made for us to work, design, tinker, build, experiment, learn, play, dance, entertain, create memories and grow old together. A house of our own. We lived here for over 40 years and worked for over 30. Blissfully.
I learned a lot about myself and a lot about Charlie, he could do anything. Anything. Even his own parents were amazed.
And oh yes, the mortgage of $142.34 was paid off in 1988.
Which brings me back to the happy newlyweds. I didn’t know how much the house meant to them. Or to anyone else who walks through our front door. I didn’t know that it elicited good feelings. And considering its history, I didn’t know anyone even cared or noticed. So thank you, Gkids and Crystal, for seeing it as a magical and mystical place, to be experienced, savored and shared. By the way, the house has a name, it’s Gracie.