Metal Meredith

Out with the old, In with the......less old.

My love of all things bungalow is being tested in a new way. I have found a 1900 sq ft Tri-Level built in 1973 that has all the comforts of home on the inside, but is wretched on the outside. I am starting to wonder if this is my true test “Never judge a book by the eyes of its beholder”…blah blah blah.

I have always been a fan of the cottage house. Phil and I often talk about how our perfect house would have a comfy wing with bright colors and comfortable surroundings and another that was mostly glass, chrome and grey. (He also wanted robots on his side…but that’s another story.) Never in my scenario did I see the house I grew up in.

Our house in Greenfield was a Tri-Level. I was 4 when we moved in and 11 when we moved out. I remember it had no central air, the wood paneled den, the cold unfinished basement room where the washer and dryer lived. I also recall the screened in porch where my mother broke my last pacifier, my sister made out with various boyfriends after school and where I tortured my poor dogs to do tricks in baby clothes. I remember my room from one incarnation to another, child to pre-teen. I can vividly recall our first microwave, cable TV, and VCR. I can still smell the pine tree I climbed, feel the sidewalk I skated down and relive the day I got my first puppy. I can still conjure up the emotions felt when I was too young to understand that hostages in Iran weren’t taken from their houses in the US, the nervousness of not knowing why Mom was so upset that she drank a bottle of wine (I am pretty sure that was the Savings and Loan debacle from the first Mr. Bush) and seeing my Dad cry for the first time after losing his job. Could they have been the age I am now? Younger even?

Maybe that house wasn’t so bad after all?

Recently, my Mom told me that she never liked that house. They bought it for more room, to have more space for the family, to buy some time for the “dream house” that was sure to be in their future. I have to admit that this made me feel much better. I soon realized that this didn’t have to be my dream house. Although I want to like it, it doesn’t have to define who I am. I have to live there, be happy, grow as a family and as a married couple, and maybe get a dog. Who knows?

In my head I have always known that we would end up in a split level of some sort for our second home. They are roomy and seem to have all the amenities a new family needs (*ahem* DISHWASHER ahem). Although this one is ugly on the outside, Phil and I will be making the appointment to take a look at the inside. We are both cautiously optimistic. I think I am surrendering to the possibility, while Phil is still holding out for something fabulous but cheap…with robots.