With his own hands and help from his stepbrother and father, my Father built this house in the early 1940's. I just learned the foundation was dug out by hand, no machines, by a number of men who came from afar to help over a weekend.
What you are looking at is a solid house neglected over the past five or six years and also my Father's treasures and their display in his room in the cellar.
We were advised to upgrade the electrical, fix the brick steps, things like that, but to pretty much sell the house as a fixer upper, After the tenant moved out, it was an unclean mess. Call it intuition or conviction or whatever, but I never wavered: there was no way in holy hell I would let my Father's house be sold looking like that.
I was right. After a mason, electrician, two handymen-carpenters, landscaper, cleaner, and exhausted JB and myself: here is the house that made it's debut barely a week ago "for sale." The photos are fantastic: it doesn't look quite this charming, but honestly, we did a hell of a job. And my father's solid solid work--not one crack in the smooth walls when the wallpaper came down, and his perfect hardwood floors even after all these years--his quality just shines.
It was clean as a whistle. It sold in three days. I'm so glad for my parents. Before it's too late, my brother and I and our families will sit in the kitchen again, and eat pizza.
P.S. I know I'm absent here. I expect to be back, to be writing more. For now, it be true that I is in a whirlwind. A bit of a tornado, even.