I have been waiting and waiting to have something deep and meaningful to say. But alas that will never happen because I am renovating my house. My house was built in 1906. It is a beautiful craftsman, and it has taken over my life. We bought it because we wanted to entertain friends and have people stay with us for long periods of time. We fell in love with the woodwork and the leaded glass windows, the third story servants' quarters, the history, and the potential. Let's not forget the potential.
This is our second older house. We should have learned by now. They woo you with promises of returning them to their former glory. They reward you for your first tentative tries. You remove carpeting and find beautiful oak flooring in wonderful condition. You take down wallpaper and see that the plaster is in great shape. You paint a few rooms, maybe revive a flower bed. It all goes so easily. The house whispers "come on, do more, it'll be fun, what could happen?" Then you get into the hard stuff. You start opening up walls, workmen come in and leave large bills. But it's too late now, you're hooked. Finally you go for the big one: the kitchen renovation. You become obsessed with finding period reproduction hardware for the kitchen cabinets. You stop blogging, or going out with your friends. All you talk about is whether it's OK to put vinyl tile in the laundry room or would that ruin the integrity of the house; and whether the cabinets need to be quarter sawn oak or will cherry be fine. People stop calling. You feel that you must spend every waking moment in service to the house.
Then you know it's happened. You are a slave to your older home. When will it end? Who knows. Perhaps if I can get the perfect slab of uba tuba granite for the kitchen I'll be able to stop.