It occurs to me that my wish for a new (old) house is my version of a midlife crisis. I turned 45 today, and if family genetics bear out, that is indeed about midway of this my mortal life. Hell – behind the house I want there’s even a forest savage, rough and stern, of sorts.
Moving on from Dante to a far more alarming text…the 37-page inspection, complete with pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph (or more) under each.
Yesterday, I had the general inspection of the house I want to buy, and this morning, I got the report. It would be terrifying to read, except that I was already aware of the crazy amount of work the place would entail.
My plans and budget can accommodate several large-ticket items including a new roof (and parts that connect to it), exterior painting and a modicum of foundation repairs, as well as a few less-pricey things (glass for the dozen or so cracked windows, paint for every room) and a handful of inexpensive items (IcyHot patches, ibuprofen).
But it seems there may be enough water issues to necessitate re-plumbing the entire house; I wasn’t expecting that. (I won’t know for sure unless/until I get a plumber to have a look). And unless/until I get a structural engineer to look at the foundation, I don’t know what needs to be repaired, how it would be repaired or what it would cost.
Plumbing and foundation work alone could put an irrevocable dent in the budget.
Nonetheless I still love the house, and am willing to live with no kitchen cabinets and no dishwasher, and with a wholly unattractive bathroom for a long time if that’s what it takes. (I’d have to replace the washing machine right away though; it looked as if several dozen generations of furry creatures had lived and died in there.)
Of course, none of this matters if mine doesn’t sell, and quickly.
Maybe I should set my sights on a midlife crisis Audi TT as a backup. Or a VW Microbus; I could live in that.
Where’s Virgil when you need him?