House is coming along

WE LOVE OUR NEW HOUSE!

Here are some pics. It's 114 years old and well maintained. It's so cozy and so much what we wanted. We are very happy with our Victorian!

See what you think.

BEFORE: (and this is after we painted the picket fence white. It was the dreary "battleship gray" that matched the house. YUCK.

Note the boarded up 3rd floor window. There's another one on the other side. I'm not sure how they lived with it like this for over 20 years!!!

While repairing the cement-board siding, look what we found!!

We were THRILLED to see some original Victorian trim in almost pristine condition, protected by the siding! Talk about an exciting day!

And then we found more in the second peak! That's my brave husband up there. TALK ABOUT SCARY!

And now - after some paint and windows on the 3rd floor, we're looking like this:

We're not quite finished with the painting and I've got two shutters to hang on the main floor (you can see them on the porch), but I think it's pretty much night and day from where it was. What do you think?

Out of the "comfort zone"

It's been a long time - way too long in fact - since I was able to make some time to sit down and blog. I'm not convinced that anyone really read this blog anyway, but here goes...

We moved recently. It was NOT a fun experience, but we moved. My husband and I both share a love of old Victorian homes. We looked and looked and found a SCREAMING deal. There are so many incredible buys in the real estate market right now, and yet people seem nervous yet to buy. I'm a real estate agent (something else fairly new in my life) and I see daily amazing homes going for nothing! The market is starting to improve steadily now and people need to get into these great homes while the prices are so great! But I digress...

So we moved from an area that I lived in for over 16 years. When I moved there originally, it was quiet. It was considered "out in the country". I decorated with the dorky cow stuff, painted the mailbox like a black and white dairy (Holstein) cow, and we loved having some land, privacy and nothing behind us but a Christmas tree farm. Times had changed though. The County had allowed completely uncontrolled growth and our quiet country life changed into complete urban sprawl in 16 years. Traffic is absolutely ridiculous now. Even in the middle of the day there is gridlock on the 4-lane highway that used to be pretty quiet. As I have mentioned before, I am Wiccan. I'm not your mainstream kind of gal that lives under a rock and doesn't see anything outside of her own tunnel vision. With that being said, I would also have to say that I am racially open and have a large amount of friends from many races. I have always seen myself as almost completely anti-racist. Wrong. In the 16 years I lived in that small community, we had one black family. They were friends of ours and they were an awesome family. I thought nothing of it until the urban sprawl began and quite quickly we lived in a very racially diverse community. I started to worry about my safety and my children's safety. I felt guilty for locking my doors while sitting in my car at a red light just because a black man dressed like a gang-banger was walking by, but SHEESH! I had not been subjected to anything but my little country life until then. We decided to move after I saw a man standing in my fenced backyard one night looking in the windows. Country life was over. We lived in the "hood" - as I see it.

Interestingly enough, we moved to a neighborhood that I would never have considered ten years ago in Central Tacoma. Ten years ago, the police were busy here cleaning out gangs and drugs and all kinds of "nasties" that I would never consider living in the midst of. Tacoma police have done a fantastic job of cleaning out this area though, and it has allowed many families to move in, taking over these huge and beautiful Victorian homes to renovate them. Our new home is 114 years old and has been very well maintained. Our street is about a 50/50 mix of white to black people I would say, maybe slightly more white. I have very nice black neighbors that I feel fortunate to have. I'm not afraid here like I was in the "country". It does however call for some attitude adjustments on the parts of my children, who sadly have my sense of humor. LOL

I tend to be goofy, slightly off the wall and sometimes dry. I switch pretty quickly between the types, which my children have learned to follow. They have picked up lots of my quirky jokes and they aren't afraid to say or do much for a laugh. They also have not been exposed to many other races, as they are homeschooled. It's awesome in one way, because they don't have any pre-conceived notions. It's not good in another way, because they don't know where to NOT make jokes. They don't realize which kinds of things may not be considered funny to other races, and they're not trying to be rude or disrespectful, they just don't see why something might not be funny.

I worried a little when we were getting ready to move, but figured my oldest sons (23, 22, 21 and 19) would be able to use enough maturity and common sense to not be offensive. WRONG. One of my good friends and his wife helped us move. He's black and very funny. We'll call him David. At one point, I came outside to hear David yelling, "Yes, Massa" and my son saying, "Your name is Toby!" to which David would reply, "my name is Koonta Kintai". OMG... I was horrified. The neighbors were entertaining friends in their yard and I know they could hear all of that! Maybe they weren't offended... I don't know. I was hiding in the house, cringing....

A couple of days later, my second oldest son was building a fence out back for us. He was bored and feeling silly evidentally... He built a wooden cross in the backyard and strapped my 10 year old son to it. My little guy was not hurt or anything, but kept saying, "I really think this is blasphemous".... I have to admit that part was funny. I didn't see anything or I would've stopped it immediately. I heard about it after the fact and again I was horrified. Good grief! What must the neighbors think?? Maybe I'm too worried.. Maybe I need to calm down. I just keep thinking they must think we are awful...

So we are enjoying our new home and I am working overtime not to offend my neighbors! LOL I will be taking pics and maybe I will start a new blog about the renovations and retrofitting of our home back into it's original Victorian beauty.

Farewell to my precious Grandma

My precious Grandmother Abby died January 27, 2010. My husband, two sons of mine and I drove the 7 hour trip to her funeral. It was very hard, and yet I really needed that closure and ability to say goodbye too.

For anyone that is interested, Abby was a miracle from birth, born at 28 weeks instead of full term 40 weeks all the way back in 1915. She had a quick and nimble mind to the end and she was a loving, sweet woman who adored her family. I will copy and paste her brief birth story below. It's fascinating - especially when you know that even today in 2010, babies born at 28 weeks don't always survive!

RIP my sweet Grandma.

She was born June 17, 1915 in North Dakota. Her birth was the beginning of a truly miraculous life.

Aunt Abby’s mother’s name was Mary Ellen Murdock. Mary Ellen and her husband were farmers in North Dakota, and lived a hard life. One day, Mary Ellen, then 28 weeks pregnant with Aunt Abby, was serving lunch to the men helping on the farm. She went down to the cellar to get some more jam, and fell down the stairs. When she got back up, she realized that her dress was soaked, and that her water had broken! They lived far out in the country, so one of the men got on a horse and rode 1 1/2 miles horseback to the nearest phone. He called the doctor and told him what had happened to Mary, and the doctor started on his way – 5 miles by buggy. Mary Ellen had two big contractions and Abby was born! When the doctor finally arrived he took one look at Abby and said, "That won't live" and left. Mary called for her mother, Amanda Abigail to help her with the tiny baby. Amanda was a country doctor and midwife, but had never seen such a tiny baby, and neither really knew what to do to take care of her, other than common sense. Amanda wrapped tiny little Abby in a flour sack towel and weighed her on the kitchen scale, hanging from the ceiling. Abby weighed in at 2 ½ pounds! Abby’s father could hold her in the palm of his hand, and she slept for a long time in his top dresser drawer with one of his hankies as her blanket. They kept her safe and fed, and somehow, miraculously in 1915, this tiny premature baby survived!

Married life is bliss

Gone are my days of being the President of "Groper's Anonymous". Married life is treating me well. I am happy as a clam and I love my husband with every fiber of my being.

My oldest son is now 23 and he has a great girlfriend that lives with him. They have a nice house and plenty of room for a nursery.... Yes. I am actually moving beyond wanting another child and onto wishing now for grandbabies. I miss the smell of a newborn and I miss their little bird mouths, and snuggly little bodies. None of my kids are really ready yet to settle down and be that responsible, so I will continue to wait. I know - it's not good to wish that they would hurry. My oldest son supposedly has a son that we have never seen and probably never will.. :( I'm just ready now!