This is likely related to the great affection I feel for this house and what it has meant for Micheal and myself. We both tend to forge strong emotional relationships with inanimate objects and it seems (at least for me) this house will be no different. My sense of intrigue, respect, and affection for our house was piqued today from a unexpected source. A pantry door... (crazy I know, just follow me.)
After posting my plan I took down the door:
When I took this photo Micheal said - are you really posting that mess on the blog?!
The door ventured downstairs and I started to peel back what turned out to be the layers of my houses' history. Seven layers to be exact.
From 1959 to 2010: Pink, peach, seafoam, orange, teal, beige, white.
This is just amazing to me! I ran up the stairs and started talking about the layers on the door (and Micheal look at me like a crazy women) - but imagine, how many colors has my kitchen been? How many "design fads" has it been through? When was it orange and isn't that crazy that the kitchen will be orange again?!
I feel a sense of responsibility to bring our house back to it's original glory; to improve upon the already wonderful base instead of to demolish and start anew. I think this is why I'm willing to spend a week sanding down layers of paint - could I buy a new door? Yes. Could I buy a door from community forklift that will take less effort to refinish? Yes. Would it be my kitchen's door? No.
So obviously I'm feeling pretty mushy about our house right now, so I ask you - what did or does your first house mean to you? What do you remember about it if you no longer live in it? What mark did you leave on it that in 50 years the owners will think "wow, when was this kitchen orange?" If you're in your first home, what does it mean to you? Is it simply a place to live? An accomplishment? A starter house or a house you see yourself in foreseeable future?