What Lies Beneath

 ...and when they opened the door, all they found was a stainless steel hook. 

That's the feeling I have been having while contractors of various types and abilities have been creeping over my house as we prepare to have the old girl painted. Each day brings a new revelation of just what a horror show in which we have been living. 

"Did you guys want to leave it like this?" That's the kind of question I get with only the mildest whiff of judgement attached. "I mean we could sand it down and make it work, but it would probably be better if we just replaced it." And this is where the homeowner shame kicks in. Have we really allowed ourselves to live, for years, with this dryrot/poorly constructed/missing piece/slapped together assemblage?

But wait: Back up. Our house was built in 1895. Most of what is still standing dates back to before the turn of the century. The twentieth century. Standing in our basement gives one the opportunity to stand amid what used to be a redwood forest. There was a fire back in the sixties that did a number on the interior, but we are the third family to live in this house, and the modifications we have made have been primarily cosmetic. 

There's a porthole in the front door. There is a second bathroom on what used to be the laundry porch. The fireplace and chimney have been removed, from the inside. We have cut a hole in the wall in the kitchen to let the light in, and another one in the floor of our bedroom closet to let the laundry out. My son has created a floor for the basement and a livable space for him and a place for my wife to dance. If she doesn't raise her arms very high. 

And yet, there are still frontiers of fixer-upping. The most recent victim was the front stairway. The one that was hastily assembled by termite inspection workers who were anxious to finish things off and get this property sold. In the winter, it acts like a waterfall, bringing all the rain from the front of the house out onto the lawn. For years, I have been patching and painting over the truth. Waiting for the inevitable screwdriver test that the contractor poked into the spongy spots. Those spongy spots are notoriously hard to paint. I should know. And while we are scraping and sanding and preparing everything else, why not get the front steps repaired? Replaced? 

Okay. The secret is out. The skeletons under my front porch have been revealed. Not quite as frightening as it is embarrassing, but it'll do. The up side? They let me replace some of the two by fours on the back deck. The clock's ticking on those. Sooner or later they're going to have to be painted too. The horror.