In July 2020, my pandemic project was painting my bedroom desk purple, and while I painted I started thinking that my desk would look better in a different space, maybe in a space I owned, maybe my own house. It scared me to take on all the responsibility as a single homeowner, yet I was tired of renting—white walls, beige carpets, no kitchen counter space—and vowed that when I bought a house, it would be my place to create and be happy.

The last weekend of September 2021, I visited a marathon of open houses around the area, to get a feel for what was out there. At the open house for a ranch house on a park-like lot, I chatted with the realtor, Joe, who asked me what I was looking for, and I said that this house had some of the features I was looking for: three bedrooms, a garage, a nice private yard, central a/c, bright natural light, good entertaining spaces, something with character.

A few days later, Joe called and asked me what I thought of that open house since there were offers ready to compete for it. Not sure if it was the roof or the tall oak trees, but the house was dreary and dated, reminding me of my current apartment. I decided to work with Joe, so within a week the house-hunting frenzy started…..

The one with the creepy basement:

This Colonial was built in 1926 and had a lot of character in the brightly-painted rooms, nicely tiled bathrooms, and a cute covered front porch. The weird split-cabinet layout in the eat-in kitchen didn’t have a good flow. One door from the kitchen led to the basement, which had steep old steps leading to a creepy dirt floor basement that seemed like a dungeon.

The main bedroom was large (13’ x 20’) and overlooked the yard and a detached garage. We went outside to the nicely-landscaped yard and saw the extremely grumpy neighbor to the side hanging out on her second-floor balcony, scowling down at us. Within a day, someone else had put in an offer on the house; hopefully, the miserable neighbor approved of them.

The one with the stage-deck:

This large split-level house was on a quiet suburban street with nice old trees. The house was spacious and well-maintained, but the living room didn’t have any viable wall space for hanging my art. The open dining room had patio doors to a large deck that connected to a huge above-ground pool, which took up 75% of the yard. Sitting on the deck felt like being on a stage where all the neighbors would have an unobstructed view of you, on the deck. It was the perfect house for a suburban family with kids who wanted a backyard everyone could see; for me, it wasn’t.

The one that was an empty shell:

This house from 1946 had a bungalow facade and three small bedrooms, an oak and linoleum kitchen circa 1985, and a driveway, garage, and even a gazebo. It had been updated (new roof, floors, central a/c, bathroom), but it had also been stripped of any fabric/window treatments/carpets and bathroom hardware. The almost half-acre yard was fenced and painted pink-beige-tan, which was so out of place that the sellers had probably used whatever leftover cheap paint they could. However, the house had character and potential, especially with a beautiful large sunroom at the back of the house.

The next week, I wanted to see the “empty shell” house again, so my friend Sarah joined us, as my second/neutral opinion, and really liked it, raving about the open floorplan from the front door to the sunroom, and the large private backyard.

The one with the underground living room and the coffin:

This Cape Cod with an attached garage had nice curb appeal, but it was an illusion. The layout was bizarre, because you went in the front door to a dining room, not a living room. The very spacious living room and home office were in the basement. Even with decent windows and light, living underground was a red flag for me.

Next, we went outside to a covered patio that opened to a small yard bordering five neighbors’ yards at the chain-link fence, for zero privacy. The final treat was in the attached garage, full of junk including a coffin standing up. Yes, a coffin. We couldn’t investigate it because you couldn’t wade through the junk to reach it. Sarah kept saying it was a Halloween decoration, but I said that the house already had decorations up outside, so it might have been a year-round, functional coffin.

A few days later, Joe and I showed the “empty shell” house to my parents, and they were supportive yet like rain clouds, since my dad predicted that the rock-solid sycamore tree would fall on the house. My mom said that we’d have to scrub the kitchen cabinets because they were kind of grimy and gross on the inside. My brother was helpful, suggesting that I go with the best home insurance plan I could afford, in case there was an “accident.”

By then, I had bonded with the “empty shell” house, and put an offer on it within two days.

Next week, I’ll go over the first things I did to the house, pre-moving in!

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