About six months ago, I bought my first home. It's located just inside the border of a Los Angeles neighborhood named Valley Glen—practically in Van Nuys, but let's face it: I'd rather say I live in Valley Glen. I live here with my boyfriend, Lalo, and our dog Diogy. I bought this house in December 2011, and we're now in the process of tearing it apart and putting it back together. And that's where you come in.
This is a time capsule for the future owners of this house,
and anyone who wants to come along for the ride. As I renovate, I repeatedly
ask myself, "What on earth were these people thinking?" So I'm writing this to let you know. If you're wondering why I replaced the
original windows, why I painted everything aqua and grey, why I tore out the
kitchen—then keep reading.
Our house turned 70 this year. It was built in 1942, during the throes of
World War II, and reflects the austerity of the period. I suppose that makes it
closer to "colonial revival" than anything verging on "modern." It's not as whimsical as some of our
storybook-style neighbors. There's nary a dovecote nor cupola nor cottage roofline. There are no diamond-paned windows, in case
you were wondering what I'm about to tear out. However, it does have a lovely
large bow window. It's early 40s to its
core, and I'm doing my best to hang onto that spirit.
It has its quirks and its charms, though the latter
outweigh the former. As soon as I walked
in the front door, I knew I wanted it. The rest of the tour only served to
cement the desire. So I guess it's true what realtors say, huh? I hope that's
how you felt when you saw it for the first time. But I hope that day is far, far in the future.
Because with all the work I'm putting into this joint, I'd like to be here a
while!
In addition to this chronicle, I'm also putting together a
literal time capsule. I'm planning to
put it in the wall before the kitchen drywall goes up later this week. So what
should I put in the time capsule?
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