After looking and measuring and contemplating and thinking about our maybe someday kids... after talk about moving walls and imagining remodels and wearing vision goggles thin... after month after month of tormenting our poor dear Fred we found it... the one.
Our house. And it was perfect. Literally. Perfect.
A 1905 Victorian mill-house located in the heart of historic Dilworth,
A wrap-around front porch, four fireplaces, heart of pine flooring, bead board closets and a claw foot tub. I cried when I walked up to the original ornate door and the old school door bell called me to come in. I hugged the walls when I took in the 10 foot ceilings, the original windows and the delicate french doors. I told everyone it was more perfect than anything I ever could have hoped to have.
We were in awe of that grand ole beauty that just so happened to be in our price range, in our dream neighborhood, and - here's the kicker- on the same street as the house we have lived in for four years.
The structural report told us, a few weeks and a few thousand dollars later - blatantly, with no apologetic voice or sympathy whatsoever - that the house was falling in on itself and would take a good $30k to make it livable again. And no telling how severe the termite damage really was...
Fred said everything happens for a reason.
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