One of the worst things about moving (besides my infrequent and short blogs -- I know I'm not giving my audience my best!) is making the house acceptable for people to walk into. This can be a humbling job as you pull out bookcases and couches and find all sorts of horrid surprises under things: "Who spilled chocolate sprinkles under the Gorm couch? Oh my Lord, that's mouse poop." And so on.
And for all the times we've been saying, "For the love of all that's good, how could we be living like this?" we're got lots of "Why the hell didn't we do this sooner?" It's discouraging to make a house that you've been living in better -- for someone else.
Matt, Matt's dad and Matt's brother were here pulling up the carpet in our entryway and up the stairs. We'd always been hoping it was good oak underneath, but never looked, because we figured it would be better to keep it carpeted while the kids were young. We rationalized it quickly and didn't think much of it soon after we moved in five years ago -- instead, we relegated it to that future when we would do other dreamy things like put on an addition, a porch, and add a basement.
We blew it.
The staircase is gorgeous. I've fallen in love with one particular tread on the top landing. The whole thing needs to be sanded and refinished, but when it's done, and done right, someone will have a beautiful antique oak staircase.
Unfortunately, it won't be me.