Handling House Hues

This week: What color is your house? Did you pick the color? If you changed it, what color of paint (or stain) would you pick?

Fortunately, I have not had many choices.

That even sounds strange to me, considering I used to love to try to control things. I found it was a childhood post-trauma thing, but many choices were taken from me or I relinquished them for the ‘greater good’ and it is for the better. (I am detail-minded, though, and it did me well in work, creative or not.)

However, I grew up in rented homes. When I got married, The Husband already lived in the downstairs of a house in “Little Italy” with our ‘elderly’ landlords upstairs. (I am now several years older than my landlady was!)

We moved to an apartment owned by the large family of a fellow teacher. The land it was on had been her grandparent’s farm where her father grew up. She had also recently been married and was moving from the little place to one closer to her new job and her husband’s. Most of the land had been sold for large apartment buildings on three sides, but this was a little oasis, surrounded by trees. The family house was in front, down a long drive, with the apartments behind it even farther. The building has been converted into five very, very small apartments, with a workshop in the middle of downstairs.

One of our friends called it “Grandma’s House”, another called it “The Gingerbread House”. Both the house and the building were dark wood with shake roofs, and they were absolutely adorable. The insides of the apartments were almost tiny, but we made it. I had both of my sons there, but soon afterward, The Husband’s school moved and we were offered a deal where we could live in the house on the property that, again, had been a farmhouse. This was brick. There were plans to renovate the very large downstairs, but the upstairs was very nice, (very nice) and we had more than enough room. In fact, one of my brothers-in-law moved in with us for a while. (Two under 3 and a 17-yr-old, plus a husband working two jobs …don’t get me started!)

Although the school moved again, we did not want to be under any obligation to the new owners of the property, so we moved to an apartment. A student’s mother, with whom we were friendly, had just gotten her real estate license and told us that we should look into buying. Once in that apartment, we knew it was not for us. We looked around; the housing market had just jumped, so we opted to split the difference and consider townhomes. One was really nice with a rock facade and each looked different, which I really liked. However, it was small and we would have no outdoor space of our own, only one small balcony.

Another was a 4-plex condo which was really beautiful. It was very dark wood and lovely, but again, not much space. There was a patio we MAY have been able to enclose, but I had two preschoolers and frankly, to buy something where other folks were walking overhead was bothersome.

The last looked terrible on the outside. As one neighbor later put it, “We live in army barracks “. The garages were in the front; I asked if we were in the back. I did not even want to go in. The realtor said, “We’re here now, let’s look”. It was in a better suburb than the others had been, and the complex was on private streets. She opened the door and said, “You’re going to love it!” I did. It was beautiful inside. We had three levels, 2 1/2 baths, and our own privacy fence surrounding a large deck, plus ground for the kids to play in with room for a swing. Wrapping around the property was another privacy fence with lots of greenbelt, and across the street in the back, there was a park with a playground. It was wonderful, even the garages in the front gave us extra privacy, but I had no say in the color. It was all plain, with light blue trim. I was not happy with it. Fortunately, a year later they painted and decided on a dark, rusty-red colored trim and I loved it! I grew accent flowers the same color.

We sold the townhouse when we moved 2200 miles here, and we rented an apartment while we found a house. I wanted a traditional, one-level brick house and got one. Only the triangles above the side door of the house and the garage can be painted. They were white, which I kept, and whitewashed the cinderblock garage the same color they had all been. There are white metal pillars on the front porch. It is all good.

I don’t know if I will always be in this house, but as of this September, we will have had it for thirty years. The metal faux shutters are black and in good shape. The upkeep is easy on the outside and that is why I wanted a brick house in the first place.

Frankly, I think deciding on a color and living some time with the consequences would be hard for me. I guess I have been lucky all around.