By Amie Knowles
Do you ever just feel like you’re going through a season? For the past few years, our 116-year-old home has consistently reminded us that it’s far more experienced than my husband and I are.
When we recently encountered an unexpected $1,000 drainage issue less than a week after paying another person to fix a leak in our roof, I heard words I never thought I’d utter leave my mouth. I was talking with Stephanie, the fourth person out to my property in four days who specialized in repairs. She asked if we rented or owned.
“We own, and I’m about ready to sell if you’re interested.”
I meant it in the moment, I think. And all weekend, that off-the-tongue quip bothered me more than I’d like to admit.
See, when I was a teenager, I dreamed of owning an old house—a place with stories and character and quirks. When ours came on the market in 2016 for a price we could manage with a 30-year mortgage, we were thrilled.
Ten years later, the cracks are showing. That’s half a pun because our walls are made of plaster, which naturally cracks with age. The other half is that by the end of the year, it’s possible we could pay more in home repair costs than we’ve put toward our principle in a decade—and that sucks when there’s still two more decades of payments looming.
