It was green - pulled straight out of a comic book’s color palette, yet set in a surrounding worthy of a poet. The yard was a corner lot, with old trees and a stream running along the back property line.
At the time, I was single, with just Supercat to call my own.
This tiny, 750-square-foot house, with two minuscule bedrooms, one 50s-style bathroom (complete with original black and white tile, which I’m sure contained asbestos), and a lot of work needed, appealed to me. It called out to me to fix it and to make it a home again.
The bedrooms could barely hold a twin bed and a dresser each, and the bedroom closets could be mistaken for broom closets. The kitchen was narrow, with barely room to turn around, but would work since I have never been a gourmet chef. The living room was closer to the size of my college dorm room, but would hold a couch and a small TV. The basement was dark and scary, with repairs needed to the walls.
My grandfather said he would help me upgrade the electricity and some of the other areas of concern. My parents promised help in the foundation crack/stair footing repair. I quickly made a list of all of the absolute repairs and the dream remodels, and made an offer.
I low-balled the offer, knowing how much work the house needed and that it had been sitting for a while. The seller turned me down, with a counter-offer that was much too high. I countered once more, but this time I was turned down flat. No counter-offer.
The house eventually did sell at a much-reduced rate, and I was still envious of the stream that ran along the back edge of the property and the funky black and white bathroom.
And then, just last year, that house got flooded. It wasn’t exactly a small amount of water, either.
Due to construction in a nearby area, the normal flow of water through that stream and area was disrupted and the basement completely filled with water.
I feel bad for the current owner, and am somewhat relieved that I didn’t own the house.
But I occasionally wonder what it would be like now, as a family to live in that small house. The three of us packed cozily into that tiny abode. Material possessions would be fewer and time spent in separate places would be reduced - you can’t hide in a smaller house.
Would we be as happy? I would like to think that we would be happier, actually, although in truth, we would probably be craving some time apart. I could do without some of the possessions though. (Seriously, would anyone like to borrow my plethora of knick-knacks, which still happen to be in boxes, since I really have had issues with clutter lately?)
I ended up on this trip down memory lane and stopped by the land of “what-ifs” though, because of the economy. I wonder if we would feel the impact of the higher prices as greatly, if we were packed into that tiny house? We would definitely have had more disposable income, as the price of that house was much less than the house we built, but then I realize we probably would have sold that house and moved into the house the Hubby owned at the time, anyway.
But again, would we be as impacted by the economic shifts if we had stayed in the Hubby’s house, even?
The Hubby has reassured me that it would probably have been no different, since we were looking to finish the basement and put on a deck, had we stayed in his place - both items that would have quickly added up. Plus the other maintenance items that we would have needed to address as they popped up - carpets, roof, etc…
So I go back to my little cottage, so perfect and tiny in my mind’s eye, and sit quietly by the stream that could-have-been, and wonder… What if?
(I’m feeling a bit introspective lately, especially with the economic challenges facing so many of us. How is the current economy impacting you, or isn’t it?)