Last week I looked at a couple of houses that are for sale in Warren, RI, in an area right off of the waterfront. Warren is pleasantly unfashionable and largely untouched; the neighborhood is a mess of old, with very little postdating 1850. And of course, I fell in love. A few times.
And it's even more ridiculous, because it breaks all my rules! No wooden houses, nothing so close to sea level (all gone, just give it 50 years), really a complete wreck. But forget it -- I'd move in tomorrow. Delicious and 209 years old ...
Cabinets, cabinets, cabinets ... who says old houses have no storage? Think the middle one leads to Narnia? I would have loved this as a kid. Lead paint builds healthy brains!
It's been chopped into 3 apartments, and I'm torn about what would really make the most sense. For a time, I'm sure Steven and I could live in it and rent two, but I don't think I'd spend any real money making it work as a 3 flat. It really wants to be a house, I think. Oh, and the yard is adorable. The garage is actually a school house that was dragged from a couple blocks away, with a beautiful barrel vaulted ceiling. Studio for me, anyone? Too good for a stinking car.