A few days ago, Anonymous asked if this was our house:
I look at that house and I think, "They probably don't have 1970's-orange counter tops in their kitchen."
But we do.
And in that white farmhouse, most likely there are kitchen cupboards attached to the high walls.
We don't have those. No, really...we don't have a one.
But we do have our old pine hutch top with glass doors sitting up on the (aforementioned) orange counter tops. "That's one way of getting glass-fronted cupboards," I tell Tom. "Bring your own."
(Also, we have no kitchen drawers(!) Though, fortunately, the baker's pantry has three. And two large cupboards up on the high wall.)
Our windows must be propped-up with sticks. I'll bet that white farmhouse has windows which actually stay open without a crutch.
And in the dining room of that farmhouse, they probably have walls all the same color. In our dining room half the walls are oh-so-bright yellow and the other walls are a happy shade of blue (I'm just a slow painter, especially when there's unpacking to do and a huge yard, orchard and garden to care for).
Upstairs in that fancy white farmhouse there's probably all sorts of pretty wallpaper. If you go upstairs in our house, you'll see dark, cavelike paneling in the two bedrooms up there and unpainted drywall walls of a bathroom-just-begun.
Our house also has 1970's orange and gold kitchen flooring, worn through in places... a smelly, wet basement which has flooded a few times... three squeaky, dirty, metal torn-screen doors... and wasp nests hanging from the faded green siding like strings of Christmas lights.
But you know? I love our poor, neglected farmhouse. Through her eyes, her windows, there are long-dreamed-of views. And after scads of years, she needs a friend, someone who is longing to give her a makeover. To bring her up-to-date. And to leave her much happier, much improved, than when she first welcomed us.