Story

We found our Little Darling in December, 2002. She was adorable! We fell in love at first sight.


We couldn't take a look inside, because the realtors weren't around. We drove home.

Madness struck us on the way. We called the realtor and made an offer. It was accepted by the time we got home two hours later. (Sure sign we paid too much.)  We quickly wrote up the papers and nailed the deal a few hours later.  (Sure sign we were setting ourselves up.)

We went back that Saturday eager to look inside "our" adorable little cottage. The realtor met us at the door. She opened it. She stepped back. We stepped in. We stopped short. Our hearts sank. Ajith said (forgive our language) “Oh F^@k! what the heck did we do!”. Brenda, ladylike, said “Err, hmm, how, err, hmm! Umm, we have a lot of work to do”.

What a mess.

There was no heat  There was a bathroom:  with a small potty and a sink just big enough to wash our hands. There was a kitchen.  Yeah, right.  There was a kitchen sink - see if you can find it.  Hint.  see that white pipe next to that cooking applicance? Well the kitchen sink is the empty space above the pipe.  Someone seems to have moved it . . .

The ceiling was about 4" above our heads.  We're not tall.   The floor? It was a subtle muddy shade of ugly.


We left. But the madness had not subsided.  Despite all our better judgement, we bought the place.  But no one would finance something that small that had no bathroom or heat or taste.  So we built a shower - on the 26th of December, 2001.  

Miraculously we found a small bank in town that gave us a mortgage.  Meanwhile, someone screwed a couple of space heaters into the wall and hung a thermostat above them. No one looked behind them.  The building passed. The mortgage was approved; we signed the papers; the place was ours.

We got tetanus shots and went to work.

We tore down the ceiling - layers of cheap plywood. The rafters were not to Code. Ajith turned pale (well as pale as an (ex) Sri Lankan can ever get). Brenda, ladylike, said “We have a lot of work to do”.

We tore down the ugly cardboard sheeting on the wall and the 60 years of walls behind it. The framing was not to Code. Ajith started to whimper. Brenda, not so ladylike, said “S#!t, we have a lot of work to do”.

We tore out the insides of the cottage, all the way to the outer wall and up to the roof.

Then we re-framed.  Friends and relatives took pity on us and came to help. Brenda's father is a Master Carpenter.  Brenda begged as only the Number One Daughter can beg.  Poor guy had no chance.  He came up from Florida to help.


We raised the ceiling.  Things began to look up.


The pipes burst that winter. We were there, working.  We thought the noise was from next door. Three hours later, when light dawned on our marble heads, we realized that there was a serious problem here, a lake beneath in the crawl space. Ajith went out to buy a bottle of whiskey. Brenda, un-ladylike (they all crack eventually), said “F^@k!, Now we have more work to do!”

But we kept going.  We put in the biggest windows we dared.  We cut an 8' by 4' foot hole in the wall. Dropped it on the street. Startled a few people. err, a lot of people.  


Brenda and our friends Diane and Chris.  Chris is wondering why the pedestrian is limping.


On Boxing Day, 2002, we thought we’d be done in 4 months. Hah! It took 18. We re-did everything: framed the cottage from top to bottom, raised the ceiling, put in the biggest windows we dared.  We re-did the bathroom from top to bottom (pun intended).  We built a real kitchen in a very small space. We put in all new wiring – electric, phone and network.  We put in a new floor . . . We learned a lot about the design of small spaces...


We compromised at nothing. Well . . . almost nothing: We skipped the second floor bedroom, the adjoining outdoor lounge with the wet bar overlooking Commercial Street, the two car garage in the crawl space, the Jacuzzi on the third floor, etc.,etc. We were just too tired. Perhaps next year. Heck, it’ll only take 4 months.

Little Darling was worth every drop of sweat and tears (yes and a myriad cuts, bruises and sprains and curses) we spent on her. People tell us that she is the “classiest place on Commercial Street”. But we don’t really know how much or what they'd been drinking.

We had a lot of fun. You know, like root canal.  But it was worth it.  We enjoy our Little Darling, and so will you.  Come enjoy the fruits of our labor!

What's next? This?   or that?   

On the advice of friends we're meeting with a psychiatrist.