Sector 7 turns 8
Sep. 26th, 2011 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stephbg8 years ago on this night Husband and I spent our first night at Sector 7.
Since then we've changed the outside of the house quite a lot, but the inside is relatively untouched. This niggles at me. For a long time I didn't really settle here because it had the feel of a rental; having slowly and labouriously fine tuned the decoration and furnishings in our first house, suddenly having nothing quite suit the rooms was quite a jar. The space was pretty intimidating too.
To this day I feel most comfortable in those few parts of the house that I have really made my own: the kitchen, the bedroom and the bathroom. The main living area is deeply familiar from ridiculous amonts of over-exposure, but I look at the original (and dangerously spiky) lemon yellow walls and know deep down that that is never a colour I would have chosen. It's not MINE.
I've come to appreciate the vomit-stain-disguising properties of the carpet, but I don't love it. I've tamed the acres of boring white tile by covering it in carpet scraps every winter to keep down the chill factor, but it's still a large stretch of floor I'd never have treated in such a fashion. At least the carpet scraps have the warmth of familiarity about them; they were salvaged from the folks' place a number of years ago. But sometimes they just stink of (relative) poverty*.
How hard is it to whack on a coat of paint? I *love* paint. I *love* painting. Well for most of the time we've lived here it's been completely beyond me. Some rooms have been done a small section at a time, but it cost me dearly. Huge number of spoons in a painting project.
The garden is a significant improvement over it's original grassy desert, but it's got a lot of gaps where plants have failed to survive various droughts and my unwillingness to use water in the garden. I've pruned now and then which has given me some sense of achievement, but I used to do so much more. How hard is it to throw around some fertiliser (and soil conditioner, water hydration stuff, mulch etc) and pop in the occasional new plant? As above: for most of the time we've lived here it's been completely beyond me.
Wow, this is turning into a whine. Sorry.
But there is hope on the horizon. I'm really pleased to have finally done something about the lighting and ventilation (thanks to several birthdays and Christmases literally all coming at once), and tomorrow I start collecting quotes for screen doors so we can stop running the aircon at least some of the time. It's bothered me living in such an eco-hostile house, but now I feel that some real progress has finally been made.
Coming one day a photo history post of the wonders of the house and garden that I built, back when I was an energetic thing. Pictures of me carrying rocks, laying tiles, sponging walls, and one of me installing a ceiling rose with a broom, prior to the installation of the chandellier in the bedroom. You heard me. You'll see the mosaics, the murals, the water garden. They were real, honest. I have surviving witnesses!
(*) Yes I am not starving, freezing, nor dying of cholera. We have running water and electricity. I get that.
Since then we've changed the outside of the house quite a lot, but the inside is relatively untouched. This niggles at me. For a long time I didn't really settle here because it had the feel of a rental; having slowly and labouriously fine tuned the decoration and furnishings in our first house, suddenly having nothing quite suit the rooms was quite a jar. The space was pretty intimidating too.
To this day I feel most comfortable in those few parts of the house that I have really made my own: the kitchen, the bedroom and the bathroom. The main living area is deeply familiar from ridiculous amonts of over-exposure, but I look at the original (and dangerously spiky) lemon yellow walls and know deep down that that is never a colour I would have chosen. It's not MINE.
I've come to appreciate the vomit-stain-disguising properties of the carpet, but I don't love it. I've tamed the acres of boring white tile by covering it in carpet scraps every winter to keep down the chill factor, but it's still a large stretch of floor I'd never have treated in such a fashion. At least the carpet scraps have the warmth of familiarity about them; they were salvaged from the folks' place a number of years ago. But sometimes they just stink of (relative) poverty*.
How hard is it to whack on a coat of paint? I *love* paint. I *love* painting. Well for most of the time we've lived here it's been completely beyond me. Some rooms have been done a small section at a time, but it cost me dearly. Huge number of spoons in a painting project.
The garden is a significant improvement over it's original grassy desert, but it's got a lot of gaps where plants have failed to survive various droughts and my unwillingness to use water in the garden. I've pruned now and then which has given me some sense of achievement, but I used to do so much more. How hard is it to throw around some fertiliser (and soil conditioner, water hydration stuff, mulch etc) and pop in the occasional new plant? As above: for most of the time we've lived here it's been completely beyond me.
Wow, this is turning into a whine. Sorry.
But there is hope on the horizon. I'm really pleased to have finally done something about the lighting and ventilation (thanks to several birthdays and Christmases literally all coming at once), and tomorrow I start collecting quotes for screen doors so we can stop running the aircon at least some of the time. It's bothered me living in such an eco-hostile house, but now I feel that some real progress has finally been made.
Coming one day a photo history post of the wonders of the house and garden that I built, back when I was an energetic thing. Pictures of me carrying rocks, laying tiles, sponging walls, and one of me installing a ceiling rose with a broom, prior to the installation of the chandellier in the bedroom. You heard me. You'll see the mosaics, the murals, the water garden. They were real, honest. I have surviving witnesses!
(*) Yes I am not starving, freezing, nor dying of cholera. We have running water and electricity. I get that.
