Go Fish Galvez

But not mine—yet. Maybe after a few hundred paychecks, there will be some at my house, too, but for now I’ve been watching, with mild interest, the construction progress of my new neighbors, who bought the little 1947 Tudor Revival directly across the street a few months ago.

This modest little home, actually quite a bit larger than a first glance at the front facade would indicate, was formerly owned by another neighbor of mine, two doors down and just west of me. This was her childhood home and still the residence of her ninety-something-year-old mother at the time Hurricane Ike swept in back in September of 2008. Apparently pulling a Granny Clampett and refusing all familial exhortations to leave, her mom weathered the storm in this home all by her lonesome. Sadly, shortly thereafter she succumbed to the stress of what must have been a horrific experience and passed away. A year later her daughter put the house on the market, and there it sat for over two long years in the stagnant housing market.

Finally, though, this past fall the house sold. The new owners, a retired couple who bought it for use as a vacation home and central gathering place for their extended family, have been doing a lot of fix-up work over there recently, beginning with chopping down the dead tree that had been plaguing the front yard and doing a little gardening, too. From what I hear through the neighborhood grapevine and can see from my own front porch, the changes going on inside are more major. Central heat and air conditioning are being installed, and the entire upstairs attic space—once upon a time finished for use as a dance studio—is being partitioned into bedrooms with a new bathroom being added up there, too.

Lately, though, I did have one brief moment of concern as I observed the work commence to replace the smallish attic window with a new larger one. Having toured the home myself back when it was still on the market, I could certainly understand the desire for a larger gable window to permit more natural light into the otherwise rather dark attic space. Nevertheless, being the rabid architectural conservationist that I am, my stomach began to churn last week as I watched a brick mason cutting around the original vertical brickwork that trimmed the window header, one of the few nice exterior touches on this very-late-period home. Happily, though, a few days ago, I was relieved to see that the brick mason had saved, cleaned, and was in the process of reinstalling each and every precious brick in its original configuration. Another win for the “home” team! Thank you, new neighbors!

And despite the bitter taste left in my mouth after my own horrific building experiences of a scant few years ago, I must admit that all this recent construction activity across the street has begun to get my remodeling juices flowing again. Now, where did I put those kitchen plans I started working on last year?