I painted the side porch last night. It's a temporary fix while I complete more urgent tasks, but I've finally tired of the previous owner's four different hues — tested in patches but never fully executed — on the pillars and railings. At least now, if everything is one color, maybe people will stop saying they noticed I started painting: No. This haphazardly placed riot of colors (nine total) on the exterior was not my doing.
Inside, on any given day I scroll through many blog and Instagram images, admiring the beautiful historic houses and picturing my own home just as lovely: simple, sound and ready to take on the next 130 years. In my mind, the house is already perfect — I can imagine what it will be — but back outside and close up, the rotted wood, alligatored paint and missing trim show a bleaker and truer image of the state of the house.