My First Home: Why red carpet was a must-have
After two years in Hawaiian paradise, I would be desperate for bright colors to assuage the darkness of New England winters.
“We found you the perfect house!’’ my mother exclaimed. We were talking long distance when it cost a lot of money to talk long distance. “It’s near the elementary school with lots of kids, and the price is decent. And a mere mile from Daddy and me. You have to decide by tomorrow. There’s another bid.’’
It was a lot to digest, so I put my husband on the phone, sat back, and hyperventilated. It was 1972, and Jack and I and our two young sons were living on the windward side of Oahu while Jack completed his Army requirement at Tripler Army Medical Center in Honolulu. We would be returning to Boston in six months when Jack would enter a medical practice, but who buys a house without seeing it? With no smartphone camera, this was literally a blind sale.
My husband hung up, equally baffled. “It sounds like a great deal,’’ he said. “We know the neighborhood, but still it’s a huge risk.’’
After a sleepless night, we accepted the deal. Yes, it was a risk, and living that close to both sets of parents had its pros — and cons. It would be great for our kids to live near grandparents they had missed seeing these past two years — and if I went back to work, there were baby-sitting opportunities — but we’d just spent two years on our own. We would give it a try. After all, it was just a house, and if it turned out badly, we could sell it, right?
For the next six months there were lots of calls and even some movie camera films. Decisions to be made regarding wallpaper and tiles I left to my mother. The only request I made, and I will never understand why, was that the carpet be red. After two years in Hawaiian paradise, I would be desperate for bright colors to assuage the darkness of New England winters.
After Jack’s discharge from the Army, we walked into our new house. I will not say I loved it at first sight, but I understood it was a good buy and the street was loaded with kids. I also realized this was a modern house, and I suddenly preferred older houses with character. The only character this house had was red rugs, which quickly began to sprout lint.
For the next five years we soldiered on, adjusting to and enjoying having family nearby. Although I never grew to love this house, the thought of moving after all our previous comings and goings was unpleasant. One day all that changed when we awoke to heavy machines rolling onto our property. They were turning the empty adjacent lot into a new road on which eight houses would be built. Steam shovels, cranes, and jackhammers began their daily assault on our lives, and I understood we would be moving. After a few years and much neighborhood dishevel, we found a 75-year-old house nearby and bursting with charm.
I was a bit sad as we moved out of the first house we had owned, but thrilled to be bidding farewell to those lint-filled red rugs.
Whatever had I been thinking?
Phyllis Karas, an author whose latest book, “The Women of Southie,” will be published on April 1, lives in a 100-year-old house in Marblehead with wood floors. Send comments to [email protected] and a 550-word essay on your first home to [email protected]. Please note: We do not respond to submissions we won’t pursue. Subscribe to our free real estate newsletter at pages.email.bostonglobe.com/AddressSignUp.
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