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Tag Archives: renovation of an old home

A Minority in a Land of Majorities

17 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by Remodeling House and Heart in A Leap of Faith, For the Love of People, History, Living Unbound, Maid's Room, Personal Growth, Uncategorized

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1896, being in the minority, historic district, maid's room, Mexican American, Queen Anne Victorian house, renovation of an old home, suffragette, Texas, The Great Hanging of Gainesville

A Treasured Family Tradition:  Great-Grandma was a "Soldada" During the Mexican Revolution

A Treasured Family Tradition: Great-Grandma was a “Soldada” During the Mexican Revolution

Ferguson.  Immigration reform.  Racial unrest.  The country has been restless and angry and hurt.  And so have I.

I am restless because there is not really a name for the confusion that I feel when it comes to these things.  There is no way to pinpoint the awkwardness that comes from being a minority in a land of majorities.  I wrestle and grieve like everyone else, no matter what side you take.  I look at my house and sometimes feel worse.

Built circa 1896 in north Texas, I can take my guesses as to the muscle that labored this house into fruition.  Perhaps my suspicions are wrong.  For some reason I do believe that the original owners of this home were good, honest, and kind people.  Lets call it my gut instinct. Despite my hopeful gut, I have to be realistic when it comes to the circumstances that surrounded this corner of Texas all those decades ago.

Race was an issue then.  Race is an issue now.

We live not even two blocks from a historical monument that marks the place were 41 men were hanged (allegedly the largest hanging in US history) for treason during the Civil War.  They were accused of being unionists and were denied a fair trial. I pass that monument nearly every day.  It turns my stomach into knots. Not because I am angry at the people who hanged them; no- we must forgive them. The monument puts me in an uneasy state because it reminds me of the cost and the struggle of millions who came before me all so that I could be a college educated, Mexican-American woman who owns property.  The responsibility to live a life that is honorable to their sacrifice is heavy.

The Great Hanging; photo cred: Wikipedia

The Great Hanging; photo cred: Wikipedia

Many days, I walk through the halls of this house studying the intricacies of the crown moldings and the stairwell banisters and the artistry of the stained glass windows and I wonder who the original owners were.  What would they think of a Mexican-American couple buying their house over a hundred years later?  Like I said, for some reason I think they were humble and open-minded people.  Something in the way these walls were built whisper of a family who were content to be considerate of their fellow man.  Even still, would they be surprised to see my darkish skin?

Surprised is exactly the word that describes the faces of people when they find out who owns this big, white house.  Its like they are expecting some older white couple to live here because, lets be honest, that is usually the population of people who own houses like ours.  We stand out.

Yes, we stand out and it often feels like we stand alone.  But, that is not necessarily a bad thing.  I like to think that we are pioneers in a corner of the world that is still growing and grappling with these issues.

I grew up in a city in which everyone looked like me.  I never gave much thought to being a “minority.”  It wasn’t until I moved to Minnesota in my early adulthood that I really began to feel the gravity of the race issue that veils our country.  I guess, you don’t really know what it is like to be a minority until you actually are one.  I know that sounds obvious but, surprisingly, most people who are in the majority are not familiar with this concept or maybe they are but they have never experienced what that feels like.  I know I used to be one of those people.

Had we bought a house in a cute little subdivision, I don’t think I would be thinking about these kinds of issues so frequently.  This house forces me to weigh in on the heavy issues of race and class because I have become part of the history of this house.  This house has seen the suffrage movement, World Wars I and II, the end to segregation, the feminist movement, MTV, the first African American president, etc.

Bottom Line – the chances of a Mexican-American couple owning a house like mine in 1896 were pretty slim, if not impossible.  America has come a long, long way and I am proud of her for that.  I am thankful that I do not have to live my life under a constant barrage of threats due to the color of my skin.   I am thankful that I don’t really have a lot of stories revolving around hate.  My experience has been blessed by people of all different “colors” who are content to being kind and decent human beings.  For the most part, the people I have met throughout my lifetime know that it is wrong to judge a book by its cover.

There is a room in this house that I assume must have belonged to “the help” back when the originals moved into this house.  The crown moldings are distinctively plain with no ornate detailing whatsoever.  The floor in that room seems to be in the worst shape and it is the room that is adjacent to what would have been the washroom/kitchen area back then.  From my very basic knowledge of history and how families operated circa 1896 I can deduce that the originals must have had hired help (aka live in nanny or cook or maid or farm hand or all of the above).  Now it is our family room in which my kids run around barefoot and hang hand made ornaments on our Christmas tree and where they are always expected to clean up after themselves because we are not living in 1896.

Sears Arlington House Plan from the Sear's Catalog 1919 is almost exactly like our floor plan.  I spy the "maid's room"  Photo cred: http://www.searshomes.org/

Sears Arlington House Plan from the Sear’s Catalog 1919 is almost exactly like our floor plan. I spy the “maid’s room” Photo cred: http://www.searshomes.org/

I tend to feel anxious when I think about the “maid’s” room in my house, and the monument of The Great Hanging, and that this house might have been built by men who were in seriously unfortunate circumstances.  They are the ghosts of Christmases past that remind me and inform me of how much things have changed for a woman like me. They make it real.

Perhaps this house was actually built by very well paid men who never felt discriminated against.  That may very well have been the case.  But I’m willing to bet that somewhere else in America in 1896, a house was being built by men who were degraded and downtrodden.  That is the reality of those painful times and my heart aches for them.  Because I am reminded of that every day, I feel a great responsibility to live a life unbound and purposeful.  I don’t really know what that will look like for me but I remain the ever hopeful optimist on the hunt for my way of honoring the blood, sweat, and tears of all the pioneers who have proceeded before me.

I googled "Mexican Suffragettes" and this was one of many images that came up- Soldadas from the Mexican Revolution.

I googled “Mexican Suffragettes” and this was one of many images that came up- Soldadas from the Mexican Revolution. Brave pioneers in my people’s history.

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The Life and Death of a Wallflower

12 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by Remodeling House and Heart in For the Love of People, Personal Growth, Uncategorized, Wallpaper

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home improvement, mission work, renovation of an old home, taking a leap of faith, the unknown, wallflowers, wallpaper removal

Cotton candy flora

Cotton candy flora

Are you brave enough? Because I am not.

I like to hang back in the background and comfortably blend in like the big, fluffy, pastel flowers that adorn the walls of my house. Fitting in is just too important to me. It always has been.

But I just can’t sit still anymore. I’m restless. There is a big bad world out there with so much heartache and pain. People are hurting day in and day out. People have lost hope. And here I sit pretty in pink all nice and cozy on my wall. Don’t make a sound. Don’t move or someone might notice. Blend in. Wear the right clothes and hairstyle. Take your kids to the right functions. Say the right things on social media. Be on time.

But I am always late. And the right clothes and hairstyle never look right on me like they do on her. And my kids are usually the ones who make a scene at all of those functions. My place on the wall is getting old and dusty.

I have been living amongst the floral wallpaper for so long that it is starting to grow on me. Sometimes I actually think it looks pretty. Gasp! Then I come to my senses and realize that while it may look feminine and pleasant, the wallpaper really is outdated and just has no business in this 21st century world.

Denial. Been living in it for some time now concerning my wallflower status and people pleasing tendencies.

It’s hard to go against the grain; take a stance; stand out; be brave; journey into the unknown; step out of your comfort zone; try something new; chase that wild dream.

I fear that everyone will laugh at me. Perhaps everyone is already laughing at me just for dreaming about the dream and sharing it with the world.

But I am learning.

You have to get to that point in which you don’t care if anyone is laughing at you. You just have to get over that hump and expect that you will be ridiculed and make peace with it and move on.

At the end of the day I want to teach my children to be brave and to not be held back by the fear of fitting into society. How can I do that when I am so often crippled by fear? I have to get them a wallpaper scraper too and teach by example. They need to see mommy and daddy scraping off the old and trying something different to change our little corner of the world. If I want my kids to be brave enough to fight the good fight then I have to be brave enough to fight the good fight.

I’m tired of being the wallflower that watches as others claim and conquer their dreams. I want to have a fabulous story too. I don’t want to be held back by my shoe collection and social media profile. I need to get off this wall and into the light.

There is this dream, this passion that is burning bright red. It’s not my dream. It doesn’t belong to me. I don’t own it. It is bigger than that. This dream cannot be contained by four flower speckled walls and a roof. Well, at least that is how it feels when it is thumping and pounding in my chest and squeezing my heart.
Impossible. Echoes in my head. And it is true. It will be impossible to ever even coming close to the dream realized if I continue to be content with the status quo.

Daily, I waiver between painting over the walls of wallpaper in our house and just scraping it all off and starting over from scratch. I don’t know the answer to that question yet but I do know that I am tired of looking at the cotton candy flora. We have already scraped a significant amount of wallflowers off the wall but we are nowhere near being done. Those pearly rose and teal colored peonies are a constant reminder to get out of the past and into the present. I hear those flowers crying out to me, warning me that if I don’t act soon my fate will end up like theirs. I will be doomed to live a life of pretty stillness: complacent and stagnant like the images of women from decades past. Not me, nuh uh!

For too many years I have listened to countless stories of brave people doing amazing things and all the while I am thinking, “oh that is nice, thank God for people like that who are willing to take risks for humanity. People like that are so inspiring but not everyone is made for that kind of greatness.”

People. Like. That. Where does that idea come from anyway? Those “people like that” are really just normal, every-day people who made a choice to step out of their comfort zone and think creatively and live bravely towards a life uncommon. They got off their wall, took a deep breath, and while holding their dream in their hands plunged into the great unknown.

They were brave.

We don’t have to wait for “people like that ” to change the world. We can all have a part of a greater story if we are willing to let go of some of the lesser things in life. What are we waiting for?

Seriously though, what are you waiting for? What is holding you back from that dream bubbling inside of you?
What are your thoughts? Comment below, we are not meant to do life alone.

Living on the edge because it just has to go.  No place for complacency.

Living on the edge because it just has to go. No place for complacency.

Nowhere to go but up

Nowhere to go but up

Enter into our house of flowers

Enter into our house of flowers

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When Your House Floats Away

15 Wednesday Oct 2014

Posted by Remodeling House and Heart in Foundation, Personal Growth

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Tags

broken pipe, flooded crawl space, home improvement, renovation of an old home

Stay Clear;  Random woman just floating through life

Stay Clear: Random woman just bobbing through life

I watched my house float away on the small river that had overtaken our street. There she was in all her glory slowly being torn apart by the cruel force of nature that was our plumbing. From under the house the flood had corroded the floor boards and unhinged it so that the house was now sailing away. Bobbing further and further down the street. Floating and falling apart. Floating and falling apart. Eventually the house would completely crumble and cease to exist and all I could do was watch.

I know how she feels. I lost myself there for a while. For almost ten years I bobbed around through my life like a wave crashing buoy anchored in one place. I don’t regret it for a second. That is not a popular thing to say in this day in age but I know now that I had to put pieces of myself away for a while so that I could focus on a bigger picture. I needed time to figure out how to be a smaller part of a larger whole so I collected some of my smaller parts and put them in a shoe box to deal with at a later time.

Most of those small collectibles needed to be put away. Like forever. In fact, they needed to be buried at the bottom of the ocean and never seen again. Selfishness, discontentment, disillusionment…. Who needs those things anyways?

Other parts, however, were sweet and beautiful and reminders of a girl who used to dream and twirl around in tutus. Those parts, while very dear to me, just needed to be put to sleep for a while. They just took up too much of my brain space and I needed every ounce of my mind, body, and soul to figure out my place in this new “larger whole” that I now belonged to. The music, art, and poetry of my life were packed up and saved for a later date.

The later date came this past summer. It was time for those sleepy parts to wake up. The awakening was a slow and subtle process that rolled in waves over the long and hot summer. As June and July sizzled by we noticed that the house was shifting as old houses do. The ceramic tiles in the hallway were popping up and doors were no longer closing properly. The house in her restless unsettling was trying to warn me that the foundation was shifting. The flood would soon follow.

The warning signs were all there but I was distracted by my own restless unsettling. Years of suppressing the little nuances and quirks that assembled my personality were now bursting at my seams just ready to explode. I had reached a time in my life where I no longer felt like I had to put myself away to concentrate on that larger whole. The “larger whole” was now, well, whole. It was good and pretty strong actually. I had worked so hard for so long and now I saw that the foundation had been laid solid and sturdy. Because I put in the time to focus all of my energies on this one huge idea I was free now to open up that box of mementos that used to be me. It took ten years to get there but I had arrived at a place where I could take some time and breathe. The hard work had finally paid off.

Over the summer, tidal waves of memories rolled in gently reminding me of the person that I used to be, the person that I had always been. A favorite song, an encounter with a long lost friend, readings of journals from days gone by, and rediscovering old photos crashed like waves along the surf and there I was riding my boogie board trying to stay afloat and navigate my way through the ocean of memories that were flooding my head.

It all came together and made sense on the day that we discovered the flood under our house. A pipe from the upstairs bathroom had broken in half (a complete fluke and not at all a result of having an old house) and water had flooded the crawl space under the house. Since the foundation of the house sits above ground it took a while for the water to seep out of the crawl space and into our backyard and our neighbor’s backyard. Nevertheless, hundreds of gallons of water were rolling around under our house. A tiny ocean. Had we not noticed the leaky pipe when we did, the water would have begun to corrode the foundation of the house.

The foundation was in jeopardy of completely falling apart and the house we built could have been lost forever.

Okay, that is slightly over dramatic. Our house certainly did not float down a river of despair (welcome back little nuances of my personality known as over dramatization and romanticizing of the mundane). But that is what it felt like.

I imagined what that would have looked like- the water busting through the floor boards and the through the cracks in the bricks until the house began to crumble. Thankfully that was all in my imagination and all it took was a pump and three days to get all of that water out from under our house.

But that silly little over dramatic image spoke to me. It was the whispered message that I needed to hear; the kiss from the prince that woke up this tulle wearing princess.

A broken pipe caused a flood which caused the house’s foundation to shift which gave me this image of our house floating away which then turned into an image of me floating away.

My personal foundation was waiting for me to save the day. The flood of yearning for the long lost me had finally bust through the box that I had hidden myself in for such a long time.

It was perfect timing.

Like I said, I really believe that it was necessary to put some things to sleep temporarily while I figured things out. We all go through seasons in which we just have to cut back on some areas of our lives. But there comes a time that we have to open up that box and pull out those old pieces because if not they could get lost forever. At least that is how I felt. The timing was right. I was primed and ready to break free. After focusing so long on the foundation that I had help to build, now I had the freedom of focusing on me without compromising the foundation.

In fact, the foundation needed me to put those missing tiles of my life back in place. When I began to unpack some of those sweet, little parts of me I noticed that my husband and my children seemed to like me more! Well, of course they did. Who really likes to be around a person who is trying too hard to be something that she is not? When I was reintroduced to myself I felt this peace and contentment roll over me. Freedom. Completeness. After all I was created to be this person; this dreamy tutu wearing girl that my husband fell in love with and who my children feel more comfortable around. I had woken up from a deep, deep sleep and it felt good! I was refreshed and free to be a part of this beautiful larger whole that God had created for me to be a part of.

Again, like I said, I do not regret for one second that I spent the last 10 years without these little pieces of me. Temporary sacrifices are sometimes necessary for personal growth. These last 10 years have been so fruitful for me as a human being. Lessons have been learned (many times the hard way); growing up has happened. I think that if I had not put some things away for a while my spirit might be stuck in the same 23 year old place. That frightens me. Have you ever been around someone in their 30’s who still acts like an early 20 something or worse- a teenager? Yikes! When you look at the grand scheme of things ten years really isn’t that long after all.

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Her Name is Eva and She Built This House

24 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by Remodeling House and Heart in Quirky Stories, Uncategorized

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antique milk bottle, antiques, Eva's Best Drink, post World War II, Queen Anne Victorian house, relics, renovation of an old home, San Benito, Texas

Eva's Best Drink

I looked her in the eye and told her that we would live in this house. This house would be ours. I was expecting the owner to scoff at me especially considering that she had just literally laughed at our meager little offer on the house that was 1/3 of the original asking price. But instead she looked at me for a minute then smiled and told me to follow her. She took me upstairs to the guest bedroom that was lined with brown faux wood paneling left over from the 70’s. There on the fireplace mantle sat a small glass bottle which she handed to me.

At first I thought that it was a pretty cool looking relic but then she told me the significance of the bottle. When Evelyn first bought the house back in the 80’s she realized that someone was going to have to crawl under the house to take a look at what was the state of the plumbing and electrical wiring. Scrappy woman that she is, Evelyn decided that she would be the one to do it.  Under the house  it is pitch black with all manner of wildlife probably sustaining their own ecosystem within the crawl space of the house. Still, Evelyn proceeded with her quest. While she was sliding around on her belly examining the house’s foundation she found a glass milk bottle that dates back to post World War II daily life . Who knows how long it had been there or how it got there. We can only assume that it rolled under the house from the front porch.  The possibilities of it’s whereabouts were endless and intriguing to me.

But what really caught my attention and took my breath away was that the name brand of the milk was “Eva’s Best Drink.” It still gives me chills. I looked at Evelyn and told her that my daughter’s name is Eva and she is named after my grandma Eva. It turns out that Evelyn’s grandmother was also named Eva and that she had named her company after HER grandmother Eva. Evelyn’s own name was a derision of her grandmother’s name as well. Evelyn credits her “Eva company” as the main financial provider for her many, many restoration projects for the house because when she bought the house it was in shambles. In a sense, it was the legacy of her grandmother Eva that rebuilt this house.  When Evelyn found the milk bottle she took it as a sign that this house would be blessed.  Well, that was it. Sold. Ms. Evelyn did not accept our offer that day but we both knew that this house would one day be ours.

It’s been almost 2 years since that conversation about the milk bottle but this last weekend I could not get this story out of my head. It was my Grandma Eva’s funeral and all around me was evidence that she had built this home just as much as Evelyn’s grandmother had built the house. There were so many, many pictures of the chic and classy woman that was Grandma Eva. There were so many stories and eulogies shared; all of them detailing how she had put her faith and her family first. Always. There were memories galore and tears of joy that come with honoring and celebrating the life of a remarkable loved one.

Many times I scanned the room and breathed in the sweet fruits of my grandparents’ labor. It was a soothing, nourishing, and warm scent. Like fresh milk. Grandma Eva was the mother of all these people. Good people. People who are doing things with their lives to make this world a better place. She built this house. My grandparents, they laid the foundation for all of these people who I am privileged and blessed to call family.

I looked at my daughter Eva who is one of the heirs to this kingdom and prayed that I could build her a home as lovely as the one that was built for me. We don’t have to rebuild the house like Evelyn had to, but we are building ourselves a family and several ministries within the walls of this home. Evelyn’s grandma Eva lived on in the legacy of her business that allowed for her to restore this house; my grandma Eva’s legacy would live on through the scaffolding of our family as we made this house our own. I looked at my daughter Eva and realized that she really inherited both legacies. What a grand idea for such a tiny little person! My Eva would reap the harvest of at least five generations of women who came before her. All of them necessary in the building of the generation that followed and all of them essential to the restoration of the physical house that she would build her childhood memories in.

The “Eva’s Best Drink” story would stand as a reminder of how generations past have nourished us in their selfless sacrifices to build us up into the people that we become.  I realized that this story kept coming to the forefront of my mind during Grandma Eva’s funeral because it put things in perspective for me.  As I begin this journey of restoring an old home, I am thirsting for time to complete the ever growing list of home improvement projects so much so that I often lose sight of the bigger picture- the little people who are right beside me.    However, the best drink that will come from this house will not be from the completed projects but from the building of a family within these walls.  Eva gave her best and I am still drinking it all in.  Cheers!

two Evas

My little Eva celebrating her great-grandmother’s 80th birthday!

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The Renovation of My Heart

17 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by Remodeling House and Heart in Uncategorized

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Tags

historic district, home improvement, Queen Anne Victorian house, renovation of an old home

house and heart avil'art

We bought a house that was built in 1896. Let me make one thing clear, I am not one of those people who watches HGTV or “Flip this House” or some other kind of home improvement show like that. I am not into renovating houses and neither is my husband. I’m the kind of girl who wants to move into a brand new, custom home and do absolutely no work on it except for hanging pictures. We are not even really big on the do it yourself thing. However, even though it goes against everything that you ever hoped for, when God gifts you with a classic beauty how can you say no? Continue reading →

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