Take the Tour

Back up here in one of the guest rooms at Tara, sitting in the only comfortable indoor chair in this house, after being driven off the front porch and its wonderful wicker chairs by the cold.

Yes, Florida friends, you read that correctly--it's 50 and misty out there right now, on this third day of August. We are expecting sun and mid-70s later. I am reminded of southern California during the weeks of "June gloom", when we would shiver on the beach in the mornings while wearing layers of sweatshirts and caps (if one relied on public transportation to get to-and-from the beach, that meant getting there in the morning after a long bus ride), only to peel down to swim trunks when the sun finally scattered the fog around lunchtime.

Dean walks into the room, his approach signaled by the creaking floor boards here on the second floor. He meows for the first time, ever. Not sure this is a positive development, given that we already have two complainers. Deano's muteness was endearing.

He keeps trying to get me to follow him down the stairs to let him out. I relent, and he scampers down and off the porch, looking for Slane. It's a lot more lonely here at Tara, with the boys all grown up and running around outside all day. And there's no real view except Canfield Park, which is lovely but no replacement for the hills outside the Solarium.

I was supposed to be in Panama City this week working, but the case scheduled for trial this month settled, we still have no place to live down there, and I can't think of a compelling reason to travel South and catch Covid in this latest conflagration. Last week one of my oldest friends in PC, completely vaccinated, came down with Covid and described both its misery while he was ill and his jumble-headedness as he tried to return to work. I can't afford to lose any IQ points at 57, so I'll keep working from here for the time being.

I had also planned to deliver Jo Jo to Dad and Johnny to replace their deceased cat, and to take a few days with the folks while I still can, but Covid took care of that as well. Or, more accurately, the mass stupidity that led 60% of my neighbors to eschew vaccination, allowing a mutation to sweep across (mostly) the South and kill another swath of my acquaintances, makes lockdown the only sensible alternative, even if some of us pretend otherwise.

It is a frustrating, lonely place to be this morning.

But also a lovely place. A close friend who reads these posts commented yesterday on the lack of interior photos of Tara. It's still not much to see, with furniture trickling in over the next couple days and lots of redecorating under P's guidance, but let's walk the place together, you and I, and I'll try to point out some interesting details.

This is the great room, facing the front of the house. We have a Stickley couch and a couple cool old chairs coming tomorrow to start filling this cavernous space, and are considering whether to spend the money to move Mom's 1912 Everett baby grand piano from Wyldswood to the far corner over there. The wall hangings and adjustable shelving are artifacts from the prior owner, whose taste ran a little more casual than ours. Eventually this space will become a combination of formal and comfortable.

I neglected to take a photo over our left shoulder, where you'd see a built-in entertainment center and the door to the powder room. You have to go through the powder room to get to the door leading down into our massive basement--I'm guessing the basement door predates indoor plumbing by maybe a half-century, and there are limited options for locating a toilet on the first floor.

Just on the other side of that wall to the right (where you see the cat litter container) is the mud room.

There is a side door off to the right, and we are looking down the hall to the front door. A massive mirror hangs there in the hall, rescued by the former owner from a saloon or restaurant in one of the little towns around here.

Then there is the dining room, behind us here.

As I said, the former owner had a different aesthetic sensibility. And pink isn't our color, not at all. This whole room is going to have to go, but not right away given the expense of filling the empty spaces. First things first.

The door to the left leads out into the backyard and onto a kitchen porch.

Yes, I am too lazy to open the screen to take the picture. And yes, that is Dean out there napping on the slate.

The porch features another door leading into the kitchen, or at least it did until the prior owner completed a major renovation of the kitchen and blocked the door.

Ah, the kitchen. It is like someone excised whatever was here before and inserted a tumor of 2007 or so in this grand old structure.

I have to admit it's fairly functional, with a big gas range, a sink deep enough to float the Robalo, and enough storage for all of our stuff, and then some. Those stairs on the right provide a back-way up to the second floor.

Behind the barstools is a little alcove where the refrigerator sits across from a nook just large enough to house our massive espresso machine. The grinder sits hidden in one of the drawers. I'm not sure this arrangement is going to work long-term, given the cramped confines within which to make P's latte in the morning.

It feels like I am pulling shots on a submarine.

Behind the kitchen is a very small room P promises to turn into a combination library/man cave.

The bar is certainly a plus, and that TV mount will allow for some quality football watching Saturdays in the weeks ahead. Peg thinks there's probably old red brick there behind the weird paneling/bench under the windows, and at some point, if she's correct, we'll likely pull the paneling out and leave exposed brick. Lots of potential in this little space.

Returning to the front of the house, we climb the stairs to the second floor.

You can see the hallway mirror a little more clearly here. And that little framed photo halfway up the stairs has its own cool story I'll tell another time.

At the top of the stairs there's a modest little landing. We're not sure what to do with it, but there are plenty of other projects around here.

Cool old chandelier. There are several around the house.

Off to our left is the master bedroom, seen on the last day before its furnishings arrive from B-ville.

Around the corner is a strange walk-in closet/ dressing area that in turn leads to a bathroom with a dissonantly "beachy" basin. More stuff to be fixed.

Behind that mirror leaning against the wall we are pretty sure we will find the remains of the second floor chimney and fireplace that once warmed this space. And those closets on the left required them to seal a door off the hall. All that will get fixed, eventually, and we will have a little space off the master to sit by the fire, as I'm sure past occupants did for decades before this ill-fated "renovation".

This little guest room is a vexation to poor Peg.

You see, those ceiling tiles are plastic, and drooping under the weight of who knows what sort of old water damage. Eventually we will have to perform exploratory surgery, drop a couple panels, and see what is hiding above.

I'm sitting in that chair on the right as I compose this. As I said, it's the only option other than freezing on the porch or insulting my poor spine in a straight-backed dining chair.

These days, until the new bedroom set arrives, we're sleeping in here.

My little home office is just behind, and behind that are a bathroom and a walk-in closet. It is a cheery space, but I need a new chair in the worst way.

That door you see on the right leads to a second floor porch, directly above the kitchen porch.

Dig the lilliputian porch railing. The banisters are the same way. These were wee people who built this place.

A little further down the hall is what P has taken to calling "the girls' room" as she recalls happier times before me.

This is where Issac and Olivia will stay when they arrive this weekend, because it's the largest bed in the house. Issac will still hang over the edge, and I'm not sure there's room in there for Rocko or Teyla.

Behind those built-ins is a bright little room P plans to turn into her exercise space (BTW Peg, I went ahead and put your dumb bells in there, in case you're looking for them).

So, there you have it, a meandering floorplan with lots of 19th century quirkiness and enough furniture to get us started--a great kindness of the former owner who left it behind. We'll spend the time we have left helping this docent of Southside Hill return to a little of her former grandeur, until our creaky knees make climbing the stairs too much of a challenge and then, eventually, we become the ghosts floating past some future resident.

The sun has finally started burning through the mist, and my computer says it's gotten all the way up to 56 degrees out there. Time to adjourn to the wicker chair out front, and start my billable day.