So really, it was this huge Black Forest fireplace that sold us on the house. When we walked in with our realtor, I immediately gasped and smacked Evan in the arm to make sure he saw it (it’s kind of hard to miss). It’s fantastic. I love the proportions of the tiles on the inside—so much more elegant than standard subway tile, and with grout lines so tiny I could cry. The marble is cool and creamy and smooth, with winding oak leaves and acorns.
It’s things like the fireplace that make me feel honored to own this house. It’s nothing I could ever buy or that I would ever even think of putting in the house myself, but here it is, and it’s mine. The fireplace has been here along with the rest of the house for over 100 years, and nobody has ever painted it or sold it or hit it with a hammer or drilled holes in it or tagged it with graffiti or replaced it with fiberboard (things I can’t say about much of the rest of the house). I like to think it had the respect of everyone who has lived here, but especially me.