About the Bathtub

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The back-breaking move was over, and the next chapter had just begun. I’d been in my new digs, a 96-year-old cottage for about five minutes, contemplating the unpacking I’d be doing for the next several weeks, when hunger pangs distracted me. It was 9:00 p.m. and I hadn’t had dinner.  Thank goodness for the convenience of a grocery store located a couple blocks down the street.  I could literally run to the store, although at that moment, I only had enough energy to saunter. I grabbed a hearty turkey sandwich and a bottle of red wine. Upon returning to the cottage, I rummaged through a box of kitchenware for a plate and glasses, one for wine and one for water. After guzzling the water, devouring the sandwich and sipping some wine, the excitement of the big move gave way to exhaustion. I barely had energy to put sheets and a blanket on the bed.

I woke at sunrise the following morning feeling well rested, but body was racked with aches and pains. After a strong cup of coffee, I headed to the bathtub to install a shower curtain rod and curtain in preparation of a much-needed hot shower. Before I turned on the water, I noticed mysterious black specks in the tub. I thought the specks were dirt and washed them down the drain. But the “dirt” returned the next day. Black specks were scattered on the tub floor, some stuck to the tile, and a few were scattered on the glass block wall adjoining the tub. Once again, I rinsed them down the drain.

Over the next few days, the black specs continued to appear in the tub. My friend Wendy came over to help me unpack on day four of living in the cottage. I showed her the black specks in the bathtub. Wendy examined the specks and after a few seconds announced: “One moved!” I put on my glasses for a closer look and saw that the round specks had tiny legs. I had bathtub bugs. My lease had a legally mandated disclosure about bed bugs, but said nothing about bathtub bugs.  This was a nuance of vintage cottage living that I hadn’t anticipated. A visit from Terminix rid the tub of the bugs, and to this day, they’ve never returned.

 

A New Chapter – The Cottage

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“Our house is a very, very, very fine house / With two cats in the yard”
Lyrics from “Our House” by Graham Nash

The dark hardwood floors could barely be seen under all the boxes, which besides cluttering the floor space, scaled the French doors that opened to the back of the cottage. I surveyed the dollhouse of a house I was moving into, all 700 square feet of it. Where was everything going to fit? I still had two last loads to fetch—my cats, Lexington and Bobcat. I hoped they would fit into this new world away from the comforts of the modern and spacious condominium we’d come from. How would they fare living in a space less than half its size?

By the time I returned with Lexington and Bobcat, the movers had unloaded everything from the moving trucks and were organizing the boxes into a tidy maze. Don, the owner of the moving company helped me unload my precious cargo from the car. He put the cat carriers in what little space was left in the living room. I graciously thanked him for his hard work and he was on his way.

After a grueling eleven hours of moving, the cats and I were in our new home, the Laguna Beach cottage that first appeared in my dreams, complete with a porch, a yard, a picket fence and peek-a-boo ocean view. I opened the doors of the carriers containing the cats. They both cautiously stepped onto the area rug that was in my former dining room, now in my new living room. Lexington casually sniffed boxes and investigated all four rooms—bedroom, kitchen, living/dining room and bathroom then reclined on the hardwood floor by the kitchen. He nonchalantly looked up at me with a look of contentment. Meanwhile, a leery Bobcat hid under the sofa. “Hey, Bobcat, come on, it’s okay,” I coaxed. He slowly crept out from under the slipcover and jumped up onto the piano in front of the French windows to get a look outside. Satisfied with the sight of his new yard adorned with king palms and patches of grass, he settled in on the perch of his cat tree as I plopped myself down onto the sofa, exhausted.

It was hard letting go of my condominium. I had cherished so many memories and dreams of a lasting future in the home I’d finally bought. But surrendering to a realization that I initially fought with all my might turned out to be the best course of action. The tears I shed as I downsized and packed-up finally dried, and a quiet excitement stirred my soul as I reclined on the sofa, ready to begin a new chapter in a vintage cottage by the sea.

Doubting the Dream

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After the photos of the cottage piqued my curiosity, Cherie and I scheduled a tour for the following day. I was excited, but guarded. Was I about to meet my future home? It could go either way. I could love the place, or despite the charming photos and premonition dream, I may encounter flaws hidden from site. I arrived at the cottage before Cherie and peered over the picket fence entry gate to a paver walkway lined with bushes of jade and birds of paradise plants. The walkway ended at a small cement outdoor entryway framed with a king palm tree on the left and a lush branchy tree on the right. A bunny appeared on the walkway then hopped into the jade bush. Intrigued, I couldn’t wait for Cherie and longer. I opened the gate and walked down the pavers to the tiny gray house with teal and white trimmed French doors and windows.

I approached the house to see an expansive yard to the right and a paver patio enclosed with lattice fencing on the left. A porch was off of what appeared to be the bedroom. The yard boasted five king palm trees and ficus trees lined the picket fence facing west. Off center in the yard was a large tree with sprawling branches, some of which appeared dried out and dead and some were alive with round leaves and fuzzy red flowers. Finches perched on branches of a tall exotic-looking tree next to the porch. Just beyond the end of the line of ficus trees, past the intersecting streets, over the old picket fence, I could see the ocean.

Cherie arrived shortly after my self-guided outdoor tour of the property. She lead me inside to an open living space that connected to a small kitchen with a heart-shaped sink and a 1940s Wedgwood oven. The bathroom was fairly roomy with a block glass wall next to the tub and the toilet in its own alcove with block glass accented walls.

The small bedroom had French doors opening to the porch and a tiny closet missing a dowel on which to hang clothes. The wall opposite the French doors had three flip-out windows that opened inward from the bottom up, but they were barricaded with shelving.

As I sized up the tiny abode that needed some TLC and in which I could only fit a third of my furniture and clothes, I fell in love. The place was enchanting. I had to have it.

When I expressed interest, the rent went from doable to out-of-range. Cheri negotiated a deal with the owners—keep the rent down, and I’d pay for repairs and replacement of appliances. The other hitch: the owners planned to tear down the cottage and rebuild, which would happen in one to two years. I did not want to uproot again so soon, but Cherie encouraged me to focus on the present. And I knew how arduous and lengthy the city of Laguna Beach approval process was. I signed the lease and with that would be moving in two weeks.

Let the packing begin.

 

 

The Dream Cottage

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I woke from a lucid dream in which I was standing at French doors inside a room in a house with dark hardwood floors. The windowed doors were framed with white vertical and horizontal wood mullions giving them a vintage look. Sun shining through the windowed doors brightened the room. Through these doors, I was gazing at a yard with patches of grass and several trees, smiling at the tranquil scene. Now wide-awake, I thought, if only I could find a place like this.

***

Life’s plans don’t always play out the way we want them to. After living in apartments all my adult life until I reached midlife, I finally bought my first home—a spacious townhouse-style condominium. It was supposed to be my forever home; yet after eleven years, I was hit with unexpected financial hardship. Unable to refinance, I came to the hard conclusion that the only way to gain financial stability was to sell.

After putting my condo on the market, I put into motion finding another place to live. I’d have to rent as I was now priced out of the real estate market. I’m a nester; my home is my sanctuary, so I had to find a place that truly felt like home even if I couldn’t be a homeowner. My realtor, Cherie, offered to help me find a rental, and suggested I write a list of what I wanted in my new home. I pondered the possibilities. I’d always had a passion for older homes built with character and charming architectural features, and often fantasized about living in a vintage cottage. The condo I was about to sell was built in the ‘80s, far from vintage, but it was cape code style with loads of charm—close enough.

The first on my list was location. I wanted to remain in Laguna Beach. I loved its small-town artsy vibe. Many of its neighborhoods were built by settlers in the late 1800s and early 1900s and oozed with charm.

My list included: single-family home; a yard, patio, porch or all three; built in the ‘20s or ‘30s, lots of windows; hardwood floors throughout; within walking distance of downtown and the beach; allows cats; quiet neighborhood; and rent within my budget. Now let’s see if this place exists. It can’t hurt to hope!

Cherie showed me some rentals in the area I desired, which were charming, but not quite right. Then a house came on the rental market that met my most of my specifications and the tenants were moving out around the time my escrow was closing. It was located in North Laguna—too far from downtown. I told her I’d pass.

I’d still not found a place and escrow was closing in three weeks. Cherie kept nudging me to look at the house in North Laguna. She emailed me photos of its interior that she’d taken the last time it was on the market.

The image from my recent dream was captured in these photos of a tiny cottage built in 1922 with sun-lit rooms and dark hardwood floors, casement windows and French doors that opened to a porch. The porch stairs led to a paver patio and a yard adorned with several trees.

I told Cherie I must see the place. I had to find out if dreams do come true…