Every once in a while, I’m reminded of how quirky our home really is — how impractical features of it can be. I get in the rhythm of things (i.e. kick the door twice to get it to latch while pushing my body weight into it to lock it), and forget that other homes don’t […]

Every once in a while, I’m reminded of how quirky our home really is — how impractical features of it can be. I get in the rhythm of things (i.e. kick the door twice to get it to latch while pushing my body weight into it to lock it), and forget that other homes don’t function like mine. My 1900-era home, my full-of-potential fixer-upper, has quirks. And of course, the longer I live here, the more I discover.
I don’t know why, but I had always assumed these oddities would be pretty standard in old homes — creaky stairs, squeaky doors, etc. but some of the most prominent quirks in my house, I’d never heard of before. Like our front entryway, for example. We have a nice size entry room with a large closet and a large window right off of the front door and it connects via door to the living room. It has the same hardwood floors, same original doors and same window as the rest of the home, but zero insulation in the walls and no heat register. It’s a complete icebox in the winter. I’d love to store our coats and shoes in the entry closet but if the temperature is 5 degrees outside, the temperature is 7 degrees in the entry. We have to keep...