Everything in the little unit was intended to fold, and I built the room out in the style of a Navy officer’s stateroom. You were there on the coldest day in recorded Arlington History when the Murphy bed and its thirty boxes arrived by truck.
 
When that project was complete, the bed folded into a bookcase on one end of the room; a small couch folded out into a modest double bed for guests; the bathroom gained storage space. Ultimately I gutted the 1964-era kitchen and blew out a breakfast bar with diner-style retro stools at the curved marble serving space. Stainless appliances, microwave and reefer, of course, and a dishwasher, which fifty years ago was a luxury, not a necessity.
 

 
Nice job, if I do say so myself, but off it goes.
 
Having taken on the farm, and not being able to rent the condo for what the note costs, it is time to move on.
 
I am dreading the last walk-through, but will steel myself. I made a couple dozen thousand on it, though of course I poured that and much more down the rat-hole of the imploding housing market. Timing is everything.
 
The current unit turned into a similar project, though I bought someone else’s refurbishment in progress and completed it to my own liking.
 
God, I feel disoriented this morning. There is laundry from Germany to be done, layered under the stuff from Arizona, and I need a haircut badly. One step at a time. That is how these projects work
 
Home again, Jiggity-jig.
 
Copyright 2010 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
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