‘Sweat-Equity’ Pays Big Dividends
After scraping crusted bubble gum off hardwood floors for nearly two hours, I came to a painful realization. The person who coined the phrase “sweat equity” spoke from experience. The term refers to repairs you make yourself when you buy a house in need of work--a money-saving but exhausting ordeal. I had the perspiration to prove it.
Bringing the floors back to their original luster was just one of many cosmetic make-overs my husband, Kevin, and I volunteered for when we bought our Highland Park bungalow nearly two years ago. Although I’m not a gum chewer, the previous owner’s children were. The little darlings also smashed bathroom tiles and drew on walls.
There were other problems--every window sash was broken, kitchen drawers were missing and the bath tub looked as if it had been used to store auto parts.
It didn’t matter, though. We bought the place anyway. No sooner had we signed on the dotted line than the work began. During that first summer I did my share of “sweat equity” by lifting 20 coats of paint off redwood trim with a hot-air paint stripper.
It was a house-warming present from my pragmatic father. This two-pound, industrial strength gadget can heat to 1,000 degrees. You get the picture. Luckily, I didn’t suffer alone. Kevin shed several pounds while hacking at the gnarled mass of weeds covering the entire yard.
Why would two sane adults knowingly purchase such a designer’s nightmare? Like many Southern Californians priced out of the housing market, investing in a fixer--a polite term for one step from the wrecking ball--helped us break into Southland real estate.
Our three-bedroom Craftsman bungalow, built in 1906, cost $20,000 less than houses in good condition of similar size in the same neighborhood. To the two of us, the extra savings meant a chance to own a home. Besides, we thought, how hard could it be?
There was a certain sweetness to our naivete and ambition during the first few months of the refurbishment. Restoring a house together with the man I love sounded romantic.
“We’re buying an adorable little cottage and plan to revive it to its original charm,” I innocently told friends. With every project from sanding floors to kitchen tiling, we took a “we can fix it,” attitude.
Neither of us had any carpentry training before purchasing our home, but we learned fast. Home improvement shows airing on public television every Saturday afternoon proved invaluable. We taped them on our VCR and then treated ourselves to TV dinners at night while learning about the mistakes we’d made during the day. We quickly became experts at underestimating the amount of time the improvements would take. The hardwood floors alone took two weeks to finish.
I never completed my weekend “to-do” lists. Instead we spent Saturday mornings searching for tools and hardware at home centers. When we finally got back to the house, it was afternoon.
To make matters worse, our purchases were either the wrong size or just useless, impulsive spending. They tell you never to enter a supermarket on an empty stomach, but unseasoned do-it-yourselfers shouldn’t enter home centers on an empty wallet.
We did do something correctly, though. When looking for the right fixer, we considered only houses in need of cosmetic surgery: paint, carpets and landscaping. A good design and sound construction were paramount.
Any building with faulty wiring, plumbing, roofing or foundation, we simply avoided. Those types of jobs, too tough for a couple of novice renovators, require a professional at a cost greater than the return. A thorough examination by a licensed inspector helped determine troubled property.
There was fun involved in remodeling, too. The house was like a lump of clay waiting for strong, imaginative hands to shape it back into a Craftsman showpiece.
Kevin, a graphic designer by trade, sketched detailed plans before each new project. We spent endless hours discussing our visions of how the house would look once completed. It was exciting to watch the house slowly evolve into a home with every new improvement. Even friends were supportive, complimenting our handiwork.
Kevin and I loved visiting our local nursery to choose landscaping (which we planted ourselves, of course). We read countless hardware catalogues with fascination, searching for brass fixtures to blend with the decor. We became voracious readers on the subject of home improvement and counseled friends thinking of taking the fixer plunge. Every Sunday morning there was always a fight to see who could claim the Real Estate section of the paper first.
Admittedly, the work has been slow. Even after two years, there’s still more to be done. The fireplace needs repairing and so do the front stairs. We continue to plant shrubs and trees each spring, and I’d love to get rid of the chocolate brown exterior. Living in a fixer takes dedication and patience.
Even through all the dust and clutter, I wouldn’t change these last two years for anything. There’s a real sense of accomplishment and satisfaction in knowing we did the work ourselves. We’re rewarded each morning as we stand in our yard and smile at the progress we’ve made. Still, even after all I’ve learned and grown, I think I’m ready to retire my paint-stripper. Any offers?
