First post jitters... write write write... delete, too wordy, sounds weird... oh my god who am I?
Ok... that's out of the way now. I'm going to just write from the heart, make lots of grammatical errors, and surely have some run-ons that make you cringe. I am not a novelist, and I am not a "Blogger" by profession either. I am a girl who started a business, that somehow kinda took off... and my business bought me a house. It was the first big girl thing that I ever purchased. Then this B named Florence came by and ripped my sweet little house apart.
I appreciate you coming by to follow this journey with me, and also for letting me vent.
Just a time line of events to get you started if you are reading for the first time or want a little background... We bought this beautiful historic home in April 2016.
We closed the day after I had emergency surgery to remove one of my ovaries. It was purchased with the intent to extend our interiors business into the space, and use it as flex space to grow our business. The ovary surgery is an important detail, because 6 months after that surgery, we found out we were pregnant with our sweet, Baker boy.
In the meantime, the home was used to house furniture, rugs, and lighting for design work, but after selling our home at the beach very quickly, and deciding to build we moved into the house in early 2018. I knew I loved the house, but I had NO clue how much I would love living a block from our shop, across the street from Baker's school, and within walking distance of every delicious restaurant and bar one could imbibe. We hosted milestone events there, client visits, Baker's first birthday, and we walked the docks nightly in search of good live tunes to lull Bakerman to sleep. The house was no longer a business, but a home.
I had just finished hanging the grass cloth in our newly appointed dining room, added shelving to utilize the odd old closets for my over abundance of shoes, and done my spatial plan for this year's Christmas trees when I had this crazy dream that something terrible was going to happen to the house and we were going to be living in Brandywine (the neighborhood my mother in law lives). I told my husband about my dream, and he actually got mad at me. Less than a week later, we heard the name Florence. Ugh, that stupid, B! She came in, and like the fat sloth that she was she moved at 2 mph for 3 days. We had 30" of rain, devastating winds, and unprecedented storm surges that will likely forever change our flood plane maps.
During this storm, our sweet 104 year old roof system had just had enough. She gave out, and she let in all the rain with her. We were so worried about Beaufort Linen's main store, that we did not even think to be concerned about the house. Walking in on cloud 9 from finding very little water in the Front Street location, my heart quickly dropped. There was 4" of standing water in our kitchen, with brown dots of water dripping down from the ceiling. The interior walls were spongy, and the smell was putrid. I sloshed through the first floor to get up to the second floor and assess things.
Upon entering our master bedroom, my heart dropped even further. My entire closet was soaked, my wedding rehearsal dress had taken the brunt of the force, and was sitting in a small sad pile on the floor, already turning black. My neatly lined shoes in their original boxes were soaked in brown, smelly water. I wanted to react, but adrenaline was so intense that I looked past these "things" to find the water source. The problem was, there wasn't one source... it was the entire back of the house. All of the ceilings, all of the walls, all of my linoleum floors, wait all of the linoleum floors.... wait Lord! Is there a silver lining in this?