All my friends are beyond familiar with what goes on in and around the 900-odd square feet I call home. I’m sure they are getting quite annoyed with me as well. I spend a LOT of time posting picture of my house and yard on Facebook. Especially on Sunday nights after I’ve been puttering around my place all weekend. It’s no stretch to say I am significantly obsessed with my pretty little home and pretty little garden. And, frankly, I think I have many reasons to be.

I live in a city that has way too much oil money. Many people here have GIANT homes to go along with their GIANT piles of cash. Giant, perfect, souless homes.

My sweet, little house is in the middle of a blooming inner city neighbourhood and every day more and more HUGE modern, dark infills swallow up the cute little lots and quaint character old homes on every street in my community. I have been watching it happen for years and have often wondered if the people moving into these huge, new homes will love them even half as much as the people who lived in the quirky little houses that came so long before them, did. Sadly, I doubt it.

I love my little home and and I love what it stands for. Character and perseverance. Determination and hard work. Being playful, being quirky and being just a little bit weird.

Most would say I’m really house-proud. True fact. I’ll also secretly admit I’m a little house-poor. But every day I look around and see what I have, what I’ve worked so hard to accomplish and also know deep-down that I’m completely home-rich.

And now, for all the snoopy-snoopers out there waiting patiently to look at all my stuff, let’s take a peek inside:

Come on in.

Come on in.

 

The full house tour takes about 45 seconds and can be summed up in three little words. “This is it.”

 

This is it.

This is it.

A long and narrow living-slash-dining room and open-concept kitchen…with two small bedrooms off to the right and a jack-and-jill bathroom between them. That’s pretty much it. No secret second storey and no useable basement. Storage and ghosts are all that my creepy basement is good for. There is a small mud-slash-laundry room just to the right of the fridge ..and my back door opens out to a small covered porch which opens up into a long and narrow yard. (A tour of the outside is next on the agenda…if you decide to come back and visit again.)

In the meantime, here’s the rest of the inside. Try not to blink. You might miss something.

 

Back at’cha!

 

Bitchin' kitchin'

Bitchin’ kitchin’

 

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Original hardwood floors upstairs and original owner’s haunting grounds down.

 

My bedroom is too small to even change your mind in.

My bedroom is too small to even change your mind in.

 

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Only room for Jack or Jill. Probably not both.

Only room for Jack or Jill. Probably not both.

 

Ok….that’s it!  Next up…my dreamy, dreamy backyard.

xo T