F, a bushy-bearded contractor, and his spunky, red-headed wife B, are an incredibly sweet, hilariously irreverent Baby Boomer couple who live across the street in F’s childhood home. As it happens, they spent much of their 20s in our native Texas--pretty much went down for a beach vacation, and stayed.

“That was about a million years BC--Before Children,” F said. They moved back home to Pittsburgh as that era ended. 

F and B lived on the other side of town for some time, and then several years ago, they decided to to return to our street. They planned ahead and finished the messiest bits of their own DIY renovation before they moved in, just like we hope to (our apartment lease isn't up until late July).... But in F and B's case, the pre-move renovate-athon lasted six years. 

That's right. Six. Years. Gulp.

Ahem....  When we were at our house for an inspection a few days before the closing, we saw F and B sitting on their front steps. It turns out that they're friends with our real-estate agent, and so they invited us all in for an "after" tour.

As you might imagine, with all those nights and weekends poured into it--not to mention F’s professional expertise--their house is incredible. I mean lovingly restored details all OVER it. She stripped and sanded the stairwell down to the wood. He remounted all the windows onto chains. They're Construction Junction junkies, dollar-stretching geniuses. The kitchen sink is from an estate sale. The floor tiles are from a grocery store. "You can do this on a budget," F says. "You just have to be patient." 

Bless them. We needed this glimpse of what's possible.

If you’ve had a look at our photos, you’ve probably noticed that Dylan and I bought a house that seems... shall we say... a tad oversized for just two people. But when you factor in that I need a home office; Dylan needs a photography studio with room enough for his six-foot panoramas (his printer's as big as a Volkswagen!); and we hope to eventually populate a couple of those vacant bedrooms.... Well, a former multifamily of this size starts to make sense. 

Besides, the price was right. Like all too many homes in this country right now, Casa Vitone was on the verge of foreclosure before we entered the picture.

Now, as we move through our empty halls, peeling off wallpaper and prying up carpet tacks, we dare to hazard guesses at our future. "This is the nursery," we say. "This is the older kid's room." We're baby-fevered and bewildered, picturing ourselves as parents and grandparents there. It’s a kind of nostalgia in-reverse.

Time bends in that house, like light passing through the warped glass of an old window. 

As it happens, right after F and B were married in 1971, they moved into the third-floor apartment of our house. Last weekend, after we peeled up the last of the cat-infested carpets, we invited them back for a "before" tour.

"This room used to have foil wallpaper," B said as we walked through the kitchen. 

"This is where Mrs. So-And-So lived," she said when went up to the second floor. "She couldn't hear worth a damn."

Finally, we brought them upstairs to the home they shared for the first two years of their marriage.

"This is where we partied," F said. They laughed, partners in crime.

I could just see them, bell-bottomed and raising hell, their mostly deaf downstairs neighbor none the wiser. What freedom, what safety they must've felt in those BC years when they moved away from their folks for the first time--but not too far away.

"We paid $75 a month," F said wistfully. “We had a picture of the sunset right here, and we painted this whole wall red to match it....”

And then, he found it.

"Look, B! It's our stained glass!" He smiled so big you could see it through his beard.

There on the window, at the back of what was once their living room, a little corner of kaleidoscope-patterned contact paper that they'd stuck to the pane 37 years ago was still there.

As we walked them out, F told us that when he first started working as a contractor, he got in the habit of keeping a written record of his progress each day--what he accomplished, what materials he used, what they cost. He also added thoughts on what was going on in his life outside of work. Over time, he found he loved journalling so much that he started giving his kids blank books every Christmas.

"I mean, I'd write down even the stupid stuff," he said. "Like a stupid fight me and B had, or whatever. See, when you get to be my age, you start to lose memories. But when you read over that stuff later.... Oh, man. It's just like that window upstairs. Brought me right back to the day I put that up. You know?"