Reclaiming Unused Space

I finally set up the front porch as a place where actual humans can hang out.

We’ve lived in this house for more than twelve years now, and the porch has NEVER, not once in that time, been a place to hang out in. There have been a few times when it hasn’t been a total hellhole, when I’ve had plants and a little chair and a bistro table in there, but honestly – who sits at a bistro table and writes? Someone at a bistro, that’s who. That’s the only person who does that.

But the porch never stayed neat. We have no storage shed or garage. We barely have closets in our 1926 bungalow. My clothes hang in less than two feet of space. My T-shirts and underwear are in a hutch. Our inflatable kayaks (yes, they’re rad and cheap) and all our camping gear lives in our bedroom closet.

Things like bicycles and tools had to live on the enclosed front porch. Things that we’ve left in the backyard either got dirty or they got disappeared (sometimes both!). Someday we hope to buy a shed of some sort, but they’re expensive.

Thus, the porch always filled with Stuff. It becomes what the Brits call a tip.

Let’s take a look, shall we? I would like to state for the record that this is EMBARRASSING. You’ve seen the inside of my house – while it can get messy, we really try to keep it in order. I love organization and tidiness! The house is usually ready to welcome unexpected guests. But those guests had to run this gauntlet:

That is: my sewing table (almost invisible), sewing chair, a sewing machine and a serger, boxes and boxes of books, several bags of old clothes to go the thrift store, a borrowed dog agility tube, a broken printer, a cat tree, some plants destined for the garden a floaty tube, and under that shit are two bikes!

Seriously, every time I’ve ever let a person into the house, I do a hand-waving spell as I led them in, chanting, Don’t mind the mess, we’re cleaning it up, keep moving, hurry through, nothing to see here. As if they wouldn’t notice they were walking through something from a Hoarders set.

About six weeks ago, I decided to reclaim the space. FINALLY.

I purged. I put everything up there that belonged somewhere else in the place where it went. I got rid of the sewing table since I rarely sew, and when I do, I can use the dining room table.

I gave up and hung the bikes on the bedroom wall. This was, literally, the reason we’d never made the porch into a comfy spot before: I couldn’t bear the thought of bikes in the house. Lala was fine with it, but I wasn’t. They’re UGLY. Gah. And our bedroom is tiny. Now that they’re in there, there’s only a hip-width space now to walk past the bed.

But you know what? In the same way I’d closed my eyes to the sheer hell of the porch, I can’t see the bikes already! Also, I gotta tell you, they’re really good for hanging clothes on. Even better than a treadmill!

And now this is the porch:

Yep! Totally heaven. I’m typing this blog post on the porch right now.

Both that comfy chair and the footstool were bargains of the century, neither of them over fifteen dollars. It’s looked like this for more than a month now, and none of the pretty plants have died. I can stretch the cord of the fan out here so that air blows on my knees as I write (important).

Best of all, I only write and plan and dream here. I don’t answer email. I don’t do marketing. This is for the good stuff.

FUN FACT: That green plant closest to the camera is the only fake one. I thought the tall grass looked nice. So does Waylon, the cat. He loves eating cat grass, and he loves eating this stuff. He’s not a smart cat. 

(And yes! I’m trying to blog every day for the two of you who still read blogs. I’ve loved it as a repository of memories, and I want to start it up again. I’ve said this before and failed – hoping it sticks this time. Said as if blogging were a piece of duct tape instead of (fun) work. Hmm.)