Leaving the Inner City for a Small Town

Once I decided that I would need to move outside of Denver to find a condo I liked for the price I wanted to pay, I focused immediately on Olde Town Arvada. Arvada was the site of Colorado’s first gold discovery in 1850 and remained a sleepy little town, six miles northwest of Denver expanding eventually into a large, generic suburb.

Today, the original town, now dubbed “Olde Town,” is a vibrant, charming small town complete with town square and a wide variety of mostly one of a kind shops and restaurants. Abutting Olde Town is “New Town,” home to big box stores like Home Depot, Lowe’s, Costco, OfficeMax and Petsmart as well a numerous chain restaurants, including Applebee’s, Ruby Tuesday’s, Cold Stone Creamery, Einstein’s Bagels, Chipotle, the inevitable Starbucks, and a 14-screen movie theater.

Adjacent to both New Town and Olde Town came Water Tower Village, which houses 600 row houses, cottages, lofts, and luxury apartments. The Village is pedestrian oriented with alley loaded garages, detached sidewalks, tree lined streets and two pocket parks.

And this is where I found the condo I wanted. A one-bedroom unit with laundry, cathedral ceilings, underground parking, a balcony/porch, 24-hour exercise room, and elevator service. Within three or four blocks, I will be able to walk to all the previously mentioned shops, theaters, and restaurants, plus the library, a park, and other services.

In five years, light rail will come to Olde Town, spurring additional development. Mentally, I’ve already disengaged from North Denver, my home of the past 33 years, and I’m getting to know Arvada. The staff at one Olde Town restaurant already knows me by name. I think I’m going to like it there.

Life Would be Perfect If I Lived in that House

“Like a new lover, a new house opens a floodgate of anticipation and trepidation and terrifying expectations fused with dreamy distractions. It’s all encompassing and crazy making. You can’t concentrate at work. You space out while driving.” At least that’s how Meghan Baum feels about it. In her book, Live Would be Perfect if I Lived in that House, Baum details her lifelong search for the perfect house.
I can identify. Although I can’t match her 18 moves in 15 years, my focus has always been on houses. My count is 11 apartments or houses, not including three times I moved in with my parents (in three different houses) in the 20 years before I bought this house. Maybe I should have been the family architect. As B, the architect, pointed out to me after a trip to Taos many years ago, my photos were all of buildings, with no people in sight. So, I’m not exactly a people person. Big surprise.
Baum describes people as witnesses. “I wanted someone to see my home, admire it, admire me, and then leave.” A persistent Little House on the Prairie fantasy led her from Manhattan to a farmhouse in Nebraska, and then another.
My vision involved a small, vacant, run down, falling over barn in an empty field on the way to B and SL’s first house in Broomfield, a suburb north of Denver. I pictured it remodeled into a one-room-plus-sleeping loft house just right for me.
Besides a lust for houses, another thing I share with Baum is a recurring dream about finding forgotten rooms in a variety of houses or apartments my nocturnal fantasies designate as mine. Apparently, these dreams are fairly common and indicate a desire to move on or explore new opportunities.
Oddly, I haven’t had that dream since we started talking seriously about the Auntie Flat. Maybe my house fetish is fulfilled by the reality. I haven’t finished Baum’s book, so I don’t know if she finally found a house she could commit to. I hope so, but if not, plenty of people will attest to the charms of a nomadic life.

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Portland Oregon Embraces Small Houses

Incentives to encourage the building of accessory dwelling units (granny flats) in Portland, OR, seems to be working. In the three months since the city began waiving development fees, homeowners have applied for more permits than in any of the previous four years. The city wants to boost availability of affordable housing with "conscientious in-fill" development. Read the complete article here.

Is the small house movement anti-family?

Is the Small House Movement Anti-Family?

“I've grown weary of green housing alternatives being decidedly anti-family.” I ran across this comment while reading an article about an award-winning small house in Wisconsin. While many of the innovative tiny houses featured in the small house movement are clearly designed for single residents, does that make them anti-family? Does not having kids make a person anti-family?

In fact, Little House on a Small Planet (the best book I’ve found on living in small houses) shows several examples of families with children living quite happily in minimal spaces. You only have to go back a generation or two to find small family houses. The house I live in right now is 900 square feet, and the previous owners raised two children here. This was not unusual in that generation. When I was growing up, the family next door had ten children in a house of about 800 square feet plus a finished basement.

The Small House Society states flatly that “size is relative.” The group’s members “might include families of five happy in an arts and crafts bungalow, multifamily housing in a variety of forms, and more extreme examples, such as people on houseboats and in trailers with just a few hundred square feet around them. . . . It’s not a movement about people claiming to be ‘tinier than thou’ but rather people making their own choices toward simpler and smaller living however they feel best fits their life.”

So, what’s wrong with designing houses for single people or couples? Do all living spaces have to accommodate children? According to the Census Bureau, the percentage of American households with children under 18 living at home last year hit the lowest point — 46% — in half a century. Shouldn’t our housing stock fit the population?

It seems to me that the commenter above may have identified an underserved market. She or some other enterprising person should start her own blog about simple living with kids. Meanwhile, houses get bigger, with mini-kitchens in the master suite and a bathroom and laundry room for every bedroom. The people who live there never have to see one another or spend time together. Now, that’s anti-family.

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When I'm 64

When I'm 64

Here's a little treat for all Beatles fans (that's pretty much everybody, right?) I found this picture for my brother, who turned 64 on Saturday.

Lo-o-o-ong Tables

Lo-o-o-ng Tables

Several years ago, I worked briefly for a training company that housed a group of writers and editors in sweatshop-like conditions. Computers were lined up on folding tables in a large open room, available on a first-come, first-served basis. At one end of the room, stood a magnificent 12-foot mahogany conference table, and many of us chose to work there.

Since then, I have craved nothing so much as a long table, although probably not a full 12 feet. My fantasy table would not be for hosting large dinner parties. I hate large dinner parties. I want a long table for work and crafts, a place to spread out all the stuff I use as references plus collage materials and art supplies. It would also have room for eating meals or even entertain a friend or two without having to put everything else away.

I mentioned my longing for a long table to my friend Sheila, who worked for the same company. “Oh,” she said, “I LOVE that table.” She wants one, too. A preacher, writer, and seamstress, she envisions covering the top with a variety of projects. Maybe crafters have a universal desire for unlimited workspace.

Here’s what I realized as I was moving little post-it note furniture cutouts around the Auntie Flat floor plan: I have room for a long table, maybe 8-10 feet long. Be still my heart.

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And now for the good news

And Now for the Good News

Several days after our meeting (see previous post), B sent me a new floor plan for the Auntie Flat, using all the square footage available—658 square feet. Because of the roof angle required by the bulk plane rules, the north and south walls slant down to below 5 feet—usable space, but limited. The kitchen, for example, couldn’t be placed along either of those walls if I wanted upper cabinets. The bathroom could accommodate the tub and toilet along the shorter walls, but not the shower and sink. And I probably couldn’t have a Murphy bed.

I played with furniture placement and discovered that everything I wanted to keep will easily fit into this space. Plus, the slanted ceiling made it more interesting, gave it character.

B called to see what I thought. He had a few more ideas. Along the long, low south wall, I could have a small fireplace with bookshelves extending the length of the wall. Oh, my. Enough room for all my books. Heaven. And I had almost given up hope of having a fireplace.

We talked about windows. Of course, the major windows would be on the east and west walls, but I could still have small windows on the other walls and a skylight in the bathroom. Yes! B suggested a row of very narrow windows, possibly glass block, along the south wall, above the bookshelves. Wow. I LOVE that idea.

While B had pretty much ruled out windows in the slanted ceiling, I reminded him of the apartment in the TV show, Friends, which featured one slanted wall all of windows. Couldn’t we do some version of that? That was my favorite part of that show. (I know—other people focused on the actual friends; I focused on the apartment. What does that say about me?) Interesting idea, B thought.

We are still a long way from a final design, but things are shaping up. I’ve already figured out where the litter box and the Christmas tree will go. It’s going to be fabulous.

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