Today the Rock and Roll Boyfriend and my brother are tearing apart our basement. They have so far found knob and tube wiring, mountains of dead cockroaches (ew!), plaster lathe, really old tiles on top of other really old tiles, and much of the old kitchen the previous owners used on a daily basis.
Before we can start renovating the next level, he needs to re-wire almost the entire house. There's nothing like an old home; it can catch fire at any time because of the live wires from the '30s just sitting, hanging out, maybe thinking, "let's spark up!"
I, of course, can do nothing to help because just going up and down a set of stairs sends me into a coughing spasm. Bah!
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