Hi, I’m Heather. Since 2017, my husband, Mike, and I have been restoring a 1926 bungalow in Kansas City. The house turned 100 this year, and the kitchen is still a “someday.”
What I write about
Where my stories come from
Behind our bathroom wall we found a March 1926 newspaper stuffed in as insulation, with an ad for tile that was “sanitary and permanent.” The tile outlived the newspaper, the old pipes and two water heaters.
In the attic we found a box marked DEED STUFF with a list of every owner since 1926. We added our names at the bottom, in pencil.
How I write
Materials, measurements and honest DIY failures. My one rule: live in an old room for a year before you change anything. For wiring, gas or load-bearing walls, call a licensed pro.
Off the clock
I grew up in Pittsburgh. These days I’m the mom of two teenage boys and the owner of a lot of plaster patches.
How we check our stories: Editorial Standards and Ethics.
Our 1926 bungalow in Kansas City came with a black-and-white tile bathroom that every inspector called “original” the way you’d say “haunted.” Nine years later, it’s the one room we never touched. These 11 pink and retro bathrooms belong to owners who were told to rip everything out, and decided that good interior design sometimes means keeping the tile.
The previous owners of our 1926 bungalow had a dumpster ordered for the day after closing, because the buyers were supposed to gut it. Mike and I canceled the dumpster and kept the plaster, and he brings that up every time a wall needs patching. These 12 abandoned buildings were empty, crumbling or about to be torn down, and somebody decided they were worth saving.
