For months, we've been undressing the upstairs of our house: taking off trim, removing curtain rods, hauling out furniture. Last week we gutted the place and I realized just how well the word "gutted" applies. After removing the lath and plaster (the skin, in my metaphor), we took out bits of insulation, wiring, and plumbing (guts), plus a bunch of stuff that didn't belong, like mouse excreta and random wood scraps (here the metaphor sort of breaks down). I hadn't anticipated, though, that once the inside of our house was a skeleton, you'd be able to see right through it. It's been jarring.  In some ways, taking everything down to the bones brings us much closer to being able to move in. But when we first saw the house in its most basic form, I just about lost it. A skeleton doesn't seem like a person, and a bare-studs structure doesn't seem like a home. I'm getting used to it now, but I'm really, really excited to get everything done so we can cover it back up. (By the way, here you're looking from the living room through the closet into the bedroom; by the time we're done with the project, that closet will have turned into a staircase.)
 We were relieved to find out that the upstairs of our house was pretty well built. The studs are straight and appropriately spaced, unlike in the downstairs walls, which basically fell over when tapped. Here you're looking at the dining room windows.
 The bedroom is still the prettiest room in the house, and now we understand better how it works. This weekend we hashed out a place to build in a closet, since otherwise we won't have one anymore.
The moral of the story: Sometimes, even when something doesn't feel like it represents progress, it probably does.
You know what's crazy? Electricity. I really don't have the faintest idea how it works. Lots of miles from our house, a river turns some turbines and the magic generated travels through wires, enabling everything from seeing at night to blogging about electricity.
Anyway, we haven't had much of it for awhile. Last July, we had to shut off the electricity to prepare for the house lift, and since then, we've been pulling wires wherever we've seen them. Our electrical system formerly consisted of knob-and-tube and 1980s wiring, which is, from everything I've heard, a particularly conflagration-prone combination. Plus, almost every electrical thing in the house, including the lights, outlets, stove, and refrigerator, was on one circuit. Another circuit powered just one light in the basement. Basically, our house lift presented a good opportunity to redo the system.
 We had always sort of thought, though, that we would just wire behind the upstairs walls with the walls in place. But the upstairs walls have perhaps served their time. Since the house was lifted, they've cracked and peeled, and besides, they never had insulation behind them. So when we had an electrician over and he suggested that we just tear the plaster off the walls in our living room, dining room, bedroom, and closet, we feigned shock and then said, "Yeah, that's a good idea."
So we spent the weekend clearing out the house. Here are the now echoey living and dining rooms.
 And here's the bedroom. It's like we're moving in again! Because we are.
 I took this photo for posterity, because this doorway is a goner. To the left will be the stairs to the lower level.
 What did we do with all of our stuff? The bathtub was handy for office supplies, while the kitchen holds a surprising amount of furniture. But most of our stuff ended up either in the Goodwill pile or in my parents' garage. As much of a pain as this was, I have to admit that it will feel good to move in to fresh, uncracked walls and 21st-century wiring.
Next: treasures hidden behind the walls? If we find booty I'll be sure to let you know. Maybe.
 For a few aesthetically pitiful months, the northeast corner of our classic home has sported the following: - Boarded-up window
- Exposed foundation
- Uncovered house wrap (the black stuff on the lower story)
- Garbage-bag-like piece of plastic covering the side porch
With each gust of wind (and there have been plenty), this giant garbage bag billowed magnificently, then promptly blew down. The plastic was there to protect the new basement from leaks; we were just waiting for a sunny weekend to work on the porch structure.
 That sunny weekend finally showed up, and Marc and my dad spent both days fashioning lovely new walls. The plan is to replace that bedroom window (the one at the end of the porch) with a door, and then to cover the porch with cool-looking potted plants. The hope is that when you look out the enormous living room window, you'll see not the neighbor's garage, but a tropical wonderland (or the Portland approximation thereof).
 While my dad and Marc mulled over calculations, fit pieces together, and adjusted levels, I dug. While they screwed pieces onto the porch, I dug. While they glued, jigsawed, and clamped, I dug. The sun shifted from east to west, and I dug. Eight hours later, we had a hole perfectly shaped for a front walk. Now we just have to add gravel, then a couple inches of concrete, then bricks along the sides, then a couple more inches of concrete... It is going to be one heck of a path, let me tell you.
 Meanwhile, Oliver helped by lying in his bed and looking cute.
The past couple of weeks have been productive, at least as far as the house is concerned (the blog, not so much). We framed most of the downstairs bedroom, including its closet; we got our in-floor radiant heating going (lovely!); and we cut some holes in upstairs walls so that the plumber can vent the system and prevent our untimely sewer-gas-related deaths. All in all: progress.  That's not what I took pictures of, though. No, I took pictures of the nascent front yard, which now has a teensy hedge, a teensy pear tree, and a teensy bit of mud (goodbye, wettest March on record!).
 This afternoon I'm going to plant this ridiculously beautiful bleeding-heart beneath that teensy pear tree.
Next: more walls! More plants!
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