Permaladder is the name I gave to my house but only for the purposes of this blog. My name is Fred and I’m a journalist, not a professional house-restorer by any means. This is a collection of ramblings about  experiences and lessons learned – spiritual, practical, painful and rewarding – during my ongoing attempts to restore an old Victorian in Northwest New Jersey. I’ve been at it, little by little, for 13 years. There’s no end in sight.

To some people, possibly the more rational, a house is just a structure that provides shelter. Or an investment item. I guess I’m not in that category. I find that once I get to know the inner-workings of things (this house, my motorcycles) I develop a kinship of sorts.

Sometimes, when the spirit moves me, I write about other aspects of the house and property and life on this almost-an-acre. There are pets buried in the yards, gardens that never stop inviting weeds, a pool that serves as a magnet for every wind-blown leaf, volleyball poles that can still be used and horseshoe pits that can’t. Three kids and a granddaughter have run around on the grass and watched sunsets on the rear deck.

As I said, Permaladder is a name used only here. It’s not like I’ll ever say, “I live in Permaladder. Look for the sign on the porch. Stop in for tea one day.” The only real name for this house is “home.”

OK. So what’s with the name? I am calling it Permaladder because, with rare exceptions, there are always ladders standing somewhere around here, left because the sun went down or a kid’s ballgame started or it was time to stop working because I was making mistakes. Left there because I knew I’d be resuming the stripping or sanding or painting the next day or, at least, eventually.

So, welcome to Permaladder.com. I’m writing this on a cold winter night. There are no ladders leaning against the frigid outside walls at this time. However, as I write this, there IS a stepladder standing in the upstairs hallway. On it is a bucket in in which I was mixing plaster patch. As I recall, it got too dark the other day to finish that job. Or was it dinnertime?

The Day We Bought The Paint