Why I Built My Dream Home Without the One Thing I Most Love
By: Danika Bloom
Tags: Humor, Home, Culture, Life Lessons, Relationships

The first time I visited the future Mr. Bloom’s home I had a reasonable idea of what to expect.

I knew he lived in an old mining village that had been abandoned in the 1970s, taken over by the government shortly after, and bought by a development company one year before he and I met. At that point all this meant was that the old town had newly paved roads.

I knew that he lived in a trailer assembled in 1975. Not the kind you tow behind a car, but a house that arrives on the back of a truck and is plonked onto a ‘foundation’ of bricks. Single pane windows, plywood interior walls, and 1970s wallpaper and carpets made this beaut of a house a home.

And, I knew that I had to drive 88 km / 54 mi from my city duplex to his village on a stretch of winding, 2-lane highway that had a reputation for head-on collisions.

Cue the dueling banjos scene from Deliverance.

But he worked for the federal government. In a litigation management position. How scary could his home be?

He was expecting me; my visit was planned.

I guess I projected the way I tidy my home when I know a visitor is coming to call — I sweep and vacuum, make sure dirty dishes are in the dishwasher, give the toilet a swish, and wipe toothpaste off the bathroom mirror. At a minimum.

Future Mr. Bloom, bless him, didn’t try to fake me out into believing he had housekeeping skills by tidying before my visit. Sweet Jesus he let me see the real him and to this day I still marvel that I didn’t turn right around and put myself back on that suicide highway.

I needn’t make this a 6-minute read by describing in detail all the stereotypical things one isn’t surprised to find in a bachelor’s home. But briefly in my quick tour, I saw a glass shower door that appeared to be opaque due to soap scum; glasses and dishes in the sink, on the counter, in the bedroom, on the TV stand; a living room table covered in unopened mail, magazines, and dirty socks.

Now add a five-year-old son’s Lego, train track pieces, art projects, and clothes. Easy enough to imagine.

Here’s the part you’ve probably never seen…

In future Mr. Bloom’s living room was a wood stove — trailers are notoriously breezy and hard to keep warm. I hate being cold so the idea of a wood stove appealed to me.

Before I saw his living room I imagined us laying on the carpet, in front of a roaring fire, under a big duvet, making love once junior was tucked away in bed. The reality was just a little less romantic.

The stove sat in the corner. To the left were the fireplace tools — a stoker to poke the fire, bellows to blow air on the fire, tongs to move logs on the fire, and a cast iron shovel to empty the ash from the stove. Where it was shovelled to and how carefully made it apparent that this was a job the five-year-old handled.

To the right was a woodpile, perhaps 80 logs in a reasonably organized wall of wood. What was clearly missing was kindling. What was also evident was that the logs were far too large to fit inside the small wood stove.

It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out how this man started fires without kindling or stove-sized logs. Sure the giant axe and hatchet buried into top logs were a hint, but really not required since future Mr. Bloom’s invitation for me to “leave your shoes on” wasn’t to help me keep my feet warm, it was to protect them from injury.

Future Mr. Bloom chopped wood while sitting on his couch watching television in his living room. And apparently, his vacuum hadn’t been up to the task of dealing with the wood chips so…his living room floor resembled a forest floor.

Not a nice, tidy federal campground kind of forest, no, a forest where bodies are buried in undergrowth to never be found again.

Although this did not dissuade me from continuing to date the future Mr. Bloom — I will tolerate a lot for a warm home — when it came time for us to build our dream house on his property, the discussion about whether or not that home would have a fireplace came up. We both wanted one, but, I asked,

“If we put a fireplace in the living room, do you promise not to chop wood inside the house?” “Sure,” he said, with enthusiasm, “if you promise to be the one to chop the wood outside.”

So, because wood piles are a favorite home for wolf spiders, and my fear of arachnids is award-worthy, I wear extra socks, sweaters and fingerless gloves in my beautiful, fireplace-free home. And we have never thrown a duvet on the floor in the living room to make love in front of the wall that would have been the perfect place for a lovely, warm, wood fireplace.