06/09/2025
Or save your relationship and let us do it 😉
The previous owners warned me about the encaustic tiles. "Been here since 1887," they said, like it was a curse. "Cracked, loose, probably full of lead. Budget at least fifteen grand to replace them." I nodded politely while calculating how many years of overtime that meant.
For months I walked past them every morning, stepping carefully over the broken sections. The geometric patterns seemed to mock me - all that craftsmanship hiding under decades of grime and neglect. My boyfriend kept suggesting vinyl that "looks just like tile!" and showing me Pinterest boards of sleek modern hallways.
But something made me get on my knees one Saturday with a bucket of gentle cleaner. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was being tired of everyone telling me what I couldn't afford to fix. Six hours later, my back screaming, I'd cleaned maybe two square feet. The colors underneath made me gasp - deep emerald, rich terracotta, butterscotch yellow. Still brilliant after 137 years.
Found a tile restoration expert through Tedooo app who taught me the old methods through messages and video calls. No fancy equipment, just patience and respect for the craft. She'd send me photos of her grandmother's tools, explain how they mixed sealers in the old days. Spent weekends hunched over each tile, re-grouting with lime-based mortar, sealing with techniques that probably hadn't been used since these floors were first laid. My boyfriend stopped coming over, said I was "obsessed with old junk."
Three months later, I posted the finished photos. The same people who'd told me to rip them out suddenly wanted to know my "contractor's information." There wasn't one. Just me, YouTube videos at 2 AM, and selling everything I could spare on Tedooo app to buy authentic restoration materials. The boyfriend's gone now - said I cared more about dead people's floors than our future. Maybe he was right. But every morning I walk down this hallway and see what everyone else wanted to throw away, gleaming like jewels under my feet. Sometimes the best investment isn't in something new. Sometimes it's in refusing to let beauty die just because it's difficult to save.
