I bought a foreclosure

When a couple of sheriff’s cars pulled up next door and asked my neighbors to vacate the premises, I was sad but not surprised. A deadbeat landlord had let the place fall apart: The grass was a foot high and the front porch was mangled; the inside had to be worse. A steady band of unsavories had been in and out of the two-flat, and rumors on the block were the current group was squatting.

After my husband and I learned the house was in foreclosure, thoughts danced in my head about owning a coveted double lot. Here was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have the backyard we’ve always wanted for our kids, plus a pretty side garden. It dawned on me that our great location on a dead-end street north of Lincoln Square meant the house would be a quick sell—and possibly a teardown. The thought of living next to a new-construction nightmare motivated me to buy it almost as much as my megayard dreams.

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