I have lived in my home for six and a half years, and I love it more everyday. Oh, I love to spend time with my family in Wisconsin, to travel abroad, to make weekend visits to the Lake and to spend time with other friends scattered nearby. But I really love being home.
I found my house when I didn’t even know I was looking for it. My nephew, who was then eleven and is now about to begin his freshman year at UNC-Chapel Hill, and I were taking a walk about their neighborhood. I suggested we walk around to the street behind his home. We took the long way, and this is what we saw:
It was a God moment. I stopped. My nephew, rule follower that he is, stood in the driveway. I, on the other hand, looked in every window that I could reach. Then I looked again. We, it took the two of us because I am terrible with numbers, memorized the phone number on the For Sale sign. We went back to my brother’s house, where I phoned and made an appointment to see the house the very next day. I went back eight more times until I finally made an offer.
In 2011, things were complicated in the Real Estate market. Banks weren’t giving mortgage loans readily, and people weren’t buying homes like they had been during the “bubble.” My house had been empty for a year. The owner had done some updating, decorating as painting is called, and he was getting eager, or more like anxious. It is a small house with only two bedrooms and one bath, so it was waiting for the one person who would fall in love with it. I was approved for a mortgage; my offer was accepted after some back-and-forth, and hoo-boy! The pieces of my puzzle were falling into place, and God was at my side.
I moved in the day after Easter, and for the first week, I sat in the dark during the evenings. I didn’t have blinds, shades, or curtains, and I was living alone for the very first time in my entire 62 years of life. Let that sink in, will you?
Of course, things gradually changed. I threw myself into making my little house my home. Every year, since, I have done something to improve my home…a flagstone path in front, a new deck on the back, a garbage disposal installed, new blinds, guttering updates, new storm doors, and a fresh new color on all the exterior doors. I’ve cozied up the inside, too. All those wonderful trips with Mom and my sisters and friends to thrift shops and auctions have helped me find items with which to decorate.
My house love has deepened more and more.
Sometimes I call my place ‘The Hokey Pokey Clinic,’ where I turned myself around, or ‘The Hive,’ where I learned ‘to BE.’
Mostly, I call it HOME.