Wednesday, November 13, 2013

In Love With a House

I've always been a journal keeper.  I was inspired at a young age by reading the accounts of my own family members and feeling and imagining what their everyday lives were like.  I started writing my own stories, thoughts and dreams for my future while young, in hopes that I could maybe inspire or enlighten those who would come upon them later.

Even as a girl, I gave myself a few rules:

  1. Be honest
  2. As much as #1 might allow, see and record the positive
  3. Wherever I might be in the normal ebb and flow, record my testimony on the last pages of each book I filled
My high school journals are filled with stories of friendship, the dramas of the cheer squad, lists of names for my future children, and even every once in a while, secrets about whatever boy I might be quietly adoring at any given moment.

It is that last item that soon changed the rules for me.  It seemed that any time I liked a boy enough to commit our relationship (which may have simply been saying hello in the halls) to print, something would go bust.  There became a pattern -- once I'd write a boy's name in my journal, he'd get a girlfriend or I'd learn he had a judgement or character flaw I didn't admire or he showed some unkindness.  

Admitting in my journal that I had hope for a true love was a curse.  So I stopped.

For years and years and years I recorded every detail of my life except who I might be dating or interested in.  Finally, in a wild and crazy fit of confidence ten years ago I took my chances and wrote only this:  

December 7, 2003
Michael Hansen kissed me tonight.

The curse, of course, was broken.

I suppose now I'm having another wild and crazy fit of confidence.  I've refrained from admitting in print something I have the highest and greatest and noblest of hopes for, afraid I might curse myself again.  But I know now of a surety this is a forever thing, so I'm no longer nervous to record it.  Yes, I've fallen in love again -- this time with Michael by my side.  

I've fallen in love with a house.

On the same day, 18 months ago, that our sweet Millie was struggling in the hospital, our dear friend and realtor called to tell us a crusty old home in our ideal location had a new sign out front.  He warned us if we didn't decide immediately, we'd lose out to someone in the long queue placing their offers.  We're not immediate kind of deciders, so I know now it was a true blessing I was so preoccupied with the welfare of my baby to bother -- I told Michael to give it a shot and see what happened.

I can't even recount all of the miracles that unfolded in those 48 hours, but it ended up like this:  my baby survived, and we owned a house we'd never even peeked inside of.

Here we are, a year and a half later.  Plenty has happened since then:  we designed a new home and, after remarkable effort to save some portion, razed the old one.  Our foundation is poured, and framers are -- at this very moment -- scrambling to get the structure enclosed before the dead of winter.  We have sold our current home, our honeymoon and potty-training and learning to be a family house, to a beautiful new family who is allowing us to rent back for a season.

I have more to share, like amazing pencil sketches from our architects and the story of the fire department running drills on the old structure and just how emotional this process has been (so far!).  But it feels good first to just admit it.

I am in love.



Katie said...

I adore the way you write. Each time you post, I want to curl up and enjoy like I've just bought a new book.

Keep the home updates coming! The sketches are BEAUTIFUL!

Larissa Sheehan said...

i agree with the above comment!

Bibhuti Senapati said...

I love the way you write your post, i love the way you present emotion

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