Last night at dinner (thanks, Capt. Carl and Mama T) we started talking about our house (these are the things middle aged parents talk about when having dinner with friends?), and it shocked me to realize that we had live here 17 years this month. It seems like a long time, but at the risk of sounding cliche, it seems like...yesterday. We bought our house in January 1992. It was a leap of faith - we were not yet married, but we knew we wanted to be together and live in our own place. When we did get married in Sept of that year we had our reception here, at our house. (was that really almost 17 years ago??)
The house, like our lives, has undergone many transformations, but the structure remains the same. Solid, colorful, needing a few updates. We have added appliances, bedrooms, carpet, paint, children, cats, dogs, and shrubbery. We have subtracted a tiki bar, wood paneling, a hot tub, a pond, and shrubbery. We've celebrated numerous birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and graduations here. In a weird way the house is part of our family.
Sometimes when I drive around the neighborhood I find myself wishing I lived in a different house, on a different street. Someday, I know that will happen. But I still get happy when I come up my street and see my house...lights on, Ruby barking in the giant picture window. It's good to be home.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment