It sure has been a flurry of activity here in our corner. Now that the holidays are over and the high school exams are done, I am dusting off my camera and my keyboard. And I thought I’d share a little bit about our house.
I loved our house the minute we walked in the door. It was an emotional connection. Having lived in a dark, narrow rowhouse, clustered tight with other graduate student families, I was longing for space and light and air.
Our house was unfinished when we happened upon it thirteen years ago. More than a bit rough. But I imagined how it might look with drywall and paint and a little bit of life ringing through the rooms.
There was a forest in the back. Lots of pine made the perfect place to launch a child’s imagination. I loved the big windows and the way that the world outside made blurry lines with the in.
So the builder made us a house. We’ve made it a home.
It’s so not perfect. I have a long mental list of updates and improvements. But really, those are all details and I have this amazing, full life and this place, this home (flaws and all) is where a lot of it is lived.
So here’s my journal of thanks as I look around my little house today:
big pinecones on the piano, that place where the fingers fly and music floats . . .
a little golden-hearted girl . . .
an “anniversary table,” complete with a shell to remind us of quiet days on the beach . . .
blankets–oh to keep warm on a winter’s day . . .
a new life for old tin–a mirror for reflection . . .
all these just a few tokens of the place where we call home.