Now it feels like home-sweet-home…
This may seem a little strange, but it wasn’t until Tuesday afternoon, about 20 minutes after the movers had left and when I was sitting on my front porch reading the Beacon Dispatch, that this house finally felt like home. Over the last year-and-a-half I’ve spent thousands of hours at this place. During that time I’ve taken the time to admire the views, think about where windows needed to be and what might need to be moved. I’ve essentially labored over this thing. Fretted. Lost more sleep than I could ever hope to regain. Worried about the rain that was falling. Drilled holes in the sub-floor to let the water through. Worked until 2:00, 3:00, 4:00 in the morning to make sure that what needed to be done actually got done. I’ve lived here without sleeping here. It was a job, but it wasn’t yet my home. I have to admit, because of all the associated baggage, I was a little worried that it never would feel like home.
But then, sitting on my front porch, paper in hand, my mother leaning against one of the porch posts, a little furniture on the porch and in the house, it all just suddenly clicked. It was like some switch got flipped inside me and this house was suddenly my home. But here’s the best part…
I can’t remember whether it was last night or the night before, but Kathy and I were talking about the house and our bedroom in particular. We were lying on our bed and looking out the windows. You could see the trees through through the twin windows at the top of the gable and then through the six windows at the foot of our bed and Kathy said, “You know, it feels just like we’re camping.”
That, friends, is just what we were shooting for.
Man that makes me feel good.