We closed on our home two years ago today. When we came over that night, after the ink was dry and the papers were filed away, tensions were high - buying a house is a stressful thing, and so is moving. Jimi was a live-wire, taught and vibrating with energy that could easily shift to anger or frustration with the smallest provocation. I was in my eggshell dancing mode; I don't have to do that often, usually only when we're trying to get the truck loaded before a camping trip, but I had years of practice from my previous marriage, so I'm really good at it. We hung our windchimes on the front porch (his belonged to his Mom, mine to Granny). For funsies, I put my hand into the mailbox - and there was mail! Addressed to us!!! Maggie had mailed us a card, timing it just right so it'd arrive the day we took possession; she's so special to my heart. There was no electricity or water service - the sellers had graciously made certain those were turned off that morning - so in the dark we carried in the boxes we'd packed into Jimi's truck. I was so excited, I wanted to sleep here in the dark and cold - well, I jokingly suggested it.
I love this house. I love how comfortable and cozy it is. I love that we have more than enough space for all of our stupid things. I love that we have a big front porch, perfect for summer afternoons with a paperback. I love that our yard is big and green, and that mowing it burns almost 700 calories. I love that we have a basement for the laundry and litter to live; I love that we have two toilets.
It's just a house, just bricks and mortar and wood and drywall and paint and carpet; a shell to protect us against the wind and rain as we live our lives. It's a good backdrop, though, a good stage.
And I think I need to turn up the thermostat; it's freakin' freezing in here!