A House Called 'Home'

A year ago, the dude and I were in the lawyer's office signing our names a hundred and fifty two times. We were in the process of buying our very first house, where I was hoping to be able to rest my bones and finally have a place to once more call home. We got the keys and went out for a drink with our realtor (who we have remained friends with) to celebrate and came over to just sit in our big empty house and take it all in before the moving process started.

It was unreal, I don't think I grasped the fact that this wasn't just a temporary space where we'd be packing up and moving away in a few months or a year's time, like our two apartments had been, for six months. I still have boxes packed away in the closets and have only just started to hang things on the wall maybe a month or two ago. But slowly, surely, I've come to call this house that we moved into a year ago 'Home.' A word I haven't used to describe a building and not a state since my parents divorced 12 years ago. Things became my dad's house (where I had grown up), my mom's house, Joe's parent's house, the apartment. I didn't really feel rooted anywhere.

I used to say I would pack all my shit and like a gypsy roam the country side and exotic places with just a backpack of art supplies, my camera and my clothes. Now, when Joe mentions his job may want him to live somewhere else for a few months or asks how I'd feel about relocating I glare at him like he just threatened to burn our house down. Which understandably shocks him because it's a surprising change in reaction from our apartment and vastly different than how I feel about living in the South in general. (I'm sorry South Carolina, I just can't get past some things and people.) My reply to him is ask me again in five years, should I get knocked up or when we figure out how to magically relocate our house and yard to somewhere we like more.

Thank you, wee cottage for letting me take my time to warm up to you. For letting me love you and giving me a refuge in your walls and in the yard from the grouchiness, stupidity and ignorance that seem to pervade my working life (and the occasional trip to the store). Thank you for giving me a home in which to feel safe and comfortable and to share my laughter and my tears with loved ones. Also, thanks for not holding the fact that I haven't even made it halfway through my list of renovation projects over my head - soon there will be fresh paint and honest to gods real tile and you'll feel rejuvenated and awesome. Just you wait.