I'm remembering that, usually, it takes me over two years to love a house.
Just now, I'm beginning to love mine.
I don't know. Maybe it's that new dresser of mine and the way it ages our living room another hundred years. And the way it sits very near my dream-come-true coat closet, making it serve rather like a hall tree, what with the mirror.
Perhaps it's because I placed that old formica table in the center of our bay window and how I can watch October turn colors outside now.
Or maybe it's because I spent yesterday morning clearing Tom's stuff from five shelves in our baking pantry, lugging it all to his garage and the new table and shelves out there. Oh, how I've wanted those shelves back and oh, how I've needed them since Naomi moved in upstairs! And now they are orderly, matching my need for order.
I'm not one to say often and loudly, "I can't help it," especially when it's used as an excuse. But when it comes to cupboards and closets and drawers, well, I can't help it. I feel better when they're orderly.
Forgive me, ok?
And then there was yesterday while the sun was setting. Tom and I carried some junk down our dirt driveway to the curbless-curb, then while he puttered some more outside the barn, I climbed over tomato vines in my garden, rescuing the last tiny red ones. Frost was promised for early morning and the air was so nippy already that the tomato plant leaves had darkened and stilled.
And so I whispered good-bye to my garden.
Maybe it takes a bit more than two years for me to feel a home is, well, mine. Perhaps it keeps its "we're just taking over for the last people" feeling that long. But yesterday this 130 year old house and it's chilled garden did feel like mine--and Tom's--as we worked near each other and raked and cleared and gathered while the sun sank down way, way too soon.
Just now, I'm beginning to love mine.
I don't know. Maybe it's that new dresser of mine and the way it ages our living room another hundred years. And the way it sits very near my dream-come-true coat closet, making it serve rather like a hall tree, what with the mirror.
Perhaps it's because I placed that old formica table in the center of our bay window and how I can watch October turn colors outside now.
Or maybe it's because I spent yesterday morning clearing Tom's stuff from five shelves in our baking pantry, lugging it all to his garage and the new table and shelves out there. Oh, how I've wanted those shelves back and oh, how I've needed them since Naomi moved in upstairs! And now they are orderly, matching my need for order.
I'm not one to say often and loudly, "I can't help it," especially when it's used as an excuse. But when it comes to cupboards and closets and drawers, well, I can't help it. I feel better when they're orderly.
Forgive me, ok?
And then there was yesterday while the sun was setting. Tom and I carried some junk down our dirt driveway to the curbless-curb, then while he puttered some more outside the barn, I climbed over tomato vines in my garden, rescuing the last tiny red ones. Frost was promised for early morning and the air was so nippy already that the tomato plant leaves had darkened and stilled.
And so I whispered good-bye to my garden.
Maybe it takes a bit more than two years for me to feel a home is, well, mine. Perhaps it keeps its "we're just taking over for the last people" feeling that long. But yesterday this 130 year old house and it's chilled garden did feel like mine--and Tom's--as we worked near each other and raked and cleared and gathered while the sun sank down way, way too soon.
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How long does it take you to feel a new home is yours?
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Some things just take time.
4 comments:
What a lovely feeling to have! I've been in this house for thirty years and I know I'll probably have to move sometime, but I will miss it!
I grew up helping my dad in a little country store stocking shelves and organizing glass drink bottles into wooden crates. Therefore I can identify with your need for things being orderly.
Hope you and Tom are having a great day.
Odie
I loved your post Debra, it was like a beautiful poem. It takes me awhile to make a home feel like mine too. Enjoy the fruits of your labor.
When I was a child we moved 23 time in my first 16 years of life!
Steve and I were 4 years together in our first home. A home he purchased as a batchalur when he was 18. A wise move on his mother and father to have him do so. It was all of 1000sf.
Our second home 16years it was mine.
This home now 9 years. I was not really here for a long time in heart.I had felt it would just be a temporary thing somehow. I realized it was a guard over my heart. A year or so we packed it all up. It was then I realized it was mine and I did not want to go. Now It is mine as we move into a home that was once set and now must be set up again. No curtain rod where once hung drapery's I made myself. Now a valence with push pins.
I had to get my hands in the earth. Put some holes in the walls switching the pictures around. Not think like my husband that I do not want to mess it up for the next owners if we sell it. I fought for it to be mine. At least where I get to raise the kids. It is my hope that it will be ours until they have families of their own to come back home and show them where they grew up.
That's a grand hope yes but no less my hope.
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