My husband and I bought our first home a few months before we were married. I was 23, he was 25. At the time it seemed like a huge leap, even at only $89,000. But we were ready, and it was the perfect fit.
It was a charming, doll-like Victorian, very small, with only two tiny bedrooms at the top of a narrow, but steep staircase. There was one bathroom, and a country kitchen, that was a later addition to the original brick structure and that moonlighted as our mudroom. Completely renovated inside, I feel in love with its potential from the moment I saw it.
It sat quietly on a corner lot in the town I was raised in, the front entrance flanked by several massive, and elegant maple trees. I would relax in our bedroom, listening to the gently waving branches of those maple trees tickling the window, with leaves fluttering and chattering in the wind. Because the trees were so huge, they didn’t let in much light during the summer months, so our room was a cool, quiet oasis.
Soon after we bought it, we punched out a wall in the kitchen and added a patio, where we later spent many summer nights lounging idly in each other’s company, watching the comings and goings of the neighbourhood, worrying about nothing other than the next cool drink.
I often think of that house with such fondness. It was an easy, happy time in our lives.
After we sold it, and built our second and then third house, a sadness settled inside. I’ve missed it, and the feelings I remember from that time. For four years our lives held such promise, and for a very long time after I couldn’t recreate that happiness.
We were all home yesterday. The day quickly shaped up to hold nothing at all, just idle inactivity.
I settled onto the sofa in our family rec room, and turned up my iPod on a new surround system my husband had just hooked up. As I lay relaxing and listening to some of my favourite music, my mind wandered comfortably from thought to thought. I don’t do that very often anymore, just sit and think whatever comes to mind.
As I did, I gazed out the window at the trees blowing gently in the wind. Though I couldn’t hear the rustle of leaves over the drumming beat, I could imagine it. As I did, I felt my heart explode into a million tiny butterflies, releasing a sense of well-being and utter calm.