Hellish Hope

obsessiveBack in April I thought we had a house. I started thinking of knocking down walls and walling up old plaster. I started thinking about corner lots and corner cabinets. Back in April I heard the family ghosts welcoming me home. A little red house called home. I had hellish hope for a house.

Back in August I obsessed about a house. I started talking to my AnyoneWho WillListen. I started dreaming of treeshouses and tree swings; big back yards and big family cookouts. Back in August I thought I heard neighbors welcoming me home. A little white house with green shutters I obsessively called home. I had hellish hope for a house.

Back in November I held out an offering for a house. I started dreaming about 2,000 square feet of house. Big house. Lots of room house. I started planning master bedrooms and multiple bathrooms. Back in November I made deals with lenders who wanted to welcome me home. A little(big) grey house with no neighbors. I held out for the hope of a house.

Back in December I dreamed about a oldnew house. A haunting of what I dared dream of before. I started having visions of well stocked stockings hung by the fireplace; a Christmas tree with festive twinkling lights in the window; the Merrymen singing O’ Come All Ye Faithful. I wished and prayed for a golden, sunlit kitchen complete with breakfast nook and built-in cabinets. Back in December I dreamed of having a second chance at getting a first house. A little beige house with cute cape windows. My hellish hope for a house heated up. Again.

Now I am here. I dream of a house with a dragon bowl in the bathroom. I dare to dream yet again. The dream is so close to reality I am this close to nausea. I told my dearest friend I am sure to puke any day now. I don’t think I am up to all this wait and see stuff.

But, here is the thing. This is the one. I am past the little red house with the family name; beyond the white house. I have forgotten the grey house and gotten over the beige house (honestly, I have). I have moved on to a little green house on a big hill. Hellish hope yet again.

25 days and counting.

Cross Your Roads

Staring Down the House

Staring Down the House

Cross your roads and hope to fly. That was the message on my phone this morning. How did he know? I only told two girlfriends and a sister the news. I’m at crossroads yet again and it’s all I can do to hope for flight. Really.

My life is changing again. I think if I go back a few months, maybe a year ago, I said I didn’t want the same ole, same ole if I could help it. Well, fate has handed me another PassGo card and I’m changing again.

That’s all I can say for now.

Waiting On a Moment


I was tempted to call you. Is this how it went for you? Is this how it’s supposed to go? All of a sudden this search has become bigger than casual drive-bys and GoogleMaps. Having gone through it before you makes you the instant expert in my eyes and so I’m telling you now, prepare yourself for all the questions. Did you think yourself as crazy as I do me right now? Did you find a place on the very first try?

We met for coffee (even though he doesn’t drink it) just like you said we would. The atmosphere was calm and cool, just as you said it would be. Page by page, line by line, we were told our options. Ways to get out were just as many as ways to commit in. Did he use the cookie with you, too?

Prowling around our first house was a lesson in humor. Newlyweds I muttered. Or something he joked back. Opening cabinets, running faucets, flushing toilets. Freezing when the phone rang. We’re supposed to be here he reminded me. Oh yeah. Opening closets, flicking on lights, checking wires. Huh? one of us grunts when a switch doesn’t turn anything on or off. Weird, the other mutters. They have a dog. They need to do laundry. They have the biggest bed I have ever seen. It all seems so overly personal. Invasive.
We moved on to the next piece of property. Not so funny. I did all the squawking, “I’d be a slave in the kitchen!” “All alone” I wailed. “Look! The hall of doom.” “Nope, don’t like it.” “Who paints their bedroom sea-foam green?” “What’s with all the mirrors?” “How on earth do you get in the back yard?” “Do they have a horse or just like the horse gate?” When we started discussing chopping into load-bearing walls I shut down and closed my mind like a prison cell; clanking shut with just as little chance of it opening again. “Can we go back to the other house?” I almost whined.
You were right. I know what I like. I found what I like. I’m just waiting on the moment to say lets seal the deal. Have I gone mad?

Friend of the Devil

They say the house has lost its character. Lost its charm. It’s no island home. Home no more. Electrified. Modernized. Resized. Beautified.

Italian tile bathroom. Slate counter tops. Stainless steel appliances. Wide arches. Leather couch. Tiffany window panes and copper hanging lanterns. Piece by piece, bit by bit, this artist’s home is dismantled, broken down and built back up as a modern day palace. Real nice. Someone said. Classy said another. At least they kept the artwork…Gone are the kerosene lamps, the rustic galley kitchen, the cozy rooms with creaking floors. More windows to let in the light. Less trees to block the wind. Everything is open, has flow.

There is a reason why the word “bittersweet” exists. Such negative and positive rolled into one mouthful we struggle to swallow. Bitter because the changes are so modern. Sweet because the changes are so modern. Room by room it’s a child growing up. Rooms like faces changing.

At least the view remains the same.