There's No Place Like Home

Our house is a very, very fine house
With two cats in the yard
Life used to be so hard
Now everything is easy
'Cause of you
And our la,la,la, la,la, la, la, la, la, la, la.....

Our house is a very, very fine house
With two cats in the yard
Life used to be so hard
Now everything is easy
'Cause of you

I've been thinking a lot lately about having a house.  A home.

I've never actually lived in a house.  All of my life, living in a house has always been a goal of mine.

I grew up in a single-wide trailer that had tiny rooms, bad wood paneling and ugly linoleum floors.  

I shared a tiny bedroom with my brother until I was 12.  The room was so small that I could sit on my bed and extend my arms and touch the closet door.  The bedroom was next to the furnace and some times, I'd lie in bed and worry about the furnace catching on fire and burning down the trailer.

I hated living in that trailer.  I was jealous of my school friends who had houses.  My dad's mother died when I was in college and he inherited her house.  I stayed there a couple of times but it wasn't "my" house.

I would buy graph paper from Murphy's Mart with my allowance when I was a kid and sit in my room and design my dream houses. 

Sometimes, they were very elaborate -- multi-levels, with a lake or stream running through the living room.  Sometimes, they were very simple.  Nice, tidy family houses.

The bedrooms would always be huge and have big closets and bay windows, with a place for me to sit and read or stare out the window.  The bathrooms would have plenty of room.

I would get out my colored pencils and doodle in bushes, gardens, dog houses, swimming pools, gym sets and trees.  Lots and lots of trees.  The grass would be vibrantly green.  The trees would bear fruit.  There would also be flowers flanking the nice cobble-stone sidewalks.  There would be a porch.  With a big swing.

I still want it.

I've been living in apartments since 1996.  Before that, I was living in a boarding house and before that, a college dorm.

My apartment is not very "homey".  I don't have decorations on the wall or artwork.  I have some knick knacks but nothing that screams "this place is a home."

So, I've been thinking about it.

I've been putting off looking for a home because I have this major fear of commitment.  I have a hard time signing a 12 month lease so taking on a 30 year mortgage feels stifling.  There's always this small part of me that wants an "out" clause.  I want to be able to pack up and go in a moment's notice if I feel like it.  With a mortgage, I can't do that.

Also, I don't know that I want the responsibility of a mortgage.  Lawn care. Snow removal. Taxes. Insurance. Upkeep. Termites. Leaking roof. 

But, I do know I'm feeling this craving to put down roots some place.  To have a house.  A nice sized kitchen.  A backyard garden.  To paint the walls the colors I want.  To have hardwood floors that I can walk on barefoot.  Maybe a safe backyard for Abby so that she can live outside with the squirrels and birds she loves so much (but not run away from home...)  A garage for my car.  A driveway where I can wash my car on nice days.  Flower beds.  A porch.  Natural sunlight filling the bedroom with beams, with little dust particles dancing in the beams. 

Real guest rooms for guests.  Shower curtains made of cloth instead of plastic.  A mailbox with my name on it.

Trash and recycling bins to haul to the curb on Tuesdays.

A place to decorate for the holidays.  A place to throw parties.  Hallways that my nephews can run down, chasing each other when they visit.  Hallways that I can run (or, well, limp) down and chase my soulmate if I ever find him.

Sprinklers to run through.  Garden hoses to drink from.

A place for me.  Forever.   A ...  home.