Four years ago this month, on Easter weekend, I officially gained possession of my house, but my history within it begins long before that. My aunt and uncle first moved there a little over 21 years ago. It was either just before or just after they got married, and before my cousin, Christine was born. I spent a great amount of my teenage years in the house babysitting Christine, and her sister, Jessie. It was my first summer job.
Back then, the kitchen didn't have a sliding-glass door opening out to a deck. The carpet was clearly ugly...as was the linoleum in both the kitchen and bathroom. It has been through many makeovers and transformations through the years. The deck, for instance, took three years to complete. The first year, was the deck itself; the second year, was the door leading out to the deck; and in the third year came the stairs. The summer the front bedroom was remodeled, I arrived on still-dark summer mornings and was able to go back to sleep on the mattress on the living room floor instead of the couch. The kitchen was also remodeled, but I don't recall being around a lot during that process, I mainly remember seeing the finished product. It was done after my babysitting days. In fact, it was done right before my best friend and her new husband moved in.
My aunt and uncle had built a new house, and my best friend, Joanna, was newly married and wanting to buy her first house. The timing was perfect and she was basically there as much as I was when we were growing up, so she already had a bit of a sentimental investment in it herself. I helped my aunt clean the house on the day they moved out. I helped Joanna paint the rooms before they moved in. She was the one to replace the awful carpet, I was there that day too. I helped her turn the back bedroom into a nursery when she was expecting her first child, Brennen. I watched as her second child, Carter, napped in his bassinet in the dining room as a newborn. I sat on the deck with her the day they packed their things to move to Kentucky.
Joanna's friend, Melissa bought the house from her. Melissa and I didn't know each other very well at the time, but we would later become very dear friends. One night, St. Patrick's Day, Melissa and I were bellied up to a bar, green beer in front of us, and we concocted a brilliant plan for me to purchase the house. She and her boyfriend (now husband) were buying a house in another town. I wanted very badly to own the house I had grown to love so much. I helped Melissa and Dave move out on Easter weekend, which was the same weekend I received my keys. For the next two weeks, I, along with my grandparents and my mom, painted, and scraped and peeled wallpaper, and shampooed carpet.
The day I moved in, my house smelled of oranges, thanks to Kylene and her wonderful gift basket. My walls were freshly painted, my carpets freshly cleaned, my pets sufficiently settled. Chuck and Tom had moved my washer and dryer into my basement early that morning, and my cousin, Nate and my Grandpa Gwin loaded and unloaded all of my worldly possessions. Mom and Amy stayed at my new house drinking beer, unpacking boxes and doing laundry, while I cleaned my apartment one last time. I awoke my first morning in my house and finally felt at home for the first time in a very long time. I will be there for many years to come. I will make it my own and then hopefully pass it on to someone else that loves it as much as I do.
My home is now quite different than it was 21 years ago, though many things have remained the same. The front door still squeaks loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. There is a spot, right in front of my television, that pops when you walk over it. A wooden swing (although not the original) still hangs on the front porch. A proclamation, written in pencil still adorns the spare bedroom closet wall "Christine Bradway lived here". Another proclamation, also written in pencil, still adorns the banister at the foot of the basement stairs "Amy is a #@$%^". The basement still leaks when it rains. The bathroom has only a bathtub, and no shower. The kitchen doesn't have a dishwasher (nor does it have room for one), but I have never had such a contraption, and I have learned you can't miss something you've never had.
I have made so many wonderful memories in tiny little house number sixty. I look forward to new relationships being kindled, more beer being consumed, more music flowing through the rooms, and much more laughter...I look forward to every minute.
