Thirty five years. That’s a long time in all but cosmic and evolutionary terms. And during those decades, our home evolved along with its inhabitants.
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It remained a “Southern Center-Entrance Colonial” on the outside. But interior rooms endured many alterations with changing trends and times. Dark paneling gave way to white walls in the family room, and blue Formica countertops were replaced with granite. Hickory cupboards were painted white. Though doing so was popular at the time, painting over hardwood was traumatic, nonetheless.
Our bathrooms underwent the most dramatic changes. Beginning at the studs, we styled the main bath after a model I had seen at the tile store, investing in travertine for walls and floor. The master bath was inspired by a framed and matted photo of the Arc de Triomphe. We built the room around it with white veined marble, a small vanity, and softly hued lavender walls.
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When our youngest graduated from college and moved to another state, I cried as I took down the sports posters that blanketed every wall. I was somewhat consoled at the prospect of redecorating the room as my next project, so my husband’s suggestion that we just close the door and do nothing was quickly vetoed.
Turning what had once been the nursery into an office, followed. And then we were done. Though the interior bore little resemblance to that which greeted us when we first toured the property with three restless youngsters, it was more than adequate now. We were in a great neighborhood with every amenity nearby. So why were we restless?
We talked about building, but desirable lots were scarce. A quick search of available properties was also disappointing – too expensive, too remote, too modern… So I set up some parameters on Zillow — an open floor plan, an arched entry, a bright kitchen, and a side-load garage topped our wish list. Notices were somewhat frequent, but seemed random. I checked the parameters several times when unsuitable options kept showing up in my inbox.
When interest rates rose, we decided to remodel our kitchen and stay put. We preserved the granite we loved, but invested in upgraded cabinets, a large window crowned with a sunburst grid, and a floor that brightened and unified the space. And then it happened. Remotely similar to getting pregnant after adopting, the perfect house appeared. We toured it, surprised that we hadn’t been familiar with the neighborhood despite it being only 15 minutes away.
We submitted an offer, and subsequently dropped our contingency. Having dipped into our retirement funds, temporarily, the emotional stress that followed is worthy of a story of its own, as are the challenges of purging 35 years of accumulation in limited time. But it all worked out. The childhood friend of our neighbor was interested in moving back east to be closer to family. He and his wife purchased our home. With their permission, I left behind some much loved toys and books for their young daughter, along with a treasure trove of memories.
As I was going through papers, recently, I found a clipping I had filed in 1991. It was a drawing of a house design I loved – an arched entry, abundant windows and a side-load garage. I showed it to my husband.
“Eerily similar,” he replied.
“You have mysterious powers.” he added with a laugh.
We’re happily settled in our new home; grateful for the symphony of bird songs and light that wake us every morning, and for the serendipitous series of events that aligned to make it possible.
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