april is here.
and this means i've been in this house for 9 months.
9 months of hitting my head on the shower nozzle in the morning because it is seriously JUST MY SIZE....which as one of my kids told me the other day is "fun size." god, i love 7th graders. but anyway. 9 months of making this place my home. it still isn't quite there, yet. but that is what summer break is all about. apparently. now that i'm old.
but everyday when i get out of my car, i'm reminded just how insignificant my 9 months in this house really is.
it was built in 1955. and when it was built, my street was as far south as you could go and still be in town. now "town" is one of the biggest 'burbs around. at closing, beverly - the original owner - told me the story . . . she and her husband got married on easter weekend. her daddy bought this house for her and her husband on that saturday and they moved in on sunday. with two suitcases and some bedding. and when he came home from dinner on monday she cooked him their first dinner together . . .
she owned this house for 55 years.
i don't know why that strikes me like it does. maybe because as i've made it my own, i've discovered pieces of their story . . . like the wall paper in each of the front bedrooms that had just been painted over years and years and years ago. wall paper from 1950's children's rooms. the random bullet i found in the back of a drawer. the draperies from the 1978 jc penney's catalog that dominated me when i took them down on night one. beverly's husband's grave marker out in the shed . . .
but my favorite part of their story is in the garage. it's what i get to see every day when i am leaving and going.