I don’t know about the rest of the world, but in America, everyone dreams about having a home of their own. I’ve been fortunate to have had one all of my life. I grew up in a cozy ranch style home my father built with his two hands.
After I got married the first time, my husband and I bought a four-bedroom, two-story colonial home on an acre of land. The home was only four years old and everything was in perfect shape, so the two of us moved in with a television. We hand nothing else, so all of our furniture and appliances had to be purchased. Awwww — what a hardship, huh? It was great fun turning an empty house into our home. It got really fun a year later when we added a daughter and three years after that we had another daughter. It was a nice home, where there were good and bad memories.
After our divorce, I lived in an apartment for three years and then finally decided I was going to stay here. I had dreams of moving to Florida, but decided my friends and family were more important than having a palm tree growing in my front yard, so I bought a condo because I was single and all the stuff I couldn’t take care of was handled by someone else. Perfect.
Until I married Ken, and we wanted to have a dog. The other factor we didn’t like about the condo was it was on the upper level of the complex. And the roof leaked, so we moved to the city into a little 1100 sq. ft. home with a nice lot across from a cemetery on a dead end street. This house wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but something pulled us here. After sinking in $30,000 to renovate the place so we could live here — new windows, doors, roof, appliances, air-conditioning, hot water heater, painting, wallpapering, remodeling the bathroom (we ran out of money to do the kitchen — which badly needed updating), we felt we had built a nice nest, so we could grow old together without major house problems.
This house has been perfect for us until Ken’s MS started to get serious. So, the other night, we laid in bed, holding hands, listing things we’d like in a new house. One we would have custom built. (Believe me, it was just a dream unless something drastically changes.) We decided we wanted open spaces with lots of sunlight. Any hallways and doorways would have to be wide enough to accommodate his power wheel chair. The bathroom would have to be spacious with a step-in shower and bath tub and two sinks (one at a lower level) and lots of storage space. We also wanted first-floor laundry facilities, a eat-in kitchen, and finally a three-season room, so we could enjoy the outdoors for most of the year without the hassle of putting up with critters and bugs. The yard professionally landscaped and it would have a fence, so Ernie couldn’t suffer from the wrath of the neighbors getting into their space. What a dream, huh? And how it has changed since my “dream house” when I was raising children.
But Life is Change and as we turn the page on our 17th wedding anniversary today, our dream house will go up on our vision board. We’ll put it up there with the wheelchair van, a Viking River Cruise down the Danube River, a book that made Oprah’s reading list and other smaller dreams we’ve sent out to the Universe.
Keeping our Visions in front of us is important. After all, the things we originally put on it have come true. I kid you not.
What does your “dream house” look like?