The American dream

Well. Ladies and gentlemen, I have returned victorious, and with a new look!
My husband and I are officially the proud owners of our very first home.
I’ve never been one for the center-your-chi and align-your-chakra thing, but right now it doesn’t seem like a bad idea.
Four months, thousands of dollars, pounds and pounds of economical rice and beans, a dozen bouts of random tears, gazillions of signatures and enough disappointment to fill Sebago lake, but here we are.

 

Five acres of oak and pine, a solid home, wild vines, an adorable little stream, and a turkey dubbed Grizelda: here’s to the American dream.
Also, here’s to crossing off number 11.
Everything is amazing. Even this little present that good ol’ Schiavi seems to have forgotten about, seeing as it’s been here since they loamed and seeded our lawn last Friday.
My husband and I feel comfortable now, but in that way you feel a few weeks into summer camp; you’ve made a few friends, know exactly where the bathrooms are, and have the best stick for roasting marshmallows. It’s a distracted, fleeting comfort. It doesn’t seem real. Like stumbling across an oasis while trekking through the desert. It’s gratifying and secure, but temporary.
This is not temporary, though. This is home.
Yes, it rained and snowed whilst we were moving. In APRIL. Thank you, Maine.
Then there was the tragic box incident.
In our travels, my husband and I always take a picture of our feet. We hope to make a collage one day: our feet on the Spanish Steps, at the Duomo, in Piccadilly Circus. And now, our first home.
“Do you mean to tell me, Katie Scarlett O’Hara, that Tara, that land doesn’t mean anything to you? Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin’ for, worth fightin’ for, worth dyin’ for, because it’s the only thing that lasts.” Gerald O’Hara, Gone With the Wind

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