We are supposed to have the final inspection done today. As we speak, an environmental quality scientist person is taking an air sample, and soon the inspector will check the plumbing.
The boiler was supposed to be checked today too, but the seller hasn't had the gas turned on, so we can't. And we already have enough concerns without turning on the boiler that we will probably have to ask for a concession of some kind.
We did this before, with the last house that most of you didn't know about. Nothing seemed organized, nothing stayed on schedule, our best faith efforts were ignored. This house feels different.
I still miss the Florida room from the last house. It was incredibly peaceful and soothing, and I could imagine so much happening there. But this house, the whole house,
Feels filled with stories I don't know yet.
I imagine we'll have so many family holidays in the dining room. I imagine our church small group in the living room. I dream of a workspace from a converted sleeping porch/sunroom so that I can write and draw and think.
(Picture above: living room fireplace. Below: upstairs sunroom/sleeping porch)
When I say that I am buying this house, it feels strange, because how can this belong to me? How can I own a tree, or a story, or any of this? I don't know how it can belong to me, but I belong here.
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