It was the nicest house I’d ever lived in. And it was all ours!
When the realtor gave us the keys, I stood in the living room with a bucket of cleaning supplies in one hand, taking in the high ceiling, fireplace, and gorgeous wood floors.
As I dusted and polished the floors to a shine, I thought about some of the places I’d lived—a rusted out double-wide with peeling linoleum. An attic room with no heat or air conditioning. A one-bedroom apartment for three people. How wonderful to live in such a beautiful place!
I overflowed with thankfulness for three bedrooms and a bonus—and three bathrooms. (Oh, the bliss of so much bathroom space with teenage girls.)
Until gradually, as I got bored taking my walks in our subdivision, I ventured across the highway. Read more
This morning I’m sitting in my cozy office, with a candle burning and a hot cup of coffee. The only sounds I hear are the contented sighs of my cat and soft snores of my Boston terrier.
But outside, it’s not so comfy. From the office window, all I see are gloomy grey clouds and snow on the roofs from yesterday’s flurries. A little bit ago, I heard the front door close as my husband headed out for a walk, garbed with heavy winter coat, hat, and gloves. My weather app says it’s 21 degrees out there.
As a young girl, I always did a little happy dance whenever my dad invited me to go to work with him. I’d scoot my tiny body as close to him as possible and kneel on the truck seat to see over the steering wheel as he drove. (I know. I would never let my kids ride without a seatbelt, either. Times were different in the early 70’s.)
Whatever we were doing—feeding elk, shoeing horses, hammering boards, fixing cars—I wanted to be right there with him.
But then things changed. As a teen I worked as an A&W waitress, a dishwasher, and a babysitter. I didn’t love menial tasks. Read more