No foolin'

We moved into our house four years ago today, and a happy four years it has been.

Four years ago, I went to bed in this house for the first time and I already knew I loved it -- I just wasn't sure if it would love me back. I had, after all, spoken disparagingly about its basement. And I looked askance at the practicality of having big, huge rooms with a meagre one or two electrical outlets each, but those things paled in comparison to the fact that the house was full of light with its big windows and tall ceilings and that it had a subtle air of quiet happiness about it, contentment and well-being. We could hear church bells ringing the hours when the windows were open, and children playing outdoors. It felt so full of peace. That was something we all really needed at the time, having just gone through the screaming, churning hell of bankruptcy and foreclosure; we needed a place to rest and regroup and sort ourselves out.

This house has been a wonderful place to do the sorting. This has been, so far, the best place I've ever lived.