Imagine a slice of history preserved for 150 years, surrounded by pastoral fields and trees, and closer to both of our jobs. Imagine heart of pine floors, 5 fireplaces, a room with a full wall built-in bookshelf, floor-to-ceiling pane glass windows, walk-in closets, 4 bedrooms, 3 1/2 baths, and a little red barn, all on 5 acres. Imagine quiet mornings reading next to the window with birds chirping in the grassy field outside. Imagine winning the lottery. Well, that's what would have to happen for the rest to be a part of my life.
I've found my "dream home." Andrew has driven by it on his way to work for 2 1/2 years now, I've admired it on the way to hockey games, and a couple months ago it went on the market. I hunted it down online, and fell in love with it even more. I've always loved old homes and always wanted to live in an old home. Think about it--this house pre-dates the Civil War by a decade and survived Sherman's trek through Atlanta. It's seen the abolition of slavery, the invention of the automobile, in-house electricity, TV, who knows what stories it could tell! An old house is usually rich for the imagination. Muses hide in its walls, closets, and floors.
As tantalizing as it is for my creative side, reality never let her claws out of my mind. Never mind that the down payment on this house would be almost as much as Andrew and I had hoped to spend on the full price of a house! Never mind that monthly mortgage payments would be almost 5 times what we pay now in rent. Sure we could make it happen! Yeah, right. Maybe it will be my mansion in heaven. At least I can look at the pictures and dream.