What do you do when you’ve fallen in love with a house?  What do you do when you have to say goodbye to it?  I’ve been in love (with a house) before, and it was heartbreaking to say goodbye.  I cried so hard that day that just thinking about it now gets me a little teary.  I know it’s just a “thing,” a house, and that it wasn’t the important part of the memories that were created in it, but maybe it was, a little.  Maybe the house is one of the characters in all those memories of meals shared, and holidays celebrated, and slumber parties not slept, and games of hide-and-go-seek played.  Maybe my current situation is bringing up those old feelings.  Transition.  I know that I’ll be moving on to a place where I’ll create lots of wonderful new memories with my soon-to-be husband.  It has left me feeling this strange dichotomy of being super-excited for the future while at the same time mourning the loss of this great little place that I’ve called home for the last 3 years.  Geez, it’s only been 3 years?  That’s such a short blip in my life-house time.  That other house and I had been together for almost 20 years.  This flat is only one of about 15 places that I’ve lived, but it’s the only one that’s really been mine, all mine.
It’s not that I don’t like change.  When I was younger, I would rearrange my bedroom furniture every 6 months, just to keep things fresh.  But I suppose just because you want the change doesn’t mean there won’t be things that you miss about the past.  Maybe it’s just because endings are sad.  Fortunately, they’re often followed by beginnings, which are usually pretty happy.  So until I really have to say goodbye, I think I’ll work on including this little house as a character in as many memories as I can possibly make.

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I was driving around last night, killing some time before I picked C up from the airport.  Since I was already in the neighborhood, I drove past the house I lived in when I was five years old.  That was a great house, too.  We didn’t live there long, and I was only five, but I still get nostalgic going back.  I had forgotten, or maybe I never realized, being so young when we lived there, what a cute neighborhood it was.  Still is.  All these houses, probably built between the 20s and 40s – small, full of character, on narrow, tree-lined streets.  And because it was nighttime, I could see inside these wonderful little living rooms, with families and small children (not stalker-like or anything, don’t worry).  It was then that I realized…  I love my little place, a lot, and it will always be this perfect little spot, bookended in time between Beach Blanket Babylon Boulevard and wherever it is that C and I end up together.  Nothing will change that or take it away.  But as much as I love my little postage stamp of an apartment with the great view, I’m even more excited about this new place (wherever it may be) that will likely be the place where we start a family.  It will be the place that we’ll look back on, years from now, when we remember our first home.  Thinking about it that way, I can’t wait.

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