the perks of being a homeowner

In this house, it does not feel wrong to play music from two in the afternoon on. It doesn't even feel wrong to play it through the tv speakers instead of using a properly functioning ihome. This house holds a history and it does not seem to be fazed by anything. Not the curtains I hemmed crookedly, nor the surprised curses I yell at it's copper pipes whenever we run out of hot water mid-shower (which is always).

I imagine that the house is a survivor, for the paint on the baseboards and trim is thick with age and necessity. There are echoes of a dozen people in the past eighty years who have said, "don’t worry about it; put another coat of paint on." Patiently, I scrape and repaint, removing layer after layer and freshly coating the trim with a pure white.

All I know is that here, we come home happier than we did while we were apartment-living or college-renting, and that sometimes there is frenetic percussion  or a long clear note from an instrument playing through the speakers when Zack walks through the door. And though these days have been long for him and strange for me, for the first time, we can have dinner together at a proper table.


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