Monday, June 17, 2013


A year ago yesterday we saw the house. Hot. The endless George North bus route made even more so by road obstruction. Out to trent and back before I told Chris I had to get off the bus or I was ogling to barf. Chicken salad sandwiches for lunch - the sweet relish and sharp red Onion tastes still in my mouth. The purpose of the trip was to time the bus route to Adam Scott. Seeing an open house was just something to do on a Saturday in June. I can't remember if report cards were done. 
  We both walked around as if in a museum or art gallery. It felt weird to be bare foot in a stranger's house, on their carpet, going through their closets. We walked to the Dairy Queen on chemong road. A mini blizzard and French fries. At first we convinced ourselves the house wasn't for us, then we convinced ourselves it was. It had to be ours. 
  And a year later it is. Ours and the bank. This beautiful space belongs to us. I wonder if the walls heard us much laughter when the previous owners lived here. Because we laugh alot. Over so many things. And we talk. About everything - not just about the perfunctory things that owning a house requires conversations about. But the conversations that I only had in my head before. Talking to him is so easy. So are the silences. 
 ,sometimes I wonder what would have happened to us if we haven't have bought this house. His original idea was to rent a house for a year. For once he was the cautious one.  The thought of packing, moving, unpacking for year and then doing it all over again was horrific. Buying a house truly seemed easier. So, yes, buying a house was my idea. I hardly knew the words were out of my mouth and it was all happening. 
   I just knew we couldn't stay together and be in the apartment, and for reasons I didn't fully understand, he had become more important than my apartment. 

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