Last year I was living with a family whom I love very much. They had invited me into their home and lives. It was such a positive season and one I look back on fondly. It was, however, a short season. One day while driving through the historic part of town I happened across this quaint little cottage with a For Sale sign in the yard.... and now I'm living in it.
The house is absolutely full of character & I'm equally in love with the neighborhood. I can walk a few blocks to my choice of coffee shops, art galleries, antique stores, ethnic restaurants, cozy bookshops, & an old movie theater showing artistic films. I can walk through my neighborhood and gaze at the amazingly large and lovely old homes that boast the most beautiful architecture you can find around these parts. (I like to try to peek in the windows and imagine the lives that have lived there and the stories the houses hold.)
The original owner of my cottage style home was once the sheriff of this town. The story goes that his wife planted a field of Azaleas next door giving the street it's name - Azalea Court.
The backyard deck, which wraps around the tallest tree in the neighborhood, has provided the perfect place to host outdoor parties, tiki torches alight and twinkle lights wrapped around the branches.
Across the street is a large dog park with lots of old trees. This is definitely an animal loving community. Oftentimes when I meet people one of the first questions they ask me is "What type of dog do you have?". I feel I get demoted a few notches in their eyes when I sheepishly respond that I don't have a dog.
The house was originally one story, however, someone somewhere along the way built out the attic to make a loft. The stairway up is a unique design-- definitely not to code but esthetically pleasing.
I like to sit on my front porch and read or work. There are so many joggers, walkers, friendly dog owners, neighbors pulling their grandchildren in red flyer wagons. Everyone smiles, waves, says HI. I even get to see the mail lady as she delivers my mail to my old fashioned mailbox right by my front door. The front door that has a brass knocker. The front door that is made of solid wood and weighs quite a bit (I find myself slamming my friends doors now-- they are so light). The porch has also provided a pleasant spot to sit and watch the storms blow in and rain crash down. Best observed with a glass of wine in hand and a blanket wrapped around you.
Just inside the foyer are marble blocks. The kitchen and bath have tile, and the rest of the flooring is a high-gloss wood. The doorways are extra wide and arched. The walls are textured and painted cream. The doorknobs are glass. The windows open via rope and weights. The bathtub is porcelain and deep. No work needed to be done to the house. It came perfectly ready for me.
And now, here I am a little over a year later, getting ready to put the house on the market. Another short season. It's heartbreaking. I've only grown to love my little home and neighborhood more since moving in. So why am I doing it? Faith. That is the only answer I have. I am in Faith that this is the next step in my journey, and that though I don't know what the step after this is - where I'll sleep or what I'll do - I'm taking a deep breath (or two, or three), shedding a few tears, and trying my best to trust God.
So - I'd promised Bethany pictures like a zillion years ago (or one year ago) and here they are - as taken when I first moved in.