I own my own home. Well, I guess to be technical, the bank owns my home and I routinely make payments to them in order to keep my possessions under the roof. I bought it about six years ago; it’s not that big but it’s great for just me. It’s about sixty years old, which I love because it has personality. All the new houses that are built nowadays crack me up–the one tree, artfully placed three feet to the right of the front door and four feet from the curb, the same for every house on the street. Blah. Boring. Give me a house that has character, one that has settled into its foundation and is a comfy place to call home. That’s what I love.
Well, most of the time. Continue reading