16 years. 1/3rd of my life.A 100 year old house has been my home.
I didn't think during all my past daydreaming that my first "adult" purchase would have caused this much stress, otherwise I would likely still be living half in a storage unit and/or in an apartment. Or my first home would have been my late parents townhouse. Hand me downs have been my life, as a 2nd child.
I'm reflective because of how much I've changed during this phase of my life. After the first year of remodeling this home, my life upheaved and after a very plaintive "roommate wanted" ad on the local theater chat room I found myself with a roommate who turned into one of my dearest friends who was my mother's escort during my wedding.
8 years later my wife moved in. I've lost pets, seen relationships and friendships end and discovered and nutured others. I've nursed recurring nightmares about this place, hangovers, had plumbing dissolve, roofs collapse, sewers back up, furnaces stall, gas lines replaced, a teeteriing and moldering rotted garage replaced, dead trees removed, bats, bees, and eventually a baby all happen in the span of 16 years.
And the two people that were proudest of me- my mom and dad? Are no longer with us. I'm remembering Mom with her little dance she did in the dining room the day I was handed the keys. Dad, beaming that his son got his first home with all the character and the big city lot (and the inexplicably fertile vegetable garden)...standing and giving me a hug while staring at my home with this strange reverie while saying he was proud of me. He said that to me on his last day on earth.
This blog started because of this place. I no longer possess the energy to revisit the 700 posts. Apparently I had a lot to say in 2006. In 2017 I had nothing to say. And based on how awful that year hi, it's probably for the best I didn't.
We love the beating heart and soul of this area. This neighborhood. The culture. The restaurants. The Northeastness of it. And if we could have the kind of home (and space) we think we needed to raise Izzy we'd destroy this place and build and we'd stay forever.
Except daddy is 46. And I am pushing myself to be an energetic, dynamic, and positive force in my kids life. And I just think I'd be aided with not having to traverse stairs to let out a dog or warm some milk when my kid is crying at 2am. And basically not have to go upstairs to go potty or to bed or to watch TV. Yes. I'm complaining about stairs. So after a lot of searching and offers in one of the craziest home sale markets since 2007, we found an incredibly lovely place in New Brighton not 10 minutes north of us. I call it NE adjacent, since it's on the confluence of NE and St Anthony and Columbia Heights. It's a cute rambler that's nothing like the family homes we had been looking at, and fits our needs and space to a T.
We closed on our new home together. Another landmark in our lives together and the beginning of Phase four or something in my own. As we frantically box and pack I've found room to admit to my wife that I don't think I've ever *not* worried about this place. From my weird recurring nightmares about home invasion and floors collapsing and the house flooding to just general..."Now what's going to go wrong?" You get used to that stress over time and stop thinking about it, but it's there. Like thousands of weighted burrs picked up on clothing after walking through a field. Our new house is half the age of our present house. Has a finished basement to let my kid run and romp. Has a large park and nature preserve nearby. An upstairs and downstairs. A deck and patio. Tended perennials. And on a quiet cul-de-sac. No sidewalks. No 100 ft footpath to my alley garage. Just us and the neighbors and an adjacent pond that fields ducks and heron.
I have a new neighborhood to get into my body and new neighbors to greet and say their names over and over in my head and write down so I don't forget and assign nicknames to that I'd never share. As I type this, my child is sleeping for the last night in her first bedroom. After rocking her to sleep my wife reminded me of that. And I found myself a bit overcome with emotion.
And yet people move all the time, you say.
I say homes have life. Urban city's have life. They feel pain. Joy. They expand and breathe and exhale with the energy of the residents. I have placed a considerable amount of my time and energy in this home. Audubon. Waite Park. Windom Hill. In NE, these are our neighborhoods and we've given them names. And I will miss this part of my life as terribly as I won't miss the constant shoe-dropping worry.
Now we just need someone to come in and love it as much as we did.
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