She sat on the corner of 21st and Pine.
I couldn't help but notice that she was pretty.
Pretty and green
with white trim
and a nice yard.
As we walked up to her front door I commented to Beloved that she was pretty.
When we crossed her threshold we were reminded of many things. The 70's burst into our minds as we noted orange shag carpeting in the family room. In excellent condition, I might add.
She had a wood stove.
She had a dining nook.
And a breakfast bar.
And a huge formal living room, sans the orange shag carpet.
And three good size bedrooms.
Sure, she was a little dated. Her galley kitchen still featured the original wood and hardware from her hay day. There were built in curio cabinets and linoleum that looked brand, spankin' new.
And she was quiet.
We ventured into the backyard only to be delighted by a fully fenced yard with a cement patio and just the perfect place to plant blueberries.
Back inside, after looking it over again, I sat down at the breakfast table and announced that I was finished. Beloved echoed these thoughts.
We would look no further.
We were home.
Marisa the Marvelous made us look anyway. Spoil sport!
But Beloved agreed that the little green house with white trim was the one.
And so we offered what we had. All we had. We could do no more.
And we waited.
And we waited.
And we fretted when they didn't leap at our wonderful offer.
And we whined to anyone who would listen.
And we prayed.
And we waited.
Then Maris the Marvelous called me at work. The cheers and good wishes of my co-worker and the gym members rang in my ears as I made a mad dash for the break room.
"You have a house!" Marisa proclaimed.
And I cried.
I called Beloved and cried some more. Then I pulled it together and opened the break room door. All was silent in the gym as every eye turned towards me.
"Well?" someone whispered.
"YES!" I yelled.
And the gym erupted in a chores of congratulations and good wishes.
Congratulations, it's a house!
She's a lovely 1960's ranch sitting on a corner lot. Waiting to welcome us home.
Her inspection is Monday.
Oh please, Mr. Inspector, do your job well. Be gentle but firm. Poke in the dark places and find no mold. Climb into high places and find no rot. Test this and that and find only boredom. Note that the windows are new and the roof is too. Give our girl a clean bill of health and help us speed along this process.
For you see, Mr. Inspector, we've waited for twenty-three years for this little green and white, three bedroom, ranch with horrid orange carpet and a wood stove. We'll love her, I promise. We will cherish her and care for her in every way. We'll learn to like the orange carpet...until we can afford to rip it out. We will drink our coffee at the breakfast bar and someday we will bounce our first grandbaby upon our knee in the family room. We will paint and plant and adore this little green house on 21st and Pine.