Home, where my heart’s always been

Firstly, my apologies to readers of this column for my three-week breach of consistency. What packing up didn’t take out of the woman, moving did.
Add to the mix unpacking, having to downsize using the “90-10” rule (remove everything, lose most of it, and bring back the very best 10 percent), and not being able to find a mirror in what was left over and there went the energy reserves.
But I’m back in the swing of things now—and happier than a pig in “doo-doo” in a barnyard. I’m a farm owner and a “Creeker” at long last. What could be better than that?
And yes, in just two short weeks, there’s been enough farm funnies on Frog Creek to rival scenes from the classic movie “The Egg and I,” leaving me plenty of fodder for future columns.
But today, it’s a “thank you” story that’s been in the wings.
On the day when the lawyer’s office phoned, just minutes after 11 a.m., to say “You own a house,” all the day-dreaming and the waiting I’d done welled up. When I hung up the phone, I sat down and cried.
We’d worked so hard to get here and I was so very thankful that our future included being able to give this grand old place new love. I know Grandma and Grandpa would be very pleased.
This simple little farmhouse where I am today, even with its Mickey Mouse plumbing and retro style, is more precious than any of the homes I’ve lived in before it—and I’ve had some dandies.
I don’t miss any of them (even the ones with tons of closet space).
There are few people who truly know what it means to me to be the caretaker of this farm, least of all my mother and father. It’s a pleasure to be next door. The kitchen light finally is on again.
To my brother, Jay, the motivational counsellor on the rocky road to this dream. You can hang your hat here anytime. “If it wasn’t for you”—no truer words were ever spoken.
Pete, my farmer guy. You’re the man my Grandpa would be pleased to see walking across the farm yard on the way to the house to give me a kiss. I’m so glad you wanted this place for yourself as much I did.
The big red barn is in good hands.
And there’s one thing I know for sure. For what it’s worth, to anyone out there who’s ever been a dream-stealer, believe it or not journeys of the dreamer need people like you.
Granted, the stones you cast make the journey more difficult to manage, and the heart hurt.
But everything happens for a reason. Choppy waters are part of the universal plan to make dreamers work harder for what really is important to them. Thank you, too.
This farm is where I’ll be when I have long, grey hair.

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