Once upon a time, I fell in love. The split level house had a wrap around deck, stone wall entry, and screened in porch overlooking beautiful gardens that burst with color. The husband and I bought it. We bought furniture, tended the gardens, replaced hideous carpet and made it our dream house. And then we moved.
When we signed the paperwork to sell the house to people I found unpleasant (at best), I resolved to never, ever love a house again. In his heart, my husband still loves that house, but through the years, he has had an easier time of looking for House Right Now rather than House Right.
His wandering eye and inclination toward lust has grown more apparent as we’ve begun virtual house hunting in the Minneapolis area. His eyes grow wide as he flips through photo after photo of appealing houses in our price range. He calls me over.
“I could see us living here.” He shows me a screened in porch, backyard pond and kitchen with dual wall ovens. It’s beautiful. It reminds me of our first love. “Hmmm.” I say. “It looks like a long walk between the garage and the kitchen. Not so good–”
“I know, I know. It’s a long walk carrying groceries.” He mocks me. This is an oft-repeated refrain of mine while house hunting.
When I pull up the house two days later to show friends, it is in contract. I tell my husband. His mouth draws tight and his fingers clench. I shrug it off. “We’ll find something when we are up there house hunting.”
That’s the thing. We always do find something. We’ve made more places than I can count into livable places worthy of being called home. I’ve kept my promise not to fall in love with another house, but I have loved many, many homes.
What do you think? Is there a difference? Do you love or lust or both?