I've heard, if we dream of a house, the house is a representation of your inner self. I quite frequently dream of a house with an attic. In this attic lives a crazy witchy lady. Often in my dream I am going up the attic stairs to see if the lady is there. She has many cool things in the attic. I always sneak and rummage through her possessions. I never take anything. I just admire them. No kidding. It's often an exhilirating, scary feeling. Sometimes, I am showing other people this secret attic area in my dream.
Don't worry I'm not delusional. I don't believe that some weirdo is living in my house or anything of the sorts. These dreams I'm telling you about are good dreams. Somewhat scary but very long, vivid, curious dreams. I do not want to awake and leave behind the dream. I must be trying to embrace my inner crazy lady self. Really, it's the house that represents our inner self, not necessarily the objects. The house is large with tall ceilings and echoing hallways. The steps to the attic turn into a portale of sorts. Difficult to go into the attic rooms, even more difficult to go back into the main house out of the attic.
In the real world, architecture fascinates me. Mister and I recently went on a long explore around this new town we live in. One by one, I admired the houses. Each house had such neat unique features. Older homes.
Have you ever had the feeling that you are exactly where you are suppose to be. Not a dejavue feeling. Just a peace of being on the right path in life. Honestly, I have felt that so fewnever times. Most of my life I've fretted if any decision of direction taken or made was correct.
For a short period of time, as a small child, I lived in this town. I have a few childhood memories. Very few. I do recall this house. This house we now call home.
The memory is of my brothers, who were young, my mom was a young vibrant woman. My memory of this house was one of deviance. I was mad at my brothers. Possibly mad at my mom. Pouting, as most 3 1/2 year old girls do. I saw this house. It was just a house to me. Nothing remarkable about the house stands out in this memory. The feeling of just being grumpy. It was October. The four of us were walking. I was tired. My brothers were picking at me, and my mom was obviously doing her best with three kids in tow. We may have been trick or treating. Although I do not recall costumes or candy. We were stopping for a minute to let me rest. No photographs exist of this time or this event. It's a genuine memory of a very young age.
Mister and I started house hunting 10 months ago. I've told you the story of how difficult it was to find something in our price range meeting the criteria we had. This little town was about #6 on our list of destinations. I gave no thought of this house or that memory. We looked at several houses in this town. Online I saw the interior of this place and loved it. Mister didn't like it. He gave it about a 30 second consideration. Then we continued our search. House after house, something fell through. I came back to this house again. I'm the slow down girl. I like to single task and take life slow. Mister is like a tazmanian devil, devouring life, and rocking the casbah. We balance each other well in this regard. So, when I finally slowed Mister down long enough to give real consideration to this house, he saw all the potential. I saw the house and potential and how well it fit our needs. The first time we stepped into it, I knew. My spirit moved into this house months before our furniture did. Now here we are. If we never remodeled or finished another project, I would be happy here. Happier than I have ever been in any house.
My dream of the crazy lady in the attic has not surfaced during my nights of sleeping here. I hope to find her, and her things again.
My fascination with architecture, particularly windows has left me curious. I am curious as to why this house built in 1923 only has one coat of paint on the exterior of the windows. We are one by one readying the windows against the cold and snow of Ohio, we have discovered the lack of love given to them. Despite the neglect, the windows are restorable and will not be replaced. There is too much character and richness brought to this home by their presence.
It's late and I didn't make the doughnuts, or banana muffins that were planned. Tomorrow is a long hard work day in the cold. It's the busy season for Mister and I and our business. The browning bananas on the counter will need to wait another day. Tonight, I will do my best to conjur up the dream of the crazy lady and fall asleep wondering if years ago someone peered through the windows of my home and saw me, the tired little girl and her brothers and Mom.
Don't worry I'm not delusional. I don't believe that some weirdo is living in my house or anything of the sorts. These dreams I'm telling you about are good dreams. Somewhat scary but very long, vivid, curious dreams. I do not want to awake and leave behind the dream. I must be trying to embrace my inner crazy lady self. Really, it's the house that represents our inner self, not necessarily the objects. The house is large with tall ceilings and echoing hallways. The steps to the attic turn into a portale of sorts. Difficult to go into the attic rooms, even more difficult to go back into the main house out of the attic.
In the real world, architecture fascinates me. Mister and I recently went on a long explore around this new town we live in. One by one, I admired the houses. Each house had such neat unique features. Older homes.
Have you ever had the feeling that you are exactly where you are suppose to be. Not a dejavue feeling. Just a peace of being on the right path in life. Honestly, I have felt that so few
For a short period of time, as a small child, I lived in this town. I have a few childhood memories. Very few. I do recall this house. This house we now call home.
The memory is of my brothers, who were young, my mom was a young vibrant woman. My memory of this house was one of deviance. I was mad at my brothers. Possibly mad at my mom. Pouting, as most 3 1/2 year old girls do. I saw this house. It was just a house to me. Nothing remarkable about the house stands out in this memory. The feeling of just being grumpy. It was October. The four of us were walking. I was tired. My brothers were picking at me, and my mom was obviously doing her best with three kids in tow. We may have been trick or treating. Although I do not recall costumes or candy. We were stopping for a minute to let me rest. No photographs exist of this time or this event. It's a genuine memory of a very young age.
Mister and I started house hunting 10 months ago. I've told you the story of how difficult it was to find something in our price range meeting the criteria we had. This little town was about #6 on our list of destinations. I gave no thought of this house or that memory. We looked at several houses in this town. Online I saw the interior of this place and loved it. Mister didn't like it. He gave it about a 30 second consideration. Then we continued our search. House after house, something fell through. I came back to this house again. I'm the slow down girl. I like to single task and take life slow. Mister is like a tazmanian devil, devouring life, and rocking the casbah. We balance each other well in this regard. So, when I finally slowed Mister down long enough to give real consideration to this house, he saw all the potential. I saw the house and potential and how well it fit our needs. The first time we stepped into it, I knew. My spirit moved into this house months before our furniture did. Now here we are. If we never remodeled or finished another project, I would be happy here. Happier than I have ever been in any house.
My dream of the crazy lady in the attic has not surfaced during my nights of sleeping here. I hope to find her, and her things again.
My fascination with architecture, particularly windows has left me curious. I am curious as to why this house built in 1923 only has one coat of paint on the exterior of the windows. We are one by one readying the windows against the cold and snow of Ohio, we have discovered the lack of love given to them. Despite the neglect, the windows are restorable and will not be replaced. There is too much character and richness brought to this home by their presence.
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