Our House

Our House

Sitting in my kitchen, newly mine, though my husband had lived there since he was six months old. His father built it. The family stayed with relatives while the building was going on. His father was a carpenter, building their house in his spare time.

When his mother passed away, we were already staying there six months of the year while she went south to her sister’s. I knew the house well, and buying it was wonderful but, there were a few things I wanted to change, since now, it was mine too.

My husband had some trouble with that. Every change, no matter how small, became an issue. It was like the ghost of his mother was telling him not to let me change anything!

I gave in at first, but my biggest irritant was, every room had blue, some patterns, some curtains, but the living room! The walls were a deep navy blue. So dark!

So, that day I decided to do it. He was going on a business trip, I just wouldn’t tell him. When he came home, it would be done, I was sure he would love it.

It took days, I actually painted it white first, and then realized, in shock, that it looked like a VFW hall! So, off for another color. A creamy gold this time. The white underneath actually blotted out all the blue wonderfully under the gold. The gold was perfect.

He came home. He actually loved it too, on sight! (Or was too polite to say… knowing I wouldn’t paint it back blue.)

That began the making of “his house” into “our house.” Every change happened while he was away. We never fought about changes again. And we spent over fifty delightful years together in that wonderful house. Our house.