Today I closed on my very first home.
Maybe it seems silly to be nearing forty (let's not dwell on that, shall we?) and only now investing in your first property, but it's something I honestly wasn't sure was in the cards for me. Upon leaving the title company's office, key in hand, I got a little misty eyed sitting in my car. Could it have only been six months ago that I was crying, feeling like I was never going to own anything? never have a home of my own? It seems impossible.
Then I drove to my new (old) little house on its quiet, quaint street, and new it was true. It really felt like mine, as I sat making notes and picturing all the things I will do to make this "hive" feel even more like a home.
This process will involve lots of firsts, and I hope to chronicle the ups and downs here. Tonight mostly involved planning, but it also involved a bit of a revelation! The seller left me a lot of paperwork, including some pictures of the house before it had some changes made, and a newspaper from 1960 with a front page story of my 1890s house being moved from across the street so the First Baptist Church could build a new parking lot. The article talked about the potential first owners, one of which was the town's blacksmith/veterinarian. Somehow that seems about right!
I also worked with my friends to pull up the carpet in the living room to see what sort of shape the hardwood floors are in. They're going to take some work, and still look well worn...but I kind of like that. Tomorrow I'm off to work at removing ancient adhesive from the floors!
I'm glad they chose to move my little hive instead of tearing it down in the name of progress.