A New House To-Be

I mentioned in my last monthly newsletter that my husband and I have decided to build a new house. We built the house we’re in now and moved into it thirty-four years ago this month, in October 1984. Our current home has taken us from being young professionals and parents (I was a 29-year-old lawyer, parent of a two year old, and pregnant with our second child when we moved in) to being empty nesters for the past fifteen years.

This home has been wonderful. The four bedrooms on the second story gave us rooms for both kids and a guest room/office near the master bedroom. Over the years, the focal point of the large great room was first toys, then encyclopedias, and now a large screen TV. We have both an eat-in kitchen and a formal dining room used primarily for holiday and birthday celebrations, though the dining room table serves also as a spillover workspace. The kids had a piano for lessons, and I continue to (rarely) play it.

We finished the basement, but our children rarely played in the rec room downstairs. When our son became a teenager, he moved to the basement bedroom, which gave us all a little breathing room.

The neighborhood we’re in is close to highways and we had an easy commute to our jobs downtown as well as to the children’s grade school. I’m happy with my grocery store, dry cleaners, church, and everything else I need.

But my husband and I are not getting any younger. We’ve each had broken bones that made stairs difficult (see here, here, here, and here). We each had a parent who ended up needing a wheelchair, and we can see stairs becoming more problematic in the years ahead.

So over a year ago, I launched a new house search. Our search was interrupted by my husband’s latest broken bone—his kneecap—in February. Once he recuperated, I resumed the search.

I’ve looked at many houses and dragged my husband to several as well. None was perfect. Perfection is probably too high a standard to expect of a house, but still . . . one can hope.

We finally settled on building, so we could have a house that is nearly perfect—main-level living, wheelchair accessibility, a separate office for each of us. And a view.

A view? Isn’t that asking for the moon? In a way, it is.

But I spent most of my 27-year corporate career in offices without windows. Most of my offices were underground and had no daylight. (I had a couple of lovely offices, but I was in those a total of less than two years.)

Since my retirement, I’ve worked in rooms at home that have windows. I know what a difference it makes to my mood. As I write this post, I face a window with a magnolia tree outside. There is one lone blossom that is braving the first freeze of the season. I’ve watched a bird’s nest with chicks, and squirrels cavort through the branches. I note the changing seasons by the changing leaves.

A view from my office window was a priority once we decided to build.

So here is the view out the back of the lot we have chosen.

The new site isn’t totally perfect. Some rooms in the house might seem too small once we’re in them. I won’t have a formal dining room to spread out in during tax season. I’ll have to change grocery stores and other shopping patterns. I’ll probably change parishes. Most of my meeting sites are an additional five to ten minutes driving time.

There will be losses as well as gains in the move. Still, the thought of looking out my office window at this view makes me smile.

We won’t break ground on the house until November sometime. We won’t move until next summer—probably around the Fourth of July.

I know I’ll panic on occasion as we go through the process of making decisions, decluttering, actually moving. I’ll miss the home we’ve had. But I will have the hope of this view to sustain me.

Wish us luck!