Well, DO you love it?

My friend has recently sold his home and moved in with his boyfriend. Their new house was recently finished, after many, many months of hassles with the builder. (Said boyfriend was expecting to move into this house almost a year ago, if I'm not mistaken. I'm glad for the delays, because I do believe things happen for a reason and, as it happened, the house became ready at a time when Gatsby felt comfortable making this move. It's a big step, for anyone I think, and for one who has lived alone for most of the past 15 or so years, I imagine it's a leap of faith. Gatsby calls his boyfriend "the Catch," and I think he's right.)

Anyway, we saw them for dinner this weekend and they were lamenting that everyone they know keeps asking of the new house: "Do you love it?" It's annoying both of them....being fairly pragmatic males, they both think, "Eh, well, it's a house, you know." And Gatsby profoundly points out, "The house is not the thing I love. It's the home. And that could be anywhere."

He and I both grew up in families that moved. And moved. And moved. As an adult, I've continued this pattern, and have now lived in 10 states, more than 15 cities at last count, and more than 30 different houses. And I've always thought, as he does, well, it's a house. If it's safe and clean and dry and I don't hate it, then it's ok. And it always has been...having my family with me, either my growing-up family or my now-family, is what makes any house my home.

But, I have both now and I couldn't be more thrilled. Anywhere I am with Lisa is home, but now THIS house is our home and we DO love it. We marvel almost daily at how lucky or blessed we must be to have found this house and to live in it. People who visit claim to love it, and I hope that our friends and family feel loved and at home here, but even if they don't, I LOVE THIS HOUSE. There, I said it.