Flashback: June 2003

Moving day. We leave Janesville, the only home we've ever known as a married couple, and head east to a new everything: a new job, a new home and, eventually, new children.

(then-- that's Hank)



(now)



The June day is warm. Sunny. Joe and I arrive at our new house alone-- Madeleine and Hank are with my family. We spend the day cleaning and unpacking and, later, the children are brought to their new home full of boxes, apprehension and excitement. We eat carryout pizza.

(then)



(now)



This was to be our home for a short time. The theory was we would find something bigger. Later-- someday down the road. This house was to be a stepping stone and meant to be lived in for a few, short years.

Of course, that was seven years ago and we're still here. The boxes are gone, and so is the excitement and apprehension. Our neighbors are no longer strangers, but familiar faces and good friends.

(then)



(now)



I feel though, lately, as if the end is near. This dear, sweet home that has housed so many wonderful gatherings, welcomed home two daughters and stood comfortingly by during the death of a beloved mother, mother-in-law and nana is growing smaller and smaller as we grow bigger and bigger and, as much as I love this house, I feel we may part ways at some point.

(then)



I might be wrong. It's always easier to do nothing than to do something, and buying a home, selling a different one and moving from one to the other is no small something.

But yesterday I realized we are now finally ready to make that jump. We didn't make the jump, ultimately, but we realized we're ready. The idea of calling mortgage lenders and all that implies wasn't just an idea, but a reality and we were ready had the house we looked at been The One.

(then)



(now)



I love this dear little house and today, a day much like the one on which we moved in seven years ago, has me feeling a bit nostalgic.