Happy Anniversary Fairmead

Acccch! I forgot. Ok...I did not (entirely) forget, I remembered while I was driving to the doctor's this morning but I managed to forget again...until now.

Today marks the second anniversary of Dock & Kodos' purchase of our wittew house on Fairmead. Two years of glorious home ownership. Two glorious years of fretting about gutters, toilets, insects and carpet. Two years of trying to figure out what grows in our soil, lamenting over the giant Pin Oak which seems intent on eating our home, having knock-down, drag out fights in Home Depot over a chandelier and paint and my trying to sneak new furniture past Mark (because he would neeeeever notice the price of the "Holly Shit" chair I had made, custom, for him).

In the grand scheme of things, we haven't been here very long. We haven't made many significant changes to the dwelling, either. The dining room turned purple, but that is a natural occurrence whenever Kodos lives anywhere. There is a deep, purply room.

We painted the living room walls. We are ignoring the trim, which doesn't match the walls, because neither of us care for doing trim work.

We, foolishly, tackled the kitchen last winter...taking three weeks to work on the walls (only). I have mixed memories of that project. It was G-d awful. I sacrificed my favourite t-shirt to the cause, Dock and I almost divorced...twice, but we did have moments of blissful giddiness....right down to my painting a penis on the wall out of frustration and stomping out of the room leaving Dock in a fit of laughter (and panic to cover my art so it wouldn't leave a permanent scar).

One of our house-warming gifts, a blow-up, pink flamingo is still hanging in the crepe myrtle in the front yard. I have no intentions on taking it down. Regardless of what the Home Owner's Association has to say about it, either.

So many things happen in a house. When we decided to settle down and actually buy (involving commitment which is something I do not deal with very well), I approached the process with a strictly business attitude. A house is nothing more than sticks, cement and insulation, after all. How important could it be? How could people behave so incredulously when negotiating? It's just a heap of wood. Now...I'm not so sure. It's my heap of wood. It's Dock's heap of wood. Oh...who am I kidding? It's Daphne's (the cat) heap of wood. She just lets us live here and pay the mortgage.

We closed on the house during the day. Dock returned to The Crap House to begin schlepping crap to our new abode. I went to Fairmead to clean to my "exacting standards."

Later that evening, Dock and I walked outside and stared up the driveway at our home. The house was lit up and she looked very warm and welcoming. The rain started to fall and we were forced to abandon our admiration from the outside and move inward. As the rain picked up, it pounded in the most beautiful, melodic way on the skylights in the sunroom. I was sitting on the living room floor, absorbing everything when Dock came around the corner. I looked up at him and asked, "Where are we?" He looked at me and simply responded, "Home." We repeat that conversation every now and then when we're feeling a little nostalgic and silly.

This house will have to tolerate us for a lot longer than two years. Primarily because I fancy big, hulking pieces of furniture which Dock (and all of our friends) refuses to move. Ever again. We will have plenty of time to celebrate, mourn, ail, heal and (hopefully) be happy. There will be more barbecues with Daddy holding court on the porch, regaling my friends with tales of his travels. There will be more holidays, more sleepy Sundays and more days in between.

When you look at life from that perspective, suddenly...all the minutiae, all the aggravation and all of the annoyances seem to pale and fade away. People do not view their houses as sticks. People view their houses as homes. A monument to stability, if you wish. Even the most restless spirit needs a consistent place to drop anchor. For as much as I find Raleigh dullish, for as much as I loooooathe living in the suburbs, for as much as I firmly believe I should be elsewhere, there is something so very comforting about coming home at the end of the day to our home where the familiar smells waft in the air, there is the pitter-patter of animal feet on the hardwoods, there is always a pile of mail waiting to be opened, there is always a pile of shit which should be put away (but Dock and I are too indifferent to be bothered) and there is always a big, hulking bed waiting for me at the end of my day.

Happy Anniversary, Fairmead. May we have many more. Skål, a votre sante, cheers, minge and all that other bullshit that I cannot seem to say directly to anyone. May there be many more years of happiness in our future together. And...less purple paint. And more *reasonably priced furnishings.

*reasonable as in passing the cost-benefit analysis rigours of Kodos