Sometimes I hate this old house. We thought by this time we would have sold this house, and been in something new. With the housing market the way it is, that ain't gonna happen.
We've lived here most of two decades now, and we've replaced the heating system, most of the electrical wiring, the roof, most of the flooring, doors, appliances, and redone and repainted the deck at least four times. While the bank still owns a part of it, it sure feels like ours.
We also suffered through several rounds of basement flooding, caused by that nebulous "act of God." The first time was on my fortieth birthday and we were on vacation. Thankfully a neighbor was checking the house, and discovered that our hot water heater "let down" and flooded the basement. That redo was covered by insurance.
The next time was when we got 11 inches of rain in twenty-four hours. That one was not covered by insurance and cost a fortune. That time, we put in vinyl, having learned that lesson the hard way.
Now we own the Mother of All Sump pumps. For some weird reason, the house wasn't built with a sump pump. We bought a commercial-grade pump with a marine battery back-up. It's the proudest, most special thing in our house.
I used to enjoy rainstorms, but no more. The reassuring thing that will put me back to sleep is the sound of the sump pump gurgling all that dangerous water where it needs to go.
In the last year or so, we've accepted that we'll probably go feet first out of this abode. There are worse things, and in a strange sort of way I've begun to accept our home complete with foibles, and notice the small and wonderful things.
This morning -- a glorious sleep-in Saturday -- I was awakened by something shiny glistening in my eyes that I've never seen in all the years we've lived here.
It was the sun reflecting off the lake across the road behind us. I felt like I was being bathed in yellow diamonds. Accepting this gift, I rolled over and went back to sleep.