I hunted down my job with stealth. I yearned for this early trout season since the season close last fall. But I’m onto a new hunt now that I possess a “comfort letter” from my loan officer- houses.
For those of you who do not know, this house, the house Dave and I someday may call our own, will symbolize that we finally made it to the other side of that damned bankruptcy. OK, let the nausea subside, I should not look back sometimes.
So glee, excitement, giddiness… these feelings jump and leap around this otherwise glum winter season. We have a dream to grab. A house to hunt.
It took Lenore’s eager face and her real estate agent card warning me with bad hair and a plastic smile to get back on Trulia to look. Within minutes I took a giant breath of relief and squeal of delight to see so many homes with deceent price tags in great neighborhoods near dear friends and bike paths… that I dove into the wide world of the interwebs and filled out the online application form for a mortgage through our bank. In the comments section I simply stated, “I am curious where we stand and would like to meet during the lunch hour some day this week to discuss how together we can work on our dream of owning a home again.”
The very next day, yesterday, I obtained the clean crisp freshly printed comfort letter like receiving a three-month rail pass. Go. Go now. Go now and explore. You have the magic ticket.
So maybe we’ll have a new address and the right kitchen by the 2014 Trout Season open, and after we hunt fish, we will cook and drink wine, and look out over our new yard and dream of what plants to put where, and should we get chickens, and where to install the bird houses, and toast to the fabulous ideas in a wonderful space. Our space.
Because I will say with pride, “My house is your house,” and I will mean it more than you will ever know.