Fall back...

It's November and most of the leaves have delicately fallen to their places on the ground in vivid hues of yellow and orange- soon after turning a dull brown and settling in for the winter. The air has turned quite crisp and my cravings for hot tea, cider, or chocolate have spurred late night cookie fits. It's hard to believe that about year ago Aaron and I were starting our journey towards becoming home-owners.

The prospect of something so new (uncharted territory if you will), was exciting and albeit, daunting. Who knew that it would take less than a month to find our perfect little first house, get approved for a loan, and sign our lives away on a brand spanking new mortgage? I often think about that fateful day, initialing every page of the 100 page document and feeling dizzy from nodding the quintessential "uh huh" whenever asked "do you understand this part?" Thank goodness for Aaron- I am by no means a girl who understands the economic and financial lingo. But, when handed those keys the feeling is indescribable. The ride to the house that evening was even more indescribable. Walking up to the door and unlocking our house for the first time, by ourselves- hand in hand, on a cold November evening, was more than exhilarating.

The feeling of imminent panic that struck after we sat for a minute in the empty kitchen, catching our breath, seems laughable to me now. "What the hell do we do now?!" I thought. It just came naturally I guess. I felt like such an adult. Much different than being in high school and going out to dinner with one of your friends (sans parents), for the first time and feeling accomplished to have figured out the tip without a tip calculator and wondering if you look as much like an adult as you feel. Or going to happy hour for the first time after being 21 and ordering a martini or glass of wine instead of cheap beer for no other reason but to look sophisticated, "adult-like" and as though you really were of age, no fake ID's this time Mr. Bouncer!



This feeling even trumped buying a real couch, and real bed, none of that hand-me-down furniture that is nasty but it doesn't matter because it's going in my college house crap. Real, grown up furniture.

The feeling was what I would assume to be- responsibility. We're not renting anymore. We're not throwing keggers, randomly nailing up pictures because we don't care how the drywall crumbles, no "woopsies" when you spill on the carpet. Whatever work and sweat equity we put into it, is ours to reap the benefit of. Here we are now, almost a year after that chilly, auspicious evening, and we're ripping up carpet and laminate, painting walls, filling in cracks, laying new hardwood, and remodeling the bathroom. Our weekends don't consist of bar hopping, singing karaoke and scarfing down 4$ pizzas at 3 am. Instead, we're getting up early, throwing on the paint splattered sweats and making our house a home. OUR home.

Falling back and reminiscing about the day we walked into our house for the first time, brings me to think of our future here. In just a year we've created a lifetime full of memories, our first Christmas in the house, a happy New Years Eve party, snowballs and snowmobiles in the yard with the dogs, discovering what flowers will come up in the spring and mapping our the gardens for next year, a June extravaganza complete with a bonfire, good friends and spirits, and endless evenings of content curled up on the couch (a real couch at that). I can't imagine it could get any better. But true to my existentialist studies in college, I have got to remember that our past is informing our present and thus pushing us into the future. Life isn't a static forward or backward timeline. It's a circle of memories to remember, memories to be experienced, and memories to be made.