A Dream

Am I an overly picky home buyer? On one hand, I can tell I'm going to like a house the moment I see it. On the other, what's considered damning for one house might be passable in a different context. While I do have some minimal standards, what I'm looking for in a home is its potential to facilitate our current and future needs, lifestyle, and hobbies. In short, I have a tendency to evaluate a property based on how well it suits my dreams.

I understand that once engaged in the actual home-buying process, I may have to compromise or even forgo certain fantasies in order to keep moving ahead. While I can see the wisdom in not pursuing perfection at the cost of something really good, I also firmly believe that the more I allow my dreams to influence my search, the more satisfaction I'll ultimately receive from the home I buy.

To find my house, you don't have to travel very far. It's not downtown, but it isn't in the country either. It's definitely far enough from any main street that you won't find a steady flow of traffic. It's even close enough to work for me to ride my bicycle if I like. You may notice a library, a small public park, or some small shops in the blocks approaching our street, but no mega-marts or chain restaurants.

The first thing you'll see when you turn onto our street is that the neighborhood is well-established, with old, but properly maintained homes on large lots with mature landscaping. Since it's Saturday, you're likely to see a few neighbors out pulling weeds, mowing their lawns, or just chatting with friends. Nobody lets their yard go fallow, and there's not likely to be any homes with yards covered over by concrete, random pools of bark dust, or statuettes of bears and seagulls.

You'll know you've found our house when you reach the lot that's a little bigger than all of the rest, and find the entire front yard tilled and planted for the year's garden. The peas, lettuce, and cabbage will be up already, and the late spring flowers around the perimeter will leave a mildly sweet scent on the breeze. You might think at first that no one's home, until you hear the sound of young voices laughing from behind the house. Taking the small path around the back, you'll wind through more blooming flowers until you come to a small chicken enclosure surrounded by apple trees. There you'll meet our children who are laughing because they had to climb an apple tree to escape a particularly cranky, yet loyal old hen.

Since you've never seen it before, and because they like you, the children will be overjoyed to give you a tour of the house. You'll be ushered in through the back door, which leads into a small utility room off the kitchen. The kitchen is completely full, from wall to wall, with perfectly organized jars, herbs, pots, pans, and rustic-looking tools. Combined with the thick smell of garlic and freshly-baked bread, the layout will suggest that the room is far more than a place to prepare food. It will present itself as the focal point for our family, where all of the projects from the outside world coalesce into a creative, wholesome home life.

After taking in the details from the kitchen, you'll start to notice a muffled, but distinctly-rhythmic sound. The children will read your perplexed face and know exactly what you're hearing, and drag you eagerly to a small staircase on the other side of the kitchen that leads down into the basement. Instead of finding the dark and dirty root seller with an unbalanced washing machine like you were expecting, our basement will be finished in a utilitarian, yet bright and welcoming way, drawing you down the hall towards the main room. Upon entering, you'll see me at the opposite side of the room, stooped over a MIDI keyboard like Erik from the Phantom of the Opera, entranced by what may potentially be the worst drum beat you've ever heard. Surrounding the exterior of the room will be a strange and grotesque assortment of instruments, electronic devices, speakers, and computers, all covered with a web of cables. Once you get my attention, I'll try to semi-apologetically introduce the room as my "home studio.”

After that, I'll take over tour duty from the children, and lead you back to the main floor to see the rest of the house. We'll stop again in the kitchen to check on dinner and pour a couple of drinks, and then move into the living room. It will be obvious at once that the focus of the room is on the wood stove, a well-loved rocking chair, and a weathered-looking upright piano. The room will have a lighthearted, rustic atmosphere, with homemade blankets, sewing, and art filling every nook and cranny.

While the children peel off to go back outside, we'll continue upstairs to the finished attic space which serves as Lindsay's office. From the windows on the second floor she can maintain her vigil over the children's outdoor adventures while working on her writing in a calm, bright atmosphere. Today she'll have all of the windows open to let the breeze in from the garden. While she'll be a little surprised that you've been here so long without her knowing, she'll happily show you in. Her space will be open and bright, with craft materials, yarn, and paper filling cupboards, drawers, and closets all around. You'll see right away the creative touch behind the beauty and brightness in the rest of the house.

As we head downstairs, the kitchen timer will start to chime, signaling that dinner is ready. While I start pulling out dishes for the children to set the table, Lindsay will lead you to the covered front porch, where we've set up a small table overlooking the garden. We'll settle in to enjoy a night of laughter and drinks in celebration of the blossoming of summer and the beauty of life. You might as well have another drink, as it'll be such a short journey home.

This fantasy conjures up strong emotions for me, and as I get new ideas, I create new story lines. For instance, Lindsay mentioned the idea of us having a bee colony someday, and now it's there, just beyond the apple trees, in a little meadow enclosed on the backside by a giant hedge of native Oregon blackberries. Not every dream will be possible, but each idea influences how I view real estate listings.

I've spent quite a bit of time considering what the perfect home would be like, but here's the thing: even if we found something that matched our fantasies exactly, we still wouldn't buy it. We don't want the perfect house to just happen to us; we want to create it for ourselves. We want to renovate the interior, till the fields, and plant the trees. By doing as much as we can ourselves, we add deep respect and meaning to the results. We write our own story lines around every effort we extend towards our future together, and each finished project becomes a memory of obstacles overcome in partnership and love.

So what we're really looking for is the potential to fulfill our dreams, which is a tall order for a wooden frame and a bit of dirt. Thankfully, we're resourceful enough to fill in the rest.