For quite a few years, I've been thinking about moving and nattering about it to family and friends. Nattering, but not taking any steps towards making a move happen. I bought my little post-war house thinking it had a certain charm, rather like this birdhouse in my yard. My home's angles are a bit wonky, the old wooden floors creak (in a friendly way, I'd say), and the plaster walls have a bit of a wave to them, but this home has served me well. Better, once the windows were replaced and and the small kitchen was revamped!

It's been almost 20 years since I moved here. I still remember the first night. My friends had helped me move; my brother drove the small rental truck and my sister-in-law provided the strawberry pies to fortify all of us. When everyone left, I curled up on the sofa in a fetal position (things were piled on the bed) and wondered why I had left my apartment!





I may have skipped from my province to a western one and back again (twice), but those decisions to go where the jobs were seemed easier than deciding to actively search for a new house in the same city. I guess I find a fair degree of comfort in the familiar.

However, it's time for a new home. That is, providing I find just the right one. I've been scurrying about, looking at neighbourhoods, trying to sort out just what I would like for the next indeterminate chunk of time. Maybe one person doesn't really need a lot of space, but I'm looking for more than my current 1000 square feet and a bit of a view. Not the acres that some of you may have, just a lot where I can plant some tulips, peonies, roses, the occasional tomato and see something worth looking at beyond the property line.