As I look at one scummy rental house after another in my effort to relocate, I long to be a homeowner again. I don’t need much. Square footage is not a big issue for me. Perhaps due to my Danish roots, I’m much more into warm and cozy. I want the kind of house you like to wake up in on Christmas morning. Lots of wood throughout. Warm colors. A fireplace. A nice view of the mountains. A patio. A little yard for the dogs to pay in. My big splurge would be a luxury bathroom with a Jacuzzi, shower, two sinks, enough room for a love seat, and a bidet next to the toilet to confuse visitors. And for once in my life I’d like a kitchen with a dishwasher. And I know this is silly, but I won’t feel completely like an adult until I have a two story structure. I like to be up high. I can see this place in my mind. I’ve always seen it.
I know that by international standards I live quite well, but I still have dreams. Meanwhile I’m wading through mildew covered lime green plush carpeting circa 1969 and making sure I have cell phone service in the house before committing to a lease. Sigh.
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