"But how are you going to afford avocado toast?" a knitting friend asked with wide-eyed faux concern.
A much repeated meme among millennials, I coincidentally ate that very thing for breakfast the morning I signed the last of the mortgage paperwork and officially became a homeowner.
I'm now an actual homeowner after years of renting semi-crappy apartments where I could hear neighbors laugh and scream at each other and throw up (what was up with that, Keelung?). Instead, all I can hear now is the soft hum of cars on the county road in front of my house and the rare toll of a church bell nearby. It's just enough sound to let me know I'm in a community without the previously ever-present haunting feeling of living squeezed cheek to jowl amongst dozens of nameless tenants.
For the same amount of money per month, I now own every nail (and nail hole...whoops), every inch of hardwood, a creepily dank cellar, and an enormous open attic I may one day get up the nerve (and cash) to finish.
My cats have their own sunroom. I can finally get a dog. I can garden. I can do all of the things I dreamed about during those years of limbo.
And during the midst of all of this, I spent a lovely 4th of July in Michigan visiting family and managed to finish the first draft of Roadkill Kids, which is now into the first round of edits.