Late Night Visitor

Tonight we got a knock at the door. A woman, all dressed up for a night on the town and slightly drunk informed us that she used to own our house, and that it was the only place she ever felt at home. We let her in and showed her around, after she divulged enough details about the house to assure us that she actually did live here and wasn't a psycho creep trying to scope out our house and rob us . She told us about the plans they had for the house--knocking out a wall, adding on a master bedroom, replacing the garage with a granny unit--and even seemed a little teary. I felt a little bad, but then I realized that she wasn't the one who lost it to foreclosure. She was the second to last owner, so it wasn't as awkward. The house was a complete mess, but it was actually kind of nice talking to someone who used to live here. We didn't really get to do that when we moved in since it was a foreclosure, so we knew nothing about it's history or any of it's little quirks. In the year that we've lived here, though, we're slowly learning more and more and the house is feeling more like our own. Sometimes I think we're not getting much done, but as I showed her around tonight, I realized how much we've accomplished and how it's not really the same house that those old owners lived in. Everything they thought about doing (new floors, remodeling the kitchen, fixing the garage), we've done. I guess we're not doing to bad, after all.