Sometimes life gets a little to busy to blog- but I've made a commitment and though I've missed a day or so, here I am, back again to unload all my emotional baggage into the vacuum of cyberspace!

After telling Jeff all about the house on Arlington St., he offered to go an take pictures. We did just that. It was an adventure and a great day. In the hot august-like swelter of midmorning we ventured first into the carriage house and then into the home itself. It feels as if it is mine already- a dangerous and foolish notion that is bound to break my heart.

When I showed the pictures to a dubious Michelle- my sister who is always practical and level headed, I watched her face carefully to try to read it. I was already a little depresses and down because of our recent phone conversation-- I was walking around Lowe's dreaming of kitchen remodeling for the fixer-upper dream home and she was leveling some stern and practical words to the wise.

I came home with an armful of kitchen and bath magazines and went on a wonderful trip to New Hampshire with Aaron to deliver taffy! The ride consisted of me trying to subtly talk kitchens and remodeling and "can we pleeeeeease buy a house we can't possibly afford?" and texting my brother about the insanity of Glenn Beck.

By the time I went to Michelle's for dinner I'd had a tiff with Danny, a tiff with Aaron, and had just about given up on support for the House. Michelle had intimated that Mum had told her how much work the house would need and nothing more. In other words: It's nice to dream Beth, but sometime or other you'll have to just grow up.

So I watched her face with a mixture of guarded detatchment and eager nerves. I peeked over her shoulder and peppered in comments and excuses and qualifying statements. "You can't tell from the pictures but the carriage house is HUGE! It's a house unto itself..." or "It would need work, obviously, but there's already electricity and plumbing running to it, so I think it's doable", and "Aaron and I always wanted a fixer-upper!" or "Oh yeah, the kitchen is a total gut-job; well that's where the water damage is-- must have been a burst pipe..."

For what seemed like an eon she said nothing, only nodded or tsked or expressed with her eyebrows. I felt again like the little girl with the barbie house, like I was being patiently endured, indulged.

When she was ahlfway through the photos she stopped and looked at me and in a barely-more-than-whispered hush she said to me: "I almost think you HAVE to go for it!"

So I'm not as crazy as all that. Or maybe the house makes us all crazy...