Our Apartment Is Just Fine...For Now?

Yikes! It's been almost a month since I've written. I've been seriously consumed with getting my new wedding & portrait photography business off the ground...up and rolling...or is that off and rolling? Up off the ground? Well anyways, my wedding and portrait photography website is now online, and while I still have a HUGE list of things to do for my business, that was the first really big step in the right direction. (That and getting my sales tax license...which was pretty exciting too!)

Anyways, today's blog is about a response that I often receive, when I tell someone that my husband and I don't own a home (or rather, we don't live in a home the bank owns).  We live in an apartment, as many newlyweds do. It's a really nice one though. We don't have a pool or a gym or anything, but we have almost 1100 feet of space, two floors, and more storage space than I ever had to myself in any standalone house I lived in.  There's a nice patio with room for a little grill, a pair of chairs, and a dozen or so potted plants, and it's got a pleasant view of the little courtyard.  We only live 5 minutes away from Justin's workplace, and about 20 from mine. This apartment is such a perfect fit for us in so many ways, and about once a week I sigh to my darling husband, "I just love where we live." You can see some photos of our little nest here, and here's some that were taken before we moved in.

But usually when we tell people we're in an apartment, they say something like "well that's nice...for now." The last part is ominously intoned. And then they give a knowing look, as if they sympathize with our non-home-owning misery, they understand we are at this pathetic little place through which all newlyweds must suffer, and we should be encouraged that this, too, shall pass.

My True Feelings About Lawn Care (late night imagination)

This might be a scary thing, but I'd like to give you a little glimpse into my late-night imagination. This is a little scene that has played itself out many a time as I fall asleep, and the story has many variants. But here is the basic idea.  The setting: we live in a pleasant neighborhood, own our first home, and consistently fail to mow the lawn.

---
Someone knocks on the door.  It is the Head of the Neighborhood Association (HNA).

HNA: "Hello Mrs. Moore. I am here to remind you that your neighborhood contract requires you to care for your outside property so that its aesthetic properties will be satisfactory."

Me: "What do you mean?"

HNA:  "Mrs. Jones across the street, along with several other neighbors, have registered concerns that the grass in your yard is way too long, and smattered with weeds."

Me, still uncertain:  "We do take care of our yard. But, now that you mention it, I don't really care for Mrs. Jones' marigolds."  I start to walk across the street to register MY concerns with Mrs. Jones.

The H.N.A. follows me. "Mrs. Moore, you can't let weeds grow in your yard. You signed the covenant."

Me: "Yes, we said we'd take care of our property, and we do. What do you mean by weeds, anyways?"

HNA: "Ma'am, your lawn is smattered with dandelions and flanked by large bushy things."

Me: "Well, Mrs. Jones's porch is smattered with marigolds, and I don't like those. Can I sic you on her plants?"