Dream House

Recently, Kirk mentioned something about my lack of desire to move from our house. He is less content with our house than I am. He wishes we had more storage room in the closets, a bigger floor plan, larger master bedroom, dining room (since we gave it to Holden as a bedroom, we no longer have one) big garage - well, the list kind of goes on. I have no desire to move at all. I realize the house has it's short-comings. But it's a more emotional attachment for me. We slaved over this property - let us not forget it was once known in the neighborhood as the "crack house". It wasn't really a crack house, but it was a mess. We've moved walls, added on, changed the configuration, put in a pool, added an awesome garden tub that I love, painted, painted and painted some more, made the fireplace a working fireplace, ripped at least 10 dumpters worth or debris from the house and property and generally, made it more than liveable, it's loveable. In short, without waxing too poetic about it, I love our house. I love our neighborhood. I perfectly content right where I am. Maybe this is because when I was a little girl I dreamed of living in an older house, fixing it up, and staying put. I used to imagine a house built somewhere between the late 1800s and the 1950s. And our house was built in 1951. The home below is what I imagined. It's a Salt Lake Rambler and it seemed like the perfect little house. Sure, I did have fantasies about mansions and maids and butlers (what little girl doesn't?) - but in my reality based fantasy, this is what the house would look like.

Does that seem boring? Because it never seemed boring to me, it seemed homey, and satisfying somehow. It seemed like a place where I would feel content, which is how I feel about my house now.

So where would I move? Or what could entice me enough to make me move? Well, when I think about it, very, very little. Certainly not a taco bell house in the burbs (that's what we like to call them, because they all look like a variation on the theme the taco bell architect came up with). If I think about where I would want to live in Arizona, I think it would have to be a house on mummy mountain if I were to move from where I am:




I could be talked into that - and I might even seriously consider it if Kirk ever won a big contingency fee on a case.

Also, a San Francisco Loft. I could be talked into living in San Francisco very easily. I think it's my favorite U.S. City.







I've never particularly liked the idea of living in the country. But a few times in my life I've seen these big glass box-like houses out in the country, overlooking a small lake or a large field in all directions with tons of light streaming in and a house like that in the country is very appealing. Like this house in New York state - it's totally cool, and I can move in tomorrow if the owners want to give it to me.




I love, love, love, the beach so a beach house like this one in Jamaica would be just fine. If we could figure out a way to bottle the beach, no one would need prozac. But I am afraid if I lived on the beach, I'd never get anything done. I have a tendency to want to sit in front of the water for hours doing nothing but being happy.









Or wouldn't it be totally cool to live in the french countryside in La Petite Chateau?





Ultimately though I can't think of anything better than a really awesome modern apartment like this one, overlooking Holyrood park in Edinburgh Scotland. Part of me would really love to live in Scotland someday. Kirk and I joke around about going on a "mission" to Scotland. This would not be the kind of mission where you let the church decide where you are going to go - this would be the kind where we would move where we wanted to go and then call up the local Stake and let them knowo we are there and available to help. Scotland is perfect for this plan. We joke, but someday, we might just do it.





But even after all the fantasizing about what I would love, I'm still attracted to the little red brick homes. And perfectly content to stay put.