In the summer of 2013, Jim and I moved from the Chicago suburb of Barrington, Illinois to Florida. We left my dream house….but that was good because other dreams came true.
Prior to marrying in 2005, we decided neither of us wanted to live in the houses we’d occupied previously. I hated his townhouse. Sure, it had a great view overlooking a lake. But every house in the neighborhood looked the same– tan. If you were daydreaming while driving you could easily end up half a mile past his place before realizing your mistake. I called his neighborhood “Brown Town”.
Moreover, it was in a gated community. I’d had enough gated community living to last a lifetime. I wanted a home where friends could come knock on my door anytime they chose to. Furthermore, nothing was within walking distance.
The home I lived in was south of his, in the darling village of Barrington. Locals simply call it “The Village.” Restaurants, boutiques, grocery stores, churches, the train to Chicago were all within blocks.
My house was a 1920s Sears Bungalow. It had a big front porch. Somewhere along the way, someone had enclosed it with cantilever windows. No, they weren’t pretty, but I could lock the porch door and spend hot summer nights sleeping on the daybed I created. It was camping without the icky parts.
The kitchen needed updating, as did a bunch of other stuff. Yet it was mine! For the first time in my life I’d been able to make each and every decision regarding my home.
Jim and I compromised, agreeing to sell our houses and buy one we both loved.
Shortly thereafter, while headed back to Brown Town, Jim passed an 1880’s farmhouse two blocks from mine. It had come on the market, “For Sale by Owner,” that morning. We made an offer the same afternoon. A month or so later, before closing, we took our “walk-through”. The house was nothing like we remembered. We grimaced, looked at each other and asked, “What were we smoking?”
Charmed by location we overlooked the many dreadful design flaws. It took us nearly a year to remodel. I hand-painted and fired ceramic sinks for two bathrooms and painted a tile mural for a back-splash. Everything but one exterior door was scrapped and replaced, including the landscaping. Our Village home became a little jewel box. I swore the only way Jim would EVER get me to leave 502 South Grove Avenue was in a pine box. (Believe me, as I was making never-ending remodeling suggestions, that pine box may have entered his mind!)
Prior to our move, we’d been spending a large part of frigid Chicago winters on Floridian Anna Maria Island. We drove back and forth. Driving home in early spring of 2013, I turned to Jim and nearly shocked him into swerving off the road when I declared, “You know what? It’s time move to Florida!”
He gave me twenty-four hours to change my mind, then he called a realtor. We got home on Tuesday, listed on Friday and sold that darling little old lady for cash, a bit over full price, the next day!
Now here we are—Floridians!
There is a positive thinking/manifestation story in all of this.
- I always wanted my own crooked old house. I got it in my Sears Bungalow.
- I’d long dreamed of living in a porch swing house. 502 South Grove had a sweet front porch. We hung a swing.
- For years I fantasized about someday having a big screened in patio. Yup, we’ve got that here! The natives call their pool screens “cages.” We have a cage. It’s a dandy, mosquito free space with a large overhang providing much-needed shade in the heat and cover from the summer downpours.
- I’m working on manifesting our next dwelling. Someday, when we no further want to take care of yard and pool, and no longer have Bronson, our wonder dog, we might just relocate to St. Petersburg. Perhaps a condo within walking distance of the many activities St. Pete has to offer. For now, though, we love it right here. Life is very good! Very good indeed.