Yesterday was my parents' sixtieth wedding anniversary. It was also the fifth anniversary of closing on this house. This is what I wrote on the blog about that day:

Thank you--you know who you are--for your little notes of affection about the new house. Everything went perfectly at the closing, despite my irrational fears about having brought along the wrong amount of money, and 45 minutes after closing Tom was tearing out the old kitchen.

I did not do any gardening as it was pouring rain all day. But I did buy a wheelbarrow and work gloves. And I spent several hours wandering from room to room, trying to imagine new paint colors, re-sanded floors . . . actually, mostly not even thinking about those sensible things but simply looking out the windows and existing in the space. The neighbors have beautiful gardens: our yard is the local eyesore. There is a daunting amount of work to do, and I woke up at 4 a.m. this morning filled with worry. That's just night fears; in daylight I know I can manage it.

And yesterday I felt so peaceful listening to Tom tear out cabinets. I looked at the street in the rain. I went upstairs and stood in my tiny future study and wondered what books my eyes will light on as I lift my eyes from my writing. I leaned in the doorway of our bedroom and pictured how the morning shadows will fall on the bed. I went downstairs and stood in the big empty dining room and imagined a table set for a party and the scent of fresh bread lingering in the hallway.

And now, five years later, here we are. A mostly finished kitchen. Busy gardens. The scent of fresh bread does frequently linger in the hallway. Though not many big parties have taken place in the dining room, a few small ones have. I know those shadows on the bed, the books that my eyes light on.

Covid has sliced into our residence here. In this house, we have spent most of our years under that shadow. But it, too, has affected the life of the place. Paul became part of this house in a way he would not otherwise have done. My friendship with my neighbor grew because of isolation, even as my links outside this enclave frayed for the same reason. Five years is not very long, but Covid has felt like forever.

Still, we have been fortunate . . . to have landed in this house before the storm hit, for today houses like this one are apparently worth so much money that we could not afford to buy anything larger than a 700-square-foot condo. And we were lucky to have touched down in a place that is both city and province, urbane yet deeply local. Walking these streets, listening to the neighbor kids playing stickball, watching the neighbor cats prowl the yards, and yet at the same talking of Dante! The name Dante never left my mouth in Harmony.

Anyway, cheers to this little awkward house. Five years, and I've learned to love your ragtag ways, despite your hideous siding and your ridiculous multicolored plastic shutters; despite the bathroom shower that always finds a new way to leak. Look at that new shed, coming along so cheerfully! Look at those sunflowers! Happy adoption day, house. May your roof stay tight and your electricity hum.