When you live with a man who designs homes for a living, you start to look at houses differently. Terms like Dutch gables, craftsman style, prairie style, farmhouse, contemporary, and oh, so many more start popping up in conversations (usually while we're driving miles and miles on the back roads of western NY). I've learned about space and proportion, and am starting to recognize "good" design over "bad" design.
Interestingly enough, we don't live in a house that Mark designed. We live in a relatively small apartment in the village of Williamsville, which is just a few miles away from Buffalo, NY. And ever since I moved here, it's felt like Mark's apartment - kind of like the house in Utah is referred to as "Lori's house." The apartment is filled with Mark's things, which reflect his tastes, his color preferences, and his style. For a long time, I felt almost like a visitor. And even today as I look around, I still see very little of myself in the apartment other than a decorative bowl on the counter and a new shower curtain.
But something was different today and I'm not quite sure when it happened. Because today as we were cleaning the house and getting ready for a client to visit, it felt like OUR home, not just Mark's apartment. Is it just a matter of time before the psyche is ready to accept another space as home, or is it something more? I'm thinking it's shared experiences, and patience, and compromise, and laughter, and tears, and forgiveness, and love woven into thousands of individual acts that create a home. Mentally, it's still hard to call anywhere but Bountiful, Utah "home" - but I think my heart is finally settling into western NY. Welcome home!
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