So, to quote my absolute favorite line from “Steel Magnolias” (an awesome chick flick if there ever was one): “I’m busier than a one-armed coat hanger”. Sometimes though, when I actually stop for three seconds and get my bearings, I sometimes get flooded with that great sense of  “aahhh.”  That happened last night.

As has been the particular pile of crap dejour clogging the fan for the past couple of weeks, our rental house was vacated by our previous tenants shortly after July 4th, and the husband and I have been left to clean it up and advertise it for new tenants before the mortgage payment for August becomes due. It’s been two long years since I have spent more than 30 minutes at this property, but for the last two weeks, we’ve become reacquainted.

This house was the first house that I purchased by myself as an adult. I was 26 at the time and single. Young, single women buying houses is almost unheard of in my neck of the woods, but I eventually managed to pull it off. The boyfriend at the time stuck around for two more years, then we parted ways. After getting married, the husband and I kept it as an investment, lived there together for a short while, then rented it out.

Walking up the front deck to go in and lay carpeting last night, I stopped and looked around. At that moment, I remembered why I bought the house in the first place. I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I go into certain places, I get feelings that wash over me. It only happens once in a while, but when it does, I know I’m suppose to acknowledge it and do something. That’s what happened when I bought this house. An overwhelming sense of comfort covered me like a cherished blanket, and I knew I had to buy it.

That feeling came back last night, and for the first time in almost a month, I just stopped, took a deep breath and said out loud, “Anyone would be lucky to live here.” I really hope I get to pass on that feeling on to a worthy tenant.

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