Where the Heart is

A sweet vignette.

I've always loved houses, homes. I thoroughly enjoy visiting peoples homes, because there is usually so much of them in there.
The decor, the things that people surround themselves with, it all speaks volumes about who they are.

Lots of cookboks.

The front porch...a sleepy gnome.

I live in a small suburb in Southern California. My neighborhood and I have a unique relationship. I wasn't too keen on living here at first. When we moved here a few years ago, it was a move inspired more by necessity than choice.

Our home has undergone quite a transformation over the years, and still could use more, you know, always room for improvement, and all.

Home sweet home.

However, I have come to the realization that I really love my home.
There are many reasons why.

Our bougainvillea tree

The house is small.
It doesn't have any architectural details, or anything grand about it to speak of.
The neighborhood is not fancy, and the neighbors are not high-falutin' types.
The lawns are not perfectly manicured, and you don't see high end strollers, being pushed by moms in matchy tracksuits.

The backyard

What is it then?

The best way to describe my feelings about the house is simply a feeling of being Home, of knowing that this is where we were meant to be.

Sabrina

I hear the roosters crowing, and I think of Grandpa.
All the quirks of this place are what I have come to love about it.

Grandpa's milkbottles.

Sometimes, when I'm outside, and looking at the large expanse of our backyard,
I can't help but hope that if Grandpa and Grandma were still with us, they'd be proud.

A little piece of paradise.

All of these beautiful pictures were taken by the lovely Monica. Thanks sis.