I’ve always loved houses. Each has its own character and its own history. When was it built, and in what style? Who built it, and why? Who lives there now or lived there then, and what stories were written, what memories made within its walls? As a child and even still, I have always had this sense that every house wants to be a home; abandoned or empty houses have always made my spirits sink, as though there were a beating heart still tucked somewhere inside, now neglected.
I didn’t have anything to do with buying or decorating our condo in La Quinta. Stephen was our buying scout and sent me photos of different places to consider. We bought it fully furnished and completely stocked with everything any dweller could ever need, and much, much more. (There are roughly 100 glasses of various shapes and sizes stacked in the cabinets in our small kitchen.) I think the first and only other owner must have hired someone to come in and make it move-in ready all in one fell swoop. For these reasons, the place has always been easy, comfortable, and the homebase for many fun long weekends over the years, but I’ve never felt any personal connection to it at all.
When I fled south—I know it sounds dramatic, but that’s how it felt—on March 13 with Peyton and Garner (Stephen was already there), I had no real idea when we’d be back to Bainbridge, but it became clear quickly that it was going to be a while. When we first arrived at our place, I immediately did what I had wanted to do for years but never had the time to do: cleaned and reorganized the whole thing. We made trips to Goodwill, to Target, and the dump—adventures unto themselves. By the time Amelia joined us a few days later, we had settled in; the condo proved a perfect shelter as we eased into the uncomfortable, uncharted waters of quarantine.
One lucky, unanticipated byproduct of the little “joy diary” I’ve been keeping is that I now have a written record of our family’s time in La Quinta. I’m grateful for the writing I’ve done detailing some special moments shared and memories created in and around our condo during last six+ weeks, because I don’t want to ever forget them.
Before we left for the airport this afternoon, we cleaned the fridge out, stripped the beds and closed the shutters like we always do. But this time, as I took a last look around and closed the door behind me, a couple tears fell: this house is now a home.
Today, our desert home is my joy. #joyinplace
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