i live in a little yellow cottage that i love. it was built in the 1920's and it has tons of fun old house quirks and stories. it's small, but it's mine and i have had so much fun over the past two and a half years decorating and nesting and learning important things like how to kill a six foot long cockroach at 4:00am and that it's probably not a good idea to leave the stove on for six hours while at work. my next place will have things like more than one closet, a garbage disposal, and a washer/dryer hook-up, but this is my first place of my own and for that it will always be special. i love the memory of painting every wall in the place with my dad before i moved in. i love the way it looks at christmas, with my far-too-large tree crammed in my living room. i love the sound the furnace makes when it comes to life and the (somewhat unnerving) burning smell that it emits when it runs. i love my backyard and putting lights in the trees when i have parties. i love my street and gossiping over the fence with my neighbors. i love the church bells down the street that chime at noon every day and at six every sunday. i love that sometimes at night i can hear owls in the trees outside. i love that even though my life since i've lived here hasn't really evolved in the way i imagined it would, that it still has been a place of happiness and growth and that i feel safe, relaxed and inspired inside its walls. in essence, i think that is what a home should be - a dwelling that possesses, protects and reflects a life well lived.