When we were first married, I moved into George's apartment on Wall Street in Torrington. He had been living in a small apartment on the third floor but moved to the first floor when we were getting married. To be honest, I barely remember too much about it. We were there for about five months. Sadly a few months after we moved out a fire destroyed the whole building. We can only drive by the empty lot and say, "That's where we first lived." The houses were so close, it's hard to imagine there was even a house there.
Remember how I said I didn't go to college but went right to work? Well, I also lived with my parents. At one point I was considering getting an apartment with friends, but my parents were so distraught about that, that I abandoned that idea. They loved having me around but also didn't see the need for me to waste money on living elsewhere. As I have said before we were a strong family unit, a triangle that could not be broken. This made it hard for me to tell them when George proposed. I thought they would be upset, but no, getting married was different and they were happy for me.
Shortly before we were married, I disclosed to George that I had a little bit of savings. He was quite amazed. Because of my savings, we were able to have the down payment to become homeowners within five months. He joked that he didn't know he was marrying into money. Now, it wasn't that much, but enough to get us started.
Our first home was Stony Hill, a cute four room house up a long 450-foot-long driveway in Norfolk, CT. I have fond memories from the cute little home--beautiful flowers and a veggie garden, many cultivated raspberries, a nice deck out front and a boy scout cabin we had moved there where we had our kid's birthday parties. In the house, there was an actual staircase to the attic. What a delight.
I do remember the negatives: the long uphill driveway that had me in tears when the plow broke down and we were shoveling it by hand. Also, this was the old days and although my parents only lived 25 miles away, they were a toll call whenever I called. Back in those days if you called someone long distance, you were charged extra each time. Thus, my Mom actually wrote me letters sometimes.
We didn't intend on renting for more than a year, but circumstances found us at the Rocktree Apartments in Pleasant Valley for eight years. I will say for apartments, we couldn't have had a better country setting for the kids to grow up in. There was a big backyard and a long rectangular gazebo where they always played and we held all the birthday parties there. From our living room sliding glass doors to the deck, we could see Ski Sundown lit up at night. One quirky thing the kids like to remember is when you opened the oven door in the tiny kitchen, anyone in the bathroom would be locked in. The apartment was set up like a raised ranch with the bedrooms downstairs. Unfortunately there were only two bedrooms forcing our kids to share a room all those years. Our single Dad neighbor chose to sleep in his living room giving his kids each their own bedroom. He was quite the Dad. On the other hand, my husband often reminds us that his family was so big growing up, that he rejoiced when someone moved out of his bed.
The road was long, but prayers were answered in God's time and in 1993 we not only got a house, we had one built. We chose a ranch style anticipating it would be our retirement home, and we would not want to deal with stairs--now we are realizing the true wisdom in that choice. We do have to go downstairs to our laundry (which could have been on the main floor instead of a pantry, but I do l like my pantry).
I am happy to say we are still here.
If I had thought about these posts earlier, I could have included more pictures of our journey, but I am rushed now with each day moving me along. Maybe at some point I will add more pictures to each blog entry.
