Needlepoint by my friend Erin
I loved our first house so much. I loved the leopard carpet, and the gold hinges, and the stone wall in the yard. The strange Greek myth wallpaper and the attic bookshelf. Mostly I loved that it was our first house.
When I started looking at places out here, I sort of resigned myself to the fact that we wouldn't find anything as sweet and charming or special as our little Tarrytown colonial; houses out here tend to be more of the all-one-level popcorn-ceiling ranch-style variety (until you get into the hills, when they become ridiculously gorgeous rustic cabin-type places, but are also, like, three million dollars per bedroom). I knew I'd love wherever we ended up, but I figured I'd love it because...I don't know, because of what we put into it. Not because of the house itself.
