As I walk under clouds of pink blossoms I really wished my street has these lovely trees. I have this obsession with living on a tall lined tree street. The city we're currently living in aren't that old so our trees are still in their "young" stage, no old grown oak or walnut trees to cover the street. Oh how nice it must be in the fall when leaves change their colors to many shades of yellow, orange, red and brown. My husband would say "thank God we don't live on such street, I can't imagine ranking the leaves !"
Talking about dwelling, I thought of our house, I feel our house say a lot of about us. It gives people a glimpse into the lives of the inhabitants. Do they care or not ? do they make it a home or just a place to tie over til the next ? is it a place where memories are made ? laughter are shared ? booboos are made better ? I've been to house where it looks like a storage space, people don't actually "live" there. I've also been to ones that's filled with history, with love, happiness, memories. There's this old old house down my street, and despite the aged exteriors, the renters made it into a lovely place. Planters of flowers dotted the front entrance, clean cut lawn, groomed brushes. It's obvious they are proud of the place they called home.
Growing up we have had our shares of rental homes. Some are really old, some has slight moldy spots all over. They were not very nice when we moved in, but boy, within days my mom would turn it around. She cleaned out the moldy areas, scrubbed the sink shiny silver, all cabinets are lined with pretty paper, all windows have custom made curtains, plants and flowers everywhere. My mom appreciate everything and can turn anything from plain into something wonderful. Our home were always clean and welcoming and warm and safe. There's truly no place like home.
