My parents look at a little house in a nice little neighborhood with a beautiful yard. We walk it trying to get a feel, decide what we would change, where the laundry could go. My sister likes it, but I … I can only say I don’t hate it. I’m not sure why.
Mom and Dad have their own feelings, as they should. But that is separate.
On Saturday we go with them to look at another house. The neighborhood cute, oddly quiet, not as convenient. The house has an unusual layout (“unique” said the listing) and an indescribably awful bathroom fixture, but in spite of that stuff, I like it. Whether I like it is irrelevant to the process, but I do. This time it’s my sister who had an unsettled dissatisfaction.
This whole process is strange, really.
What is good in any case is that my parents felt positive about the house, with all its faults. If not enough to buy it, at least enough to renew their hope in the process.
And maybe that’s enough, for the moment.