Welcome Home?

Our new apartment is beautiful. It's huge, far bigger than anything we ever lived in, great location, quiet, has a balcony, and a garage. This is my dream apartment. BUT there is 1 HUGE, problem: my neighbors smoke. This past Sunday we came home to find our home smelling like a day old ash tray. I flipped out,ranted, and raved. I yelled and stomped. Don't my neighbors know what I've been through to finally make it to apartment heaven? I updated Facebook with "I hate my new apartment, I'm moving." Now this doesn't seem very fair to the new apartment. After all it is my home. It hasn't had a chance to warrant such a status. So I began to wonder:What makes a home?

Ironically, the one apartment we always refer to as "home" happens to be the 100 year old, hand dug, 600 sq foot basement apartment on the corner of 5th and 6th. Yes that's right, the basement apartment in good ol' Provo. For anyone who knows of this apartment, you are probably shocked to hear that we loved that place as our home and think of it fondly (now the landlord, not so much, but he did give us our entire deposit back so he couldn't have been all that bad).


When we first drove up to it, I cried. Literally. I told Bob to keep driving, this was not going to be our home. But after calling 300 landlords who turned us down at the mention of a dog and after we had offered a 1,000 dollars to one just so he would consider a dog, we decided that the apartment on 5th and 6th would be our last resort.

We lived in the basement apartment for 2 years before moving into a bigger, nicer place. It was a bittersweet move because memories had been made and alot of money had been invested in the apartment. But when referring to our "home" Bobby always says "Now... that basement apartment wasn't all that bad, we made it home." My response, "yeah, I sure do miss our little basement apartment."