Where is Home...

My Grandma's house was home to us all the entire time I was growing up. It was the one thing in my life I could count on. Grandma would be at the dining room table reading a book and enjoying a steaming cup of coffee with cream and sugar of course, at any given moment. A fresh baked batch of cookies could disappear before your eyes and a beautiful display of flowers from her garden could always be found delighting the table's center.

Why does this memory matter? Because it is a gift. A gift that was given without strings attached. A place I could count on when the rest of the day stormed around me. It was her house that was home to me. The place where cousins gathered dressed up for the occasion and forbidden to get dirty, aunts and uncles debated the politics of the day and the place I tear up when I drive by.

Home ownership is not just a monetary investment. It is =piece of mind and security in the storm. A place where priceless memories are made and Christmas shows up in pictures.

When I bought my home, I thought of Grandma's. The cat laying in the sunny window and the sidewalk I skated around and skinned my knees. I thought to myself home is where life is made and dinner is waiting. It is where we connect and understand each other.

I purchased my first home when I was 19. I was thrilled to be able to share our home with our children and build that tradition with them.

I know now that it meant something to my kids, as they tell me what they want in a home of their own. What memories they hope to pass on and where their adult lives will begin.

Owning your own home is not about a price tag or a market. Owning your own home is about the life you lived and the place where memories live on forever.