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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 t
he 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.