The Rose Blooms

We recently observed the 16th anniversary of the day our family moved into Quirky Cottage. We did not refer to it by any endearing name at that time, as it had only irksome quirks, and was only potentially a cottage IF one was armed with extraordinary optimism and vision. The poor old lady was in dire need of a makeover. She sported layers of unfortunate "improvements," from the cemented-rocks-and-crumpled-beer-can path, to the pink shag carpeting nailed to the wooden floor.
Ghastly.
Hard-pressed to find beauty, I chose to be grateful for the vigorous rose bush by the front porch, rather like a vintage brooch the old gal wore, retaining some small dignity in spite of being worn out and unloved.

You've come a long way, baby.

The rose still blooms. We coaxed the house into the current century, and the old gal became Home. How could she not? We filled every nook and cranny with family, and ignored her many flaws. Every year, we celebrated the good, fixed the bad, and found ways around the ugly. Bit by bit, the house regained dignity. Little by little, my family put down roots in the rural community. We did not want to move here. But our lives are richer for it.

And the rose still blooms.

Ever find yourself in a situation you did not choose, did not want, and could not stand :-D?

Thankfully,
Melody