Old houses sitting on the side of the roadways, looking like the scene of a generation lost. With their unkept yards, peeling paint, and shattered windows. And I would steadily gaze as I drove by slowly, wondering, what happened so long ago? Did children swing from an old tire swing hanging from a fraying rope? Did their mother fix homemade pies and Sunday suppers? Did everyone grow up and move away, leaving Grandpa alone, rocking on the porch?
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Finding your way in life sometimes begins with a simple thought or interest, undoubtedly that's what happened to me. It seems that one day I woke up, put my feet on the floor, and decided I was going to buy one of those old houses. I was going to bring it back to life, give it a fresh start. It was the day my light bulb flickered on, and somewhere inside my dreamy mind, I had sense enough to not kill the switch.

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I was a stay-at-home mom. I painted my own walls, fixed a few leaks, and rearranged furniture. I had never completely remodeled a house before. But, my idea became a destination. It was as if an outside force was driving me to preserve one small piece of a stranger's history.
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I bought my first house, and I learned as work progressed. Then I bought another. It was bigger, and the skills I had were better. And so the pattern continued. Houses labeled "uninhabitable" became the envy of the neighborhood.
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I'd stand there looking at the house and ask myself, "What does this house say to me?" And the right house would always reply, "I'm old but worthy of your time. I am broken, but I can be healed." Each house I chose was like no other. It's blueprints stemmed from a family's needs at the time. And as I walked it's dusty hallways and repaired it's battered soul, the secrets tucked away in the walls would begin to whisper.
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With great care, I would remove the layers, then embark on preserving the character of my new purchase. I discovered its many attributes and showcased its unique features. My goal was to attract a special family that belonged in the house. And there was always a family. One that would walk in the door and feel like they had finally come home. My restoration had created a sanctuary that carried a promise for a better tomorrow.
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 I never felt more alive than the years I was fixing old houses. I began my journey at at time when like the home, I too was broken. And looking back, I'm not sure who healed who in the process. All I can really tell you, is when the spark ignites and flame begins to burn, gather all the wood you can haul and feed the fire.

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