A house of a certain age
Last week when I got my dirty kitchen laundry out from the cupboard from under the sink where I collect it, I noticed it was wet. Almost dripping.
Turns out our garbage disposal had a leak. Every time we had been using the sink, disposal, or dishwasher, water had dripped into my laundry basket.
My husband was good enough to get a new disposal and fix it that very night—successfully, I might add, even though he'd never done that before. I'm grateful to have married such a smart and kind person.
This small incident made me think. Our house is 11 years old. We've lived in it for nearly 8 years. Things have broken, and things will continue to break. Even appliances we bought when we moved into the house are probably going to die soon enough. I'm grateful for the savings we have, and am more motivated than ever to replenish that account regularly.
I'm glad the house wasn't too old when we moved in. True, I sometimes lament the lack of "character," being in a newer subdivision, but I like that we've been able to grow with the house, especially maintenance-wise. I like that we've been able to learn one repair and improvement at a time, and not have to deal with crises the moment we moved in.