There's No Place Like Home

   We are into houses.
   We like old ones and interesting ones, the new ones not-so-much, but we especially like finding the gems-in-the-rough, aka the fixer-uppers. (And that is also what we usually end up buying when we buy a house. In part because our move to Indiana in our 20th year of marriage was our 17th move, we've owned exactly 11 houses. Rather misleading since 7 of those were rentals in FL, but it does sound more impressive that way.)
   It could probably be called an illness how we are always tearing our house apart and using salvaged and unusual materials to do the things we like to it over ridiculously long periods of time while living in conditions that most people, my daughter among them, would struggle to tolerate. (Which is a direct result of choosing to live a full life while in the process instead of only working on the house.) OK, so it's a little nutsy, but we are committed to it.
   So as a result of all this, we are always noticing houses when we are out driving and from time to time my children spot one that compels them to come down pretty hard on the owner. Statements like "I would NEVER live there!" and questions like "Why would someone live like that?" call for a Teaching Moment where I staunchly defend the owners of said home by reminding my progeny to count their blessings, because some people are just thankful to have a roof over their head.
   This is not one of those times.