1952 Was A Really Good Year

My house is pretty old, as old as my husband. 1952 was a good year for houses and husbands. The paint is peeling, the cabinet doors are falling off the hinges, the front stoop is crooked and the toilet is vintage 1967. Sometimes I get frustrated by all the little things that need fixing, like I just want to walk away and get a brand new house, shiny, with a warranty.

But I bet a new house would never hold up like this one has. Rock solid, established old neighborhood with a giant yard and giant trees that push the sidewalk up to trip daydreaming passerby's. People pay big money now for these scratchy old wood floors, and the plumber I called today to fix the outside spigot, that finally croaked after 57 years of faithful service, said my old toilet was priceless, they just don't make em' like that anymore, and it just needed a ten dollar part.

My husband has held up pretty well too. Not flashy or rich, but rock solid, and still loves me like he loves his vintage albums, that still sound so sweet after all these years. I think 1952 was a really good year for husbands and houses.