The happiness of building a house

New  tile. Digital painting by Myriam B. Mahiques

My father spent many years building the house where he and my mom died. It was not easy for a worker to gather all the money we needed, but one day, it was ready, with the furniture, plants, curtains, everything. I remember when after the moving, we sat outside at the patio, enjoying the beautiful afternoon, everything so new and smelling clean. I felt so happy...

I´d like to share this feeling in the beautiful words of Lin Yutang: The Importance of Living. Chapter: Thirty three happy moments. Pages 133/4

¨Without any serious intention to build a house of my own, I happened, nevertheless to start building one because a little sum had unexpectedly come my way. From that day on, every morning and every night I was told that I needed to buy timber and stone and tiles and bricks and mortar and nails. And I explored and exhausted every avenue of getting some money, all on account of this house, without, however, being able to live in it all this time, until I got sort of resigned to this state o things. One day, finally, the house is completed, the walls have been whitewashed and the floors swept clean; the paper windows have been pasted and scrolls o paintings are hung up on the walls. All the workmen have left, and my friends

have arrived, sitting on different couches in order. Ah, is this not happiness?¨