Tea With Honey

We thought we’d made it.   After the chaos, the heartbreak, the legal battles—we thought Dolgeville was our soft landing. Quiet streets. Trees that whispered peace. A house that felt like it had been waiting for us. But we didn’t even get that far into moving in.   We made it there. That’s all. Walking through the door was an immediate blow to the senses—animal urine, feces, and over twenty years of nicotine soaked into the walls, ceilings, floors. It was everywhere. In everything. Filthy furnishings still cluttered the house, untouched and reeking. We all piled into the living room to sleep, but who could sleep in that smell?   We felt sick. Overwhelmed.   There was no running water.   We had to use the toilet, spray it down with a hose, and plunge it just to force a flush. It wasn’t a sanctuary.   It was a health hazard.   And more than that—it was a heartbreak. We left.   And just like that, we were techn...

You don’t always recognize the turning point when you’re in it. Sometimes it looks like crumpled closing documents, tear-stained cheeks, or a house you loved becoming someone else’s. We spent years as “Mom and Dad.” Years anchored in the rhythms of raising kids—school drop-offs, bedtime stories, backyard birthdays. And slowly, beautifully, those chapters gave way to new ones: our oldest expecting her third child, our youngest engaged and planning a wedding, and our son, bold and ready, buying his first condo and launching a business of his own. Suddenly it was just Josh and Kim . Not who we were before the kids, but something gentler. Wiser. A little worn, but still full of hope. We contemplated selling our home—not out of whimsy, but necessity. We needed clarity. A place we could own outright. No mortgage. No weight we couldn’t carry. Just sanctuary. And it wasn’t easy. From confusing documents to inflated closing costs, we fought every step. We even almost bought a home in Maine—unti...