The cellphone buzzed. It buzzed again.
Jolted from a deep sleep, I reached out to its general location on the bedside table. Then, fumbling around for a few seconds, my fingers grasped the device.
“Hello”, I groggily answered.
“It’s me, Peggy,” an excited voice replied. “I bought a house in Vermont.”
“You did what?” I asked. By this time I was fully awake.
She repeated her answer and proceeded to explain how a sudden windfall from a relative’s estate led to this new purchase.
“The house called to me,” Peggy excitedly recounted.
A realtor sent her a binder with listings of New England homes for sale. A sprawling 19th century converted carriage house-barn jumped out at her from the pages. Up to Vermont she went and immediately decided to buy it.
Peggy had a knack for finding rundown old homes with good bones and restoring them spectacularly on a shoe string budget.
“Are you leaving Boston?” I asked.
“Nope, my daughter will move in.” She responded. “Besides, Vermont is gorgeous in the summer and I can escape the city’s heat.”
I congratulated her on her new home, hung up the phone then couldn’t get back to sleep. So, I folded this $2 dollar house from two single dollar bills, got dressed and left for work.