This old house

In May, I couldn’t leave Bloomington fast enough. I aimed my car north-northwest and gunned it. Four-and-a-half hours of pedal-to-the-metal and I never once looked back. Spring semester had been stressful and seemed to last at least a whole year and a half. Besides, I had a really cool summer job lined up. What could be more fun and less stressful than spending a summer as a camp counselor in Maine? \nIt’s almost funny how much I didn’t know about the way my summer would play out. I guess the appropriate questions to ask yourself before signing up for a summer job didn’t look as inviting or couldn’t fit on a banner at the career fair. What will living with twenty-some 14-year-old girls do for my self-esteem? How will I live with no C-SPAN or New York Times, limited internet access and restricted cell phone use for two months?\nOverall, camp was an experience I wouldn’t trade. Some of the time I was really enjoying myself, but my favorite part was boarding my return flight. Boston to D.C. bound for Chicago O’Hare. I couldn’t wait to get home. But, more importantly, I couldn’t wait to get back to Bloomington. Camp was stressful. Besides, I had a really cool house lined up. \nWhen it came to finding a place to live this year, the choice seemed obvious. Bloomington is brimming with charming old houses that have more character than generic town houses or dull, high-rise apartment buildings. They have high ceilings, old hard-wood floors and big limestone porches. \nThe particular charming house, which happened to also fit into the price range for my three future roommates and me, also had empty kegs stacked on the back patio and piles of old beer bottles littering the small front yard. Convinced it only needed a little work and the kind of TLC for which the four male occupants did not have the time or decorating skills, we signed the lease. Our landlord agreed that some minor repairs would be needed, and with that, we set out to buy kitchen appliances and plan our new decor. \nA moving van, $200-worth of paint and four-and-a-half hours south-southeast later, I was meeting my new Welcome Week roommates: a construction crew. Who knew minor repairs would mean a reconstructed section of the house, an extra half-bath and four days with a sheet nailed over the door frame as a makeshift bathroom door? The beer cans were gone from the front lawn, but in their place were sawhorses, drywall sheets, stray pieces of trim and our new bathroom sink. It’s a different kind of mess, and falling asleep to the hum of a power saw isn’t yet growing on me. \nI thought I would return well-rested and collected to a manicured lawn and polished hardwood floors. But from the mess to the stress to the bustling streets of downtown, I returned to the same Bloomington I left, memories and mishaps intact. Still, any other welcome wouldn’t have been as fitting. It’s good to be back.