Descriptive Essay On Guest House

It was an unusual quiet evening at my favorite diner. I always loved meeting my beautiful wife here after a long day of work to get some of Chicago’s best coffee. Upon opening the front door, the welcoming smell of freshly ground coffee fills my nostrils as I take a deep breath, but at the same time, I lose my breath as I spot my stunning wife waiting for me. She was wearing a vibrant red dress, as she knows that it’s my favorite, while her hair shimmered in the light.

Everyone has a “dream house”, they just rely on your opinions and beliefs. You can have a modern dream house, or maybe a vintage dream house. You can also either live in the woods, in the city, or even right by the beach! You can be by yourself, or you can have lots and lots of roommates. You can have lots of neighbors, or maybe even none at all! You could live off of a mountain, or maybe on a paved street.

Sometimes letting go can be the best change in life. At first it may seem difficult, holding onto something that had so much time and effort invested into. However, if at the same time, its inhibiting from living a comfortable and productive life, then it may be necessary making an adjustment. In my case, my adjustment was leaving an apartment. At the age of eleven, my family; which included my mother, father, and two brothers, had moved into our last apartment. A home should feel comforting, warm, and safe. This apartment was definitely something I wouldn't be proud to call home.

Set on a ridge overlooking the beautiful Olympic mountains -you will truly love this unique home. A blend of Japanese and northwestern architecture gives the house a perfect feel for a relaxing yoga retreat or any vacation. With its traditional Tatami room and spectacular Japanese blue tile roof this spacious home will give you the sublime rest and rejuvenation that you deserve!

The nipping cold hits my face as I stroll through the woods looking for the cabin that I grew up in. When I trudge through the crunchy snow it makes a sound like it is October with the crisp fallen leaves underneath my feet. Up ahead I soon spot the cabin made out of walnut wood. It looks so magnificent sitting up on top of the hill with the sun beaming its glistening rays from behind on each side. As I enter through the wooden gate surrounding the house I recall all the memories of Christmases before that were made in this house. I remember the good smells and sounds from years past and hope that they come back this year.

Until everything was stable, my friend and I had to come back to the city and to continue our learning. After some days, I received a letter from my cousin: “The devil on Cat Co Hill has called upon to dissipate, yesterday afternoon, we have begun grazing the cows at the foothill. We are back to our usual playing time without fear of the ‘Wild House’ anymore…” I thought there were so many memories with my cousin and the kids in the village and it was a noteworthy remembrance to

Any person in the right mind wouldn’t like living the life that I’m living. But I guess I’m not in the right mind, considering I love my life. My mom died when I was five from cancer. I don’t remember her much, but judging from stories my dad told me, she seemed very nice. And from the pictures I’ve seen I know she was beautiful, I’m talking super model looks. She must not have been any kind of model, though or else we would have had a lot more money. In case you didn’t know, I’m Alexa (preferably Alex) and I have cancer as well. Leukemia. I can tell my dad worries about me. If I died he’d be all alone, but I don’t plan on doing that anytime soon. Speaking of,

The day was definitely not perfect. The trees stood up tall, but with no leaves. The day was cold, with clouds and no sun. And of course, there was a van, parked in my driveway, waiting for me to hop in and take me to a new home.

It was 1973. No just kidding. It is 2017 I have just moved into a new house. At my old house, there was a playground in my backyard. We made it all by ourselves, from scratch. We had to leave it at the house because of two things, the buyers wanted it and it wouldn't fit in the moving truck. Also at my old house we had 3 rooms, and my mom and dad had to sleep in the garage. The house was a simple house. It has 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, a kitchen,and a garage, that doesn't open but it. Still works as a bedroom.

Linda Bennett once said “Our homes represent more than our financial assets; they have a deep and unique emotional meaning. Our earliest memories of home are often connected to our childhood.” To me home is where my family is, it’s where I was raised. No matter how far away you move from your home, it will always mean as much to you now as it did back then. Everyone’s home is the building block of the foundation of their future development as a person.

According to Dictionary.com, a house is a building in which people live, but a house is not that simple. Each room in a house serves a unique purpose, and that purpose can vary from household to household. A family’s use of their home can shape personalities and form the aspirations of its members. For me, my home is a place where I have made so many memories and built strong relationships with my family.

She paced the border of her property, three times she has gone around, I had been counting. I am curious to know how many more revolutions she will make in the next hour. She has yet to notice my presence under a thick layer of underbrush underneath a willow tree, strangled in buckthorn. The medieval looking weed crawls all the way up the trunk, suffocating each of its branches. Similar to how my foster mother has been treating me. Here, I hide out, escaping her grasps as long as I can. The women is now out of sight now as she paces behind her house back by the small pond. The reflection of the setting sun bounces of the water, a blinding array of colors. Yellow. Orange. Pink. It will be dark soon, and my foster mother will commence her journey to find me.

All five of us kids stand impatiently, surrounding the dirty, white side door attached to the garage of Grandma and Grandpa Pinegar’s home in Orem, Utah. An automatic lock is screwed to the door. We all take turns punching in the code into the lock. The buttons have an orange glow to them, but is only visible in the dark. Little black numbers were once printed on the circular buttons, but have now peeled away as a result of the constant rubbing and pressing on them. The door has always been a pain to get open. The lock constantly jams itself, which requires the code to be entered multiple times. As we sit and wait for Mom to open the door, I admire the familiar place. Grandma and Grandpa’s three story house is layered in red, rough bricks. Five white columns hold up a lengthy carpeted deck, as well as the extended roof. Windows can be seen in all stories of the house, giving the house a wide open feel. The neatly cut grass, planted in the front lawn, is parted by a sidewalk that leads up to a couple of stairs and then to a dark brown door. A flagpole is surrounded by a flower bed in the front lawn. Our handprints mark the cement where the flagpole stands. Finally, Mom gets the door unlocked, it groans - sounding like an old blowhorn - as rusty gears turn inside to unfasten. Sara, my younger sister, takes hold of the scratched up metal doorknob, twists it to the side, pushes the door open, and runs in. Leading the rest of us with her.

My dream house is a giant mansion in the HollyWood hills. The outside is covered in marble walls and complex designs. As you step step up to the golden gates of the property, you are instantly greeted with the sight of a giant 50 foot building laying in front of an enormous lake. As you approach the lake, you can see as the water moves gracefully with the warm Spring wind. Once you approach the edge of the lake, if you look to the right you will see a massive field of roses and many rare flowers. If turn around and walk away from the lake and move to the left of the building you will be greeted with the sight of a giant 60 foot 200-year-old palm tree with coconuts near its top.

Now that i’m actually thinking about the entirety of my childhood, it seems kind of crazy that i’m at the point where i’m at now. I remember when I was about nine years old, I thought to myself, “It will feel like forever until I start driving.” It’s crazy to think now that I’m only less than a month away from getting my license. And it feels like only yesterday that I was nine years old. Time seems like it really does fly sometimes.