Descriptive Essay On My 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.

The scenery is still very warming like a puppy that is held close to your chest. The old water tower remains standing protruding through the earth. Dust floats in the air, creating clouds, when we drive down the jerky road. I look around, nothing has changed from last time I was here, the grain bins still reflect the sun. Each corn stalk stood tall and firm making it difficult for me to see what mom and I always drive for. The pressure on the gas pedal increased giving the car a jolt of energy like a kid who has just three bags of candy. Then it came into view, with the tree swing still hanging in the backyard waiting for someone. I pulled into the carmel driveway shifting the car into park allowing it to rest and closed the door with a “clunk”. As I turned around the house stood silently still, I took a deep filling my lungs with the most amazing feeling.

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!

I grew up in a average looking house on the end of the cul de sac. I grew up in a loving neighborhood, and the people I grew up with have because my closest friends. The outside of our house is painted white and has navy blue shutters surrounding the windows. When you walk through the front door, you get a close up view of our tan, carpet stairs that are still stained. Once you turn to the left, you walk into the family room. The family room has what my family calls “the brown couch.” The brown coach is a long, super soft couch that has a perfect view of the T.V. where we can binge watch our favorite shows. Across from the brown couch room we there’s a storage room. The storage room has everything; art supplies, board games, card games, books, office supplies, it has it all. There’s also a grayish- purple futon which we occasionally pull out, but it mainly stays as a couch. Next to the futon is my desk. Connecting from my desk is a bright pink chair where I spend a lot of my school nights. My desk has all the school supplies a person could need; crayons, pens, pencils, erasers, books, paper, you name it a probably have it somewhere.

Pebbles fly as my Jeep takes a corner too fast, my body lurching to the left at the sudden force of the turn. I’m finally on Green, a quiet dirt road that stretches from Bennett Lake to Parshallville, a scenic detour I ride down that lets me clear my head. I’ve only lived in the area for two years, but those two years gave me something timeless--a home. My home isn’t some conventional house in the suburbs, although I did live in such a house, but it is the roads and the fields that webbed their way throughout and past my city, and the memories I make with others while on them. I glance at my sister Ken next to me; her right arm stretching lazily out of the window, the other scrolling the radio’s knob, attempting to find a worthy song to play. She’s only nineteen, with hair shorter and blonder than my own. Her presence soothes me, as if every pleasant memory we grew up making together was somehow brought back through each of her smiles. She is my closest friend; she not only provides the part of my home that allows me to be heard by someone who understands, but also the knowledge that we cherish the same home. I pull my attention away from her, watching the fields and houses quickly slip by. The few farmhouses we pass begin to fade until all that borders the road are giant trees, each tipping over us to create a canopy of leaves.

As humans, we associate the word isolation with negative feelings. And being told I was moving to a foreign island across the world that I had never previously heard of had me chalking up isolation negatively as well. The island is very small and doesn’t have all the resources that can be found here in America and you have to take a plane just to get to mainland Japan. My experiences with this isolation over four years altered Okinawa into what I now consider to be my home. My home is a secluded island that shaped me as a person by providing me with the tools and distance to educate different aspects of not only my life, but others as well.

Up to this point in my life, I have lived in two homes, though the one I live in now is where I have primarily lived. I have so many vivid memories from these two places that I am constantly looking around remembering all of the good times I had. Moving into my current home was not only a decision to expand on our living space, but give both me and my sister a good place to live. Between the less than desirable neighbors and the small cramped environment, it was a necessary choice to move an I couldn’t be any happier for it.

My home, my home sweet home the place where I’m in peace and escape from the busy and crazy world. I moved into this house when I was about 6 or 7 and I have countless of wonderful memories that happened here but also some pretty crummy ones. My house isn't very big, but it isn't small it’s the perfect size for just me and my mom. The walls of my house are close to a vanilla color, but have become a bit dirty over the years and the ceiling of it has some water damage because of the few times it rains here. It’s also very noisy throughout the day and night because of the busy road right behind us. There are so many cars that go by every day and sometimes they wake me up at at the wee hours of the morning. It's usually a massive truck that comes down the road at the same time every night honking it’s horn that trembles and shakes the walls of our house. It’s also a lot of people acting up and speeding or racing down the road. What I really do love about my house is the view we get when you step into the backyard. There's a huge desert and then we have a perfect view of the mountain where the tram is at. I love going out there at night because it's very quiet at times and you can see all the stars and the lights of the city.

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.

This small family home has four bedrooms, two bathrooms, one laundry room, a pantry with a dog kennel built on the side, a kitchen, and a coat closet in the foyer. The entire house was located on one level except two of the bedrooms which is located down the stairs on the front of the house; the bedroom to the left down the stairs was my room. My room walls were painted baby blue in color with a bright orange glass sun located over my headboard that was shaped like skyscrapers in New York City. The carpet that was in my room was as soft as clouds and was milk chocolate brown in color. The bonus to my bedroom was the walk-in closet that held my black wood book shelf, twelve pairs of shoes, twenty dresses, five pants, and my brown wooden dresser with a mirror that had old engravings

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.

The house that was in the middle of the country with miles of land and nobody seen or heard. The house used to be seen every Friday. It had a gravel driveway that seemed a mile long, grass cut perfectly, and the smell of fresh air all around. There was a massive tree in the front yard that was the size of a skyscraper, that the kids used to play on. You would see the cute brown house on the hill. The house that seemed so big when I was a kid, but the bigger I got, the smaller the house seemed to become. My Grandma’s house was like going to a museum because it always had things to look at and explore.

It was a dark brown house with red shutters. It was placed up on a hill so in the winter it was so difficult to pull the car in the garage. Inside, the walls were tan and mustard yellow. It was plain in the house but I didn’t expect much. It smelt like the over-done scentsy that I put in. It was called apple-butter and that’s exactly what the house smelt of. It was three stories and the basement was half finished. I painted the door a dark red and it made the whole house stick out. I remember it being so welcoming and now when I think about it, I get a cold shiver down my spine. There were holes in some of the walls from things being thrown. The front doors lock was splitting apart, the trim on the sides on the door was broken off. If those walls could talk I would go back in there for a day just to listen.