This is our present home. Once I'm dead, Mrs. Sneed says she's selling it, don't ask me why. Mrs. Sneed will also wonder why I didn't put down the garage door before I took the picture. Good question.


Since we are talking about home today, I will share a bit about the homes I've lived in.

In my fifty-eight years of living, I've had at least twenty-three dwellings I've called home. Some were houses, some were apartments, most were government-supplied military rentals and the last few, I've owned. Mrs. Sneed and I have shared the last six homes over the past nearly forty years.

Ten of the homes were in Tucson: I've moved here three different times. Three were on the opposite side of the world in Guam, three in Omaha, Nebraska, three in Tampa, Florida and one each in Savanna. Georgia and Ft. Worth, Texas and Atwater, California. That'a a lot of moving.

The first owner-occupied house I lived in was one Mrs. Sneed and I bought in 1971 for $16,200. It was a two-bedroom, 800 square foot affair in a new neighborhood. It wasn't much to look at, but it was ours. The two older kids were born there.

My father was a career military man who never saw any reason to own a home. Given our frequent moves, I have to say he had a point. Besides, my dad preferred investing in comodities, a six-pack at a time, over real estate. He bought his first and only house in 1975 and lived in it for thirty years.

Of all the houses I've lived in, our current house is my most favorite. We are centrally located, it has room enough and allows me to garden a bit. Plus it has the benefit of being paid for. What more could a guy ask for?



Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky