I have a great neighborhood. Ok--I'm sure when most people come to my house the first time, they're not blown away by the cute little houses next to the rentals that are going to pot, but I love my little house and where it's at.
I am a pleasure denier. At dinner, I save my favorite food item for last. I often force myself to do very unpleasant things before rewarding myself with a more enjoyable pasttime. It's just how I am. I don't like having or doing anything if I don't feel like I earned it. I feel that way about my house. I am putting in my time with a 1000 sq. ft. upstairs (filled with two adults, three rapidly growing kids, two dogs, and myriad guests) in an okay neighborhood. Although I can't wait for more space, I will miss my little, odd cul-de-sac.
When I look catty-corner to me, I think of the neighbors who moved away for more space with their three kids, and how we too will make that same exodus some day. I think about the renters who live there now, and how cuts in mental health care affect their family. I look directly across the street to our favorite neighbor, a Mexican immigrant who put in my flagstone patio and who will cross the street to let me practice my really bad Spanish on him and his evolving English on me. When I glance across and to my left I see my elderly neighbors, who are the original homeowners, and I wonder why no one ever comes to visit them. I also wonder if loneliness is why they insist on layering their front sidewalk with popcorn to attract the ducks from a nearby lake. To my direct left is a bachelor who isn't often home, and whose parents come over to initiate any and all home improvements. To his left is a family with a fifteen year old daughter who looks ten, and a dad whose thick New York accent is a perfect compliment to the white wife-beaters and shorts he wears when he cruises up and down the street commenting on the state of the neighborhood.
I love my crazy little barrio. I worry about buying a big, obnoxious house in a bland, white-bread area. I worry about losing character and variety and flavor for square footage. But Lord knows we'll have earned it.
Lisa "Mr. Rogers" C
I am a pleasure denier. At dinner, I save my favorite food item for last. I often force myself to do very unpleasant things before rewarding myself with a more enjoyable pasttime. It's just how I am. I don't like having or doing anything if I don't feel like I earned it. I feel that way about my house. I am putting in my time with a 1000 sq. ft. upstairs (filled with two adults, three rapidly growing kids, two dogs, and myriad guests) in an okay neighborhood. Although I can't wait for more space, I will miss my little, odd cul-de-sac.
When I look catty-corner to me, I think of the neighbors who moved away for more space with their three kids, and how we too will make that same exodus some day. I think about the renters who live there now, and how cuts in mental health care affect their family. I look directly across the street to our favorite neighbor, a Mexican immigrant who put in my flagstone patio and who will cross the street to let me practice my really bad Spanish on him and his evolving English on me. When I glance across and to my left I see my elderly neighbors, who are the original homeowners, and I wonder why no one ever comes to visit them. I also wonder if loneliness is why they insist on layering their front sidewalk with popcorn to attract the ducks from a nearby lake. To my direct left is a bachelor who isn't often home, and whose parents come over to initiate any and all home improvements. To his left is a family with a fifteen year old daughter who looks ten, and a dad whose thick New York accent is a perfect compliment to the white wife-beaters and shorts he wears when he cruises up and down the street commenting on the state of the neighborhood.
I love my crazy little barrio. I worry about buying a big, obnoxious house in a bland, white-bread area. I worry about losing character and variety and flavor for square footage. But Lord knows we'll have earned it.
Lisa "Mr. Rogers" C
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