Good ol' 44. I love this weird old house. I'm going to miss it when I move.
Friends of mine recently bought a house. It's a dream realized for them, 23 and about to get married. And now, there are shutters and green lawns and sunlit rooms for them to make everything happen in.
Things like this always bring me back to my obsession with the idea of Home; physical tenements, but also the feeling of belonging, the fluidity of the term, my interest in refugee advocacy, my fascination with expatriation, the self-loathing Midwestern notion that you're just not good enough until you move to a coast, notions of family and roots and all that stuff that is such a crapshoot when you're my age. That said, I am more than happy with marriage and home ownership and chubby baby legs floating out there in the nebulous future, all indiscernible and impossible to comprehend.
Suzy and I have been catching up lately via gchat and she is more succinct and clever than me, as always:
"I mean, I guess they are cheap these days.
If you have the money to buy one and you want one
But what would you do with it?
Live in it? What if you get bored and want to go somewhere else?"
1 comment:
I find myself nostalgic for two digit addresses (38, 22) and the winding streets and crazy hairpins demanded by the local geology. Living in a rationally numbered grid on a perfect plane is efficient, but not romantic.
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