September is here and we're settled into our new digs. Mr. Man is back in school. I'm biking to work every day now, in part because I live in a ridiculously amazing bike commuter neighborhood and in part because September is the Bike Commute Challenge in my fair city. My route to work takes me on a bike boulevard past glorious homes. In safe situations, I'm tend to gawk--staring at the neighborhood, its quirks, and in particular, its homes.
Recently I've begun to have a serious case of house lust. Clearly I can afford none of the homes over which I drool. Yet, I'm taken with many--the porches, the architecture, the colors, the gardens. I have a running list of houses with amazing porches and decks and I fantasize about the parties and trysts that could take place in these beautiful spaces. I know the locations of at least three houses on my bike boulevard that are receiving new coats of paint and I watch each day's progress diligently. I look fondly upon the houses which have planted well, with little grass but much lush greenery that provides a skirt of privacy to the domicile.
I dream of all the houses fondly and think about the lives of the people within. People who are not us. My wife and I just graduated from living like college students with our new dresser and bed. We cannot afford such a mortgage. I would not be able to keep such a beautiful palace clean. We are the opposite of anything resembling handy. I cannot imagine the reality of living in a house again, but I definitely yearn for those I see.
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