When Amy packed up and moved to the suburbs, I made fun of her relentlessly. Her reasons for doing so were perfectly logical: more space, more amenities, new baby, and with a much cheaper price tag. However, I still couldn't imagine what madness would prompt a person to move to Temecula, land of subdivisions, chain restaurants, oppressive heat, and even more oppressive soccer moms. I would, I declared rather vehemently, sooner die--or at least be seen wearing Crocs. I couldn't decide which fate was worse.
When I saw Amy's new house, I felt vindicated. Yes, it's beautiful. Yes, it's clean. Yes, it's a great deal. But still...such excess.
Then I moved to Lafayette. True, the heat is tolerable when it's not snowing and the population is certainly more diverse. But I also live on the edge of the plains. Indeed, our backyard is, for all intents and purposes, the plains.
This is not only the 'burbs, it's practically the Midwest. I had grown used to sharing my commute with cattle, but, while heading east, I found myself sharing the ride with bison. And, this morning a fox nearly ran right into me as it casually loped across my path. There is an excess of nature and space here that goes beyond the vast empty landscapes.
Such excess has breached the palace walls. What once seemed like maze of rooms half-filled with boxes and echoes has quickly transformed into a home--though I'm still not sure how. I once sternly lectured Josh on the dangers of 2100 square feet and the compulsion to fill it. But Josh has since gotten used to my afternoon emails, which inevitably begin with, "Guess what I found today...?" Furniture seems to follow me home no matter how much I protest. Hello suburbs.
We are currently looking for a third couch.