Houses

I love being in people's houses. Our living spaces tell so much about us.

I remember my grandparents' city house being big and beautiful. It wasn't big. Quite small really. But the yard was huge. And almost all of it was covered in flowers.

A writer/artist friend lives in a 300 sq. ft. space. It's charming.

One of my Power Rangers has lived in the same house for over 30 years. It's a "big family" house. The "go to" place. I laugh whenever I see her garage. Two cars can fit in but the walls are lined up solid with stuff. I'll bet she could live in the garage for a year and not run out of supplies.

My Boyfriend's daughter and family live in downtown Chicago in one of those tall, deep, skinny, one room wide-four stories high, brick houses. (Think the Cosby show.) I love it.

Another of my Power Rangers and her husband have recently downsized. They moved from a downtown house to my condo community - into the very same floor plan as my condo. Their place is lovely - but it looks very different from mine.

I've lived here for the past 12 years in a two-bedroom condo. I love where I live and don't think I would move even if I was fabulously well-to-do.

It's a good thing because I would be seriously breaking the 10th Commandment these days if I wasn't content in my place - since I've recently been in some fabu homes.

A younger friend told me yesterday that she wasn't going to any more holiday get-to-gathers because it was too hard on her to be in people's big houses when she didn't have one.

That's sad on so many levels.

It's also one of the reasons our country's in the mortgage mess.



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