my apartment is clean, well, mostly, and completely rearranged. the dining alcove now holds my red chenille couch, my grandparents' coffee table and a shiny new imac. and in the living room, my books, my sewing machine, my desk and if it works, soon, my small dining room table and chairs. the tv is still here, but not for long. yes, i am getting in my dying media hours while i can. i will be donating the tv and dvd player to goodwill as soon as i can find someone to help me move them. the whole place feels more open and more suited to the life i want to be living. but that's not what i wanted to write about.
over the weekend i went back to look at the house. it's not a perfect house but it feels like the right house. it feels like my house.
i talked to the realtor for a long time. he told me about the house. he told me about the neighborhood. he told me about the history of the town. he told me about the fog festival and that the nearby cafe barbecues every summer weekend. and then he told me that the real yard for the house was two houses down and across the street -- the beach.
after i left i walked those two houses down to the ocean, out onto the pier between fisherman, then down the beach. people were flying kites, and having picnics. they said hello and met my eye as i walked by. it was like living in a small town. the kind where everybody knows your name. it felt like home.
a house is just a building. it's what you find inside -- the house, the neighborhood, the town -- that matters.
send me good thoughts. they decide on my offer tomorrow night.