You know when you’re on Day 7 or 10 of vacation, the thrill of the hotel room worn off, a little too much sun and fun, just wanting your morning bowl of cheerios with a banana (instead of yet another buffet) and yearning for your bed, your pillow, your stuff, instead of the rabbit hutch maze of room after room?
That’s renting instead of owning.
Last night as I bent to the fridge (haven’t had one of those freezer topped models since…) to stuff the food shopping into the smaller-than-I’m-used-to-interior, I had the distinct deja vu imperative run through my mind: “okay, done with this now. Time to go home!”
It’s not that Stanford West isn’t really great, for what it is, and the location across from the hospital where David works amazing, it’s the generic-ness of the four neutral-beige walls and the neutral-tannish carpeting and then to top it all off: the Pleasantville community. Just like at a Four Seasons, the relentless cheery “Good Morning!” greeting absolutely everywhere. This place is custom built for getting to know your neighbor(s) (“would you be mine? would you be be mine? won’t you be…my neighbor?!” Fred Rogers.)
Bah, humbug, New Englander soul of mine!
This too, shall pass, it’s really just a fleeting thing. As soon as we hang more pictures, obtain the elusive couch (6 stores, no couple compromise in sight) and start the real estate search, reality of the Silicon Valley/SF/CA coast market will hit home and we’ll thank god we’re so lucky to have such a great place to live. Smile! “Nice to meet you!”
Oh, yeah, and also: my very first finalist in a writing contest, an old short story from when I first starting writing.