"Hello Neighbor" is finished and in
the shop. Have I ever mentioned how much I love my own neighborhood--the one in the real (non-felt) world where I live?
It's like a little city unto itself, with a convenience store at one end (of the familiar, Maine kind, with taciturn shopkeepers selling "italians" and beer), along with an old fashioned bakery boasting two rows of penny candy in big glass jars. The post office where I send off my packages of Little Pink Love only takes cash and is also a video rental joint and an ice cream counter. In the same strip of old, wooden buildings is a Scandinavian import store (think Swedish fish and lingonberry juice), and a tailor. Put a pizza joint and a meat market (not the kind where you pick up chicks but where you pick up, um, pork chops) on the other side of the street, and there you have it. We are two hops from the hulking stone high school and surrounded by residential streets, lovely old houses, friendly folks and their kids and their dogs--lots and lots of dogs, not to mention one fat, gray cat everybody feeds. He's greasy and if you pet him your hand comes away smelling of garlic. (Mob cat? Yikes.)
I live here by chance, in an apartment I rented from Craig's List, but I'd like to stay. I'd like to hunker down--I enjoy hunkering. Until I get bored. Then I like to quit my job, say goodbye to everyone I know, and pick a new life. Any psychoanalists out there want to take
that on? ;-)
"Hello Neighbor" is finished and in the shop. Have I ever mentioned how much I love my own neighborhood--the one in the real (non-felt) world where I live?
It's like a little city unto itself, with a convenience store at one end (of the familiar, Maine kind, with taciturn shopkeepers selling "italians" and beer), along with an old fashioned bakery boasting two rows of penny candy in big glass jars. The post office where I send off my packages of Little Pink Love only takes cash and is also a video rental joint and an ice cream counter. In the same strip of old, wooden buildings is a Scandinavian import store (think Swedish fish and lingonberry juice), and a tailor. Put a pizza joint and a meat market (not the kind where you pick up chicks but where you pick up, um, pork chops) on the other side of the street, and there you have it. We are two hops from the hulking stone high school and surrounded by residential streets, lovely old houses, friendly folks and their kids and their dogs--lots and lots of dogs, not to mention one fat, gray cat everybody feeds. He's greasy and if you pet him your hand comes away smelling of garlic. (Mob cat? Yikes.)
I live here by chance, in an apartment I rented from Craig's List, but I'd like to stay. I'd like to hunker down--I enjoy hunkering. Until I get bored. Then I like to quit my job, say goodbye to everyone I know, and pick a new life. Any psychoanalists out there want to take that on? ;-)
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1 comments:
oh, i won't try to take that on. i am more of a hunkerer, myself. never moved more than a couple hours away from the only house i lived in growing up. hunkering, i KNOW. picking up and transplanting myself? not so much. although i dream about it sometimes and i think i pretty much would end up in a town like yours, or the wide open country.
or a tree house.
or the ocean.
did i leave anything out? i hate to narrow my options for dreaming.
this hoop? my absolute favorite though. as much as i want to LIVE in that tree house, i want to STARE at this jumbly lot.
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