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Wednesday, November 18, 2009

A decade ago I was still living in town in the same duplex where Iíd been for fifteen years. I wouldnít have moved even then if the property hadnít changed hands. The new owner knew someone who wanted my place, and that was all that mattered. At first I looked for another place in the same neighborhood, but they were all rented before I got a chance to look at them. Thatís how I ended up out here in the country, miles from the nearest pretty much everything.

Itís not that I regret living in the wilderness. In fact, it would take some unimaginable incentive to get me to move back into town, with your noisy neighbors and your barking dogs and traffic going every which-a-way at all hours. If I had to move again, I might look for a place even farther from all that.

But I reflected today that if thereís anything I miss most about living in town itís walking to the post office every day. Itís just too far to do that where I am now. I made this observation while I was walking to the post office, but not from home. There was no parking near the post office, so I had to drive on by for several blocks to a public lot, then walk back. I donít mind doing that, but something in me says itís wrong to do it deliberately. It seems like a waste to drive beyond the destination, just for the experience of walking (on company time).

16 November 2009

During that walk I also recalled something else. That place was the third home in a row I was forced out of by a landlord who wanted someone they knew to move into it. Youíd think an owner would have more appreciation for a tenant who always pays the rent on time and never complains (and there was plenty to complain about at that duplex). But no, life isnít always that fair.

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