This is my first official day of being a housewife in suburbia. Wahoo.
<You can pick up the sarcasm here.>
Jeff got a temporary part-time job which is a mile from home. He started this morning. It is some income, which is better than none, and we are thankful he can still work with computers to keep up his skills and get good local references.
My parents live in a new subdivision [that word makes my skin crawl] of less than 5 year old brick colonial whatevers surrounded by other neighbors who are in the same socio-economic and educational background, more-or-less. Lots of children and dogs. Lawns are mown on Saturday mornings. You can hum the Monkees song now.
What the heck makes me so antagonistic towards suburbia? I read James Howard Kunstler and dropped the eyeball gunk. [disclaimer, he uses choice words for humor and making his points. You filter at your own risk, K?] I love rural landscapes. I love towns and cities. Suburbia rips up the former and mocks the later. Socio-economic and childhood segregation. Automobile dependency.
I grew up in an older subdivision, with a public pool, park, and elementary school in walking distance. Pretty great until you are 11, then you have to depend on the bus or mom taxis to get you to school, practices, etc. Then, in my young adult years, I experienced the wonders of living in authentic cities with transit, sidewalks, and the essentials of life at one’s finger tips.
I was ruined for anything else.
So I sit in the daylight basement of my parents’ house [don’t get me wrong, free shelter is terrific] and, uh, figure out stuff to do. Mom keeps me busy with little “helps”. Today’s major production is taking the gimpy dog to the vet. Poor thing. I was playing with her on the hardwood floor last night when she jumped and landed funny on a back leg. I feel guilty over an accident.
We want to find a house/apartment within walking/biking distance of our Main Street eventually. Otherwise, I might go nuts.