Houses

I drive by houses all the time - of course, it's a part of life nowadays, and completely unavoidable.

After all, they are everywhere: old ones, new ones, ones just beginning to take shape. Living in an apartment, where people share the same common walls, laundry room and hallway and entranceway, I long for a place to really call my own. I think it is still the American dream to own your own home. So I watch for the For Sale signs, like a hawk circles his prey. During lunch breaks, for fun, I check out the homes for sale on the Internet. Then it hits me: the price! I see that it doesn't much matter if you don't get a basement, or closets, or if you have rooms smaller than some restaurant bathrooms. These homes are just way too expensive at least for me. One Sunday after Mass, my friend, Colleen- before her break-up - practically dragged me to see her idea of the perfect house. It was a CapeCod style home with gables peeking out from the second floor. I thought that whoever keeps the yard up must be retired or unemployed, because there didn't seem to be a single weed in the garden. As Colleen pulled into the driveway of her dream home, I looked sheepishly around, wondering if people would look at us funny for pulling into the driveway of some stranger's home.

However, Colleen had done her research well. "They moved to Europe last year," she informed me when I started to protest. "Hubby got a job in Germany. They're paying for the lawn to be tended, and they even have a friend of the family who does the gardening."