sidewalk stories on a hill
I must say, I am feeling quite optimistic today.
Mornings have been treating me well these days, and afternoons even better. Since I've been getting home earlier, I've had time to take walks in the afternoon. I'll tell you why I love my neighborhood: About a block away, there are steps up the hill from our modest street to the fancy shmancy street that looms above. In the middle of those steps is a home. It isn't accessible from the street. I imagine the people who live there park on the street and walk up or down the steps as the case may be to get home. I can't walk by without thinking about who would pick such an unusual place to build a home.
I have fashioned many stories of what might be, but my favorite is really quite tragic: The house belongs to a single man in his thirties. He had always wanted to build a home himself, but he loved city life. Especially St. Paul with it's charming small townness. So he chose that spot, nestled in the midst of one of the more charming neighborhoods in the city. Not to mention the beautiful view from the hillside. And there he built. He and his wife, who planned the house together, never lived there together. She loved the idea of the quirky house more than she loved him. The inside is unfinished because he hasn't the heart to keep working on the home they had planned together without her.
All this from the fact that no one ever looks home and that it looks unfinished inside. A pickup truck is sometimes parked nearby, so my stories assume a man lives there. But it could be anything really. It could be a young career couple or a single woman who doesn't want to do yard work or a retired couple who travel.
I love my neighborhood. You can find stories anywhere.
Mornings have been treating me well these days, and afternoons even better. Since I've been getting home earlier, I've had time to take walks in the afternoon. I'll tell you why I love my neighborhood: About a block away, there are steps up the hill from our modest street to the fancy shmancy street that looms above. In the middle of those steps is a home. It isn't accessible from the street. I imagine the people who live there park on the street and walk up or down the steps as the case may be to get home. I can't walk by without thinking about who would pick such an unusual place to build a home.
I have fashioned many stories of what might be, but my favorite is really quite tragic: The house belongs to a single man in his thirties. He had always wanted to build a home himself, but he loved city life. Especially St. Paul with it's charming small townness. So he chose that spot, nestled in the midst of one of the more charming neighborhoods in the city. Not to mention the beautiful view from the hillside. And there he built. He and his wife, who planned the house together, never lived there together. She loved the idea of the quirky house more than she loved him. The inside is unfinished because he hasn't the heart to keep working on the home they had planned together without her.
All this from the fact that no one ever looks home and that it looks unfinished inside. A pickup truck is sometimes parked nearby, so my stories assume a man lives there. But it could be anything really. It could be a young career couple or a single woman who doesn't want to do yard work or a retired couple who travel.
I love my neighborhood. You can find stories anywhere.