Ahh, the suburbs. The nice visitors agreed it is a nice place. And it is. Tree out front. A little landscapery out back. In fact, I have to get some fiskars¹ to get the place a little in order. Lawn is good. A lawn you can lay on and stare at a patch of sky framed by trees and shingled roof-tops as practicing small prop planes share a bit of their arc. We have to work on the closets a bit but that is about it. Compared to the days of the great estate in the valley of the creek amongst the potato fields (and the associated agricultural industrial complex) it is a postage stamp. But I have greater goals than mowing 4 acres twice a week now.

The compact living that we leave is good, too. The place of the twenty-five surrogate grannies, the good man who minds the furnace and the pool. The pool.

¹Fiskars I tell you - can you imagine the Flea with fiskars? I am going to break the whole fiskar blogging scene wide open.