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The Flatland Chronicles for Tuesday, July 11
Journal. The Joys of Apartment-Dwelling
I've been regarded by certain of my friends and family throughout my life as something less than a fully realized adult. There are a number of reasons for this, one of which is the fact that since my first marriage 26 years ago, I have never owned a house---excuse me---home. Nope. I am over 45, employed full-time, and not a homeowner nor yet an aspiring homeowner.
I've had the tax and finanical advantages of home ownership explained to me repeatedly. I understand them. I have a certain amount of anxiety about the future. What if I can't keep a roof over my head when I'm old?
Although there is the whole thing of spending money---over the years, lots of money---and having 'nothing to show for it.'
But here's the thing. In the here and now, Nick and I live in a fairly inexpensive place we like a lot, in an amazingly beautiful part of town where there are many glorious liveoak trees, a city park across the road, easy access to shopping, and two swimming pools. We have two screened porches: one upstairs and one downstairs.
The down side is: we don't own any of it. The up side is: we don't own any of it. Today we had to have a plumber in to clear out some sort of problem that was causing the toilet to leak. It ended up taking not one but two plumbers. Total cost to us: $0.
We live at the bottom of a hill because---contrary to what you might think---Flatland ain't so flat. Over the last couple of years we've had a lot of rain, even in the winter. In a particularly heavy rain, some of it came under the door. The apartment complex promptly hired people to dig out and replace the existing drains. It's their property and they don't want it flooded. Total cost to us: $0.
I'm not an idiot so I have renter's insurance and flood insurance and other than that a (comparatively) relaxed attitude about hurricanes. A couple of my friends spent months getting all the downed trees removed from their lakefront property after the hurricane last year; and others have had to spend a fortune on repairs.
There is a grasshopperish aspect to my failure to commit to a particular piece of land that I recognize in myself and certainly deplore and yet I just can't seem to get past it. I hate all of the maintenance that goes into a 'home.' Neither Nick nor I are at all adept at construction or repairs or housework and we both loathe 'yard work' with a deep loathing. I really can't see how we'd manage with a house. Actually, I can't think of anything worse.
So there you are and here we are. I go through spells of being terribly embarrassed to live in an apartment and by the obvious efforts of certain of my friends (you know who you are!) to be politely enthusiastic about my 'arty' display of colored glass and bright cushions when they visit my apartment. I can see that some of them, contemplating their elegant Architectural Digest-style homes, feel sorry for me.
But though I feel embarrassed, it's strictly a social embarrassment, the embarrassment that a social animal feels about making the choice to live in a tree because, you know, she just likes living in a tree, when the rest of the herd prefer to live in nice spacious caves made of solid stone and with hot and cold running underground streams and stalactites hanging from the ceilings. I can't explain or justify it; but I just don't like owning too many things I have to look after or worry about. And I like knowing that if something happens (like a tree through the roof), I can leave.
RELATED POSTINGS:
Grocery Bag Shoes and A Plague of Butterflies: Signs of the Apocalypse?
Season of Mould & Cat 3 Hurricanes.
Mr. Rumcove Issues a Correction; also-- No Angels for Me!
Apartment Dwelling for a Happier Life
Today's Digest
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LYNDA BARRY ROCKS MY WORLD. Cathartic, painful, funny, painfully funny, awesome & delicious. A definite anomie-blaster, if you're in need of some assurance that you are NOT alone. In Just Eat the Damn Peach.
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