The House Across the Street

12.1.06

In the house across the street, the new outsized version of the mini-mansion, there is a light on in the foyer. It's soft and yellowish, back-lighting a huge potted plant of some sort that sits in front of the window. From my vantage point on the front porch here, there is an eerieness to the empty feeling behind the scene that has been staged for passers-by to view. The home sits empty, although dressed inside to show, with a price-tag of $1.9 million in a neighborhood of $800,000-$900,000 abodes. It stands out among the 1920's era structures like a wedding cake among cupcakes and I wonder who will choose this neighborhood at that price tag. It is a walk-to area with schuls and temples abundant, but on a street with no orthodox families and at 4 bedrooms it begs a prolific couple. We are the only family on the block and most of the neighbors are either single or retired. Melrose avenue and its busy traffic flow of tourists and high school students creates parking and petty robbery issues on the street but it's otherwise quiet and within walking distances of parks, shops, the library and post office. All in all, a nice place to live.

So why does this picture window conjur up in my mind the family I wish to see move in? Will it be a pre-made crop of kids, dog, cat and harried parents? Newlyweds in the film business with a penchant for restaurants within walking distance? A retired fabric designer in need of a large "family" room for entertaining near the granite countered kitchen? My kids want to buy lottery tickets so we can win enough money to move in despite my firm contestation against quadrupling a mortgage payment and having more to dust. It's only 600 sq. feet larger than our home, but feels bigger because of the open floor plan. Plus it has a pool. It might be nice to have more space and the kids will need their own bedrooms soon, but, the idea of more surface area does nothing for me these days. It's just more room for stuff and clutter and more yelling up and down stairs to call people to dinner. I grew up in a 3 story, 5 bedroom house that felt as small and tight as a dark shoe box. But the summers spent on a 56' boat felt more open and light than the entire building that housed my winters.

I drive by the mansions being built in Beverly Hills and the additions being added in our neighborhood and think about space, what it means to inhabit a few walls. How some families grow up in a one room hut with no privacy and others in football field sized, marbled halls. How our built environments are now being blamed for stress, chronic disease and obesity. How a hostess in NYC forbids her guests to wear shoes in her apartment due to her new floors and prohibits brown and red foods lest something fall on the white furniture. How where we live, shapes how we live. How, during times of stress, some people re-decorate or move the furniture. How leaving one place for another can be symbolic of and conducive to personal growth. But also how exchanging one home for another can highlight the addage: "whereever you go, there you are."

We are a migratory animal, ever seeking resources, food and shelter, opportunities adn freedom. We leave our families for college, jobs, love, a change of scenery, a rebirth, improved status, safety. Most of us no longer grow up in the same house for our entire childhoods and now with so many blended families, kids get split between homes and parents. We collect so much stuff that if we can't house it, we rent storage units for the overflow. We now build garages knowing they will be converted to office space and entertainment centers. There seems never to be enough space, yet what do we really do with all this extra room? Fill it with extra furniture or larger appliances? But do we invite more people to come over? Do we cook bigger meals, take longer baths, sleep more hours or do more hobbies with all this extra air around us? Why do we feel we need more and more structure to accomplish the very same thing we can do in a smaller space? It all seems just to create more distance between the occupants and more clutter around which to navigate.

I hope the people who move in across the street have lots of children to fill those bedrooms. I hope they bring life with them and Hannukah candles or Halloween pumpkins in that window. I hope they cook latzkes or fried chicken or rice and beans and sit around the big kitchen island every night and talk about their day, their weekend plans. I hope the front door slams as the eldest heads out for a date on Melrose. I hope the electric garage door opens to reveal a woodshop for carpentry projects. I hope the new occupants kiss each other goodbye in that foyer as they bustle the kids off to school and themselves off to work. I hope their labrador sits on the front porch in the morning sun and yawns at the postman. I hope they like their view of the house across the street. It is modest by compare, but houses a family there.