More house thoughts

Yesterday I was up in Washington Depot, Connecticut, picking up Biscuit from the dog trainer. Biscuit now realises she is a dog, which is an extraordinary accomplishment, as up until very recently, she, and all the Smalls, thought she was a fluffy, live teddy bear. She has stopped leaping around like a fluffy, live teddy bear on Adderall, and is now sitting, lying down, and staying on command, waiting for us to give her directions. Magnificent.

But while I was up there, close to where I used to live, I passed beautiful houses. Through the main drag of Woodbury where each house is more beautiful than the last, on to Washington, and Bethlehem, where the older antique houses are prized, restored, sell, on occasion, for many millions of dollars.

And I wondered how it is that my town is an hour away, and yet the sensibilities are so different. Here the old seems to no longer be prized, restored, with only a few exceptions dotted around town. Here it seems each house is bigger than the next, builder interpretations of shingle houses, or colonial mansions, that are too large to have any charm.

I love my town. Although I have not loved it in the past, that had less to do with the town, and far more to do with my own unhappiness. I feel blessed every day to live here, to be able to send the Smalls to extraordinary schools, to be by the beach, to have all that I have in such a beautiful place.

But I don't understand how it is that one town can cherish the old, history, a past that is worth preserving, and others cannot wait to get rid of it to make way for bigger, better, more, more, more...

Just an observation. And a shame, it seems.

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