5.28.99

I've been returning in intervals. Back to Seattle on Monday, but then Dave arrived for a Microsoft conference on Tuesday. He's gone now. Moved well. Sweaty men in and out in a morning. Unwrapped our furniture and placed the pieces along vectors of pointed fingers. I had all the guts organized and neatly stowed by week's end. Hung pictures on the wall the night before I left. A house just made, and I was sad to leave it. I was not there long enough to become reacquainted with my things, to enjoy the novelty of them in a new design. The apartment itself is lovely. One of those old industrial structures that have been gutted and drywalled into loft apartments, with giant beams and occasional surfaces of brick intruding into the living space. Tall windows face the morning, waking us early. My favorite room is the second bedroom, which we are using as an office. A ceiling following the pitch of the roof lends an especially open feel, sounds traveling upward and bouncing around geometrically. There are wall-to-wall carpets that displease us, but at least the carpet is white. I've never lived in a two-story apartment before. I like the idea, but it didn't take long to become impatient with the practice. In a rush I forget things I need, which results in a lot of walking back and forth - a lot of stair climbing in this case. I already started the habit of scouring the top floor for anything I might need and bringing it all down to the bottom floor at once. He is living in the small town of West Chester, an hour or so west of Philadelphia. I hate the suburbs, the driving to every place, to every oversized store and turning tightly in crowded lots; avoiding suburban dwellers, drones walking from their cars to the automatic doors; homes by cookie cutter, interiors by Macy's. But the apartment is in the old downtown, within walking distance of the main street and the little cafés and shops that flank it. There are more than a few antique stores, an indicator of the town's decline, but a small college there that keeps enough eateries and practical needs in business. It's all walkable, just the way we like it. And it is beautiful, the ancient houses - no, they are mansions. Old as the nation, in brick or chunky stone of grey. No window without shutters, of which all are painted brightly. These homes older than the trees lining the streets - trees that are fat with age, squeezing over curbs onto the asphalt. Colonial style, not like here.

future past index