The Other House
By Laura Bradford
Do you ever imagine your other house?
You know, the one high atop a mountain overlooking a babbling brook? Or the one on the nineteenth floor of a building on Manhattan's upper west side? Or maybe the one that has the French doors off the writing room that open to the beach and the sparkling blue ocean beyond?
I do from time to time.
I picture the mountain house, I suspect, when I'm in need of a little isolation (think the middle part of a book when the writing tends to become more difficult).
I picture the upper west side apartment when I'm craving the ability to get places without having to drive. I picture this gorgeous (and always neat) getaway when I want to see some shows, visit a museum, walk in the park, and eat in a variety of different places...all in one day.
And I picture the beach house when I need sun and a slightly lazier pace.
I have no grandiose ideas of ever really owning any of the above, but that doesn't stop me from imagining.
I imagine the furnishings in each. I imagine the neatness of each (mostly because I'm a neat freak living with teenagers) and being able to employ my "no shoes in the house" rule to my heart's content. And I imagine what a day-in-the-life might be like with such a geographical change.
It's always a nice escape, a nice diversion for my brain. It may even serve as a goal for the future when I've sold a million books and the kids are all grown, anyway (in that case, I'm torn between the beach and the city). But when all is said and done, I'd rather be right where I am, sloppiness and all.
How about you? Do you have a dream house you visit from time to time? How detailed is it?