On Friday the thirteenth four weeks ago, I bought Claudia's Surf City, Ozarks, a.k.a. The Goose. I have been privileged to realize all over again that no matter how small the house, it still needs the same systems—heating, electrical, water/sewage, communications, cooking—as any larger place. The footprint of the Goose is a manageable 16.6 feet by 22.6 feet, with two floors—two rooms plus a bathroom. I have not even managed to paint it all. However, after spending thousands at Walmart, I have a bed, a toilet, a Frigidaire and have destroyed two mops. I have found a plumber, a gardener, a handyman, three phone repairmen and, alas, no electrician. I have made a couple of friends and a couple of enemies. I have taken many loads of junk to the dump, cleaned up and reseeded the yard.
Basically the same stuff I do in Block Island, except with a lot more driving and more tornadoes (like last night not too far away in Arkansas). And no rental possibilities.
Meanwhile, I still have plenty of house guests in New York and in Block Island—now my relatives are rushing the season. More proof, if any was needed, that Claudia's Surf City is not a person or place, it's a lifestyle.
2 comments:
I think I get it now. CSC Ny and CSC BI are hostels for the kin and kind.
So maybe The Goose is your Fortress of Solitude. No one in their right mind is going to just drop in on you, or ask you if they can spend the weekend in Thomasville while they take in a show, shop Fifth Avenue, or hit the beach.
You had to have a little house, in the middle of nowhere, all to your lonesome.
Superman so needed one. Hey! He was a reporter, too. Remember?
Party Hearty, Clark. I mean, Claudia.
I am the only immediate threat. Only 8 hours, 32 minutes, and 511 miles separate you from your first old-guard houseguest.
That's houseguest, me. As they say in the deep South.
Don't worry. I'll bring my own paper products.
"No one in their right mind is going to drop in on you. . ."
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