I've been trying to get up early some mornings to go out walking with the dog, before the kids wake up. This is challenging for me, since most nights I'm up late doing absolutely nothing of value, unless you count trying to erase the wire-hanger highlights of the day by vegging out on the leather love seat in the den searching for a tivoed Oprah that doesn't feature the cast of High School Musical or some dude who can blow a bubble around himself. I do love me some mink-lashed Oprah - but only the really meaningful stuff, like Lisa Ling undercover at the Amish puppy mills, or Tom Cruise Tells All From Telluride. Don't tell me you didn't watch.
So recently I ventured up a street I'd only been on once before. It's steep and quiet, with an array of home architecture I'd describe as Brady Bunch meets Clearance Sale At Home Depot. The facade of my favorite house is plastered entirely with twelve-inch-pink-marble flooring tiles. Like all its neighbors, an enormous die cast "Victorian" mailbox blocks the sidewalk out front. Many of them are also gussied up with custom faux finishes.
Beholding the splendor, Stone Temple Pilots on the shuffle, I couldn't help but wonder if this is what happens when Timothy Leary and Christopher Lowell get together over sangria and an eight ball and decide to plan a community.
Approaching the top of the hill, a little out of breath, I spotted a coyote trotting across a vacant lot just a few yards ahead. As he passed, he watched me, watching him. I think we were both eager to get back to our comfortable, modest dens.
2 years ago
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