J and I have been sleeping in the new house, on a futon weÄôve set up in the basement. WeÄôve got two pillows, one thin blanket and a TV and DVD player set up in the corner on a box, but somehow itÄôs a lot of fun. Last night, after finishing work, I decided I wanted to take a quick walk down to the water and along the seawall, where an asphalt path runs parallel to the road. ThatÄôs one of the first things that drew us to the place, the fact that weÄôd be so close to the water, and not only that, there is a terrific network of walking trails and parks nearby. ItÄôs nice, in this automobile-driven world, to be able to walk places, and from our house we can walk to both the water and to this awesome Italian deli Äì the kind you never would have found in North Carolina.
So, basically, we picked the perfect location.
Poor J has been really sick, but he opted to join me in this first jaunt around the new neighborhood. In the half block of sidewalk we covered while making our way to the water, we looked at the houses surrounding ours, the various shapes and sizes, and the materials used to build them. Some with old, wooden porches, and some with tiny balconies on the second floor, the kind where youÄôd imagine wives looking out for their seafaring husbands.
Down at the seawall, we breathed in the smell of salt water and the air felt damp. ÄúThere is just something about the water,Äù I said. IÄôve said this a lot over the years, including at the beach with a cold drink in my hand when, yeah, obviously there is just something about the water, but I do sincerely mean it and itÄôs not a very original sentiment by any means. People tend to like the water, whether itÄôs a little cove on the edge of New Haven or the vast ocean, complete with crashing waves.
We walked, talking about the area, wondering if we could somehow get down to that little sandy beach in the distance, questioning the purpose of the stone steps placed at intervals along the path, leading straight into the murky depths, and how maybe thatÄôs what you do when youÄôve simply had enough Äì you just walk down that oddly-placed set of stairs and end it all.
From our new vantage point we checked out the houses facing the water. They looked so inviting with their tall windows and warmly lit interiors. Several were built with three levels, each one a little smaller than the one below so that the top level was just one room with, youÄôd imagine, a wonderful view. A great room for curling up and reading a book.
We came across a young couple, probably about our age, sitting on a bench having a Guinness, said a polite hello and as soon as we were safely out of hearing range, discussed how Äútotally coolÄù that was although, remarked J, technically illegal.
ÄúI know,Äù I said. ÄúBut that is another reason why I love this neighborhood. I donÄôt think people here care too much about the rules Äì in a good way. Like, they wonÄôt care if we have a party and itÄôs kind of noisy. They clearly donÄôt care if people paint their houses pink. They wonÄôt care about Mina, for instance. ÄòYour crazy little Chihuahua-like dog hates children? ThatÄôs ok with us.ÄôÄù