Today's NYT (edit: yesterday's. I only found it today. It was meant to be.) has this article from Ann Patchett writing about her house. She is probably one of my favorite "modern" authors, and I love houses, so thus, I must love this article. Also, how moving is her last paragraph?
This is where I do exactly the thing I’ve always wanted to do, be a writer. This is the window from which I see entire days go by from dark to dark, never going farther than the end of my driveway. This is the place my husband comes back to every night, to this house where we were married and we are married. What I mean to say is that it is a good life wrapped in a good house.
I feel I can definitely relate to this with our house, as it's the house we lived in when we got married and where we're starting our married life together, working together to make it ours and sarting to really persue what we want out of life. And we do have a good life, and a good house, even if it's not quite "finished" yet. But is anything ever finished?
This is where I do exactly the thing I’ve always wanted to do, be a writer. This is the window from which I see entire days go by from dark to dark, never going farther than the end of my driveway. This is the place my husband comes back to every night, to this house where we were married and we are married. What I mean to say is that it is a good life wrapped in a good house.
I feel I can definitely relate to this with our house, as it's the house we lived in when we got married and where we're starting our married life together, working together to make it ours and sarting to really persue what we want out of life. And we do have a good life, and a good house, even if it's not quite "finished" yet. But is anything ever finished?
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