I came home yesterday to a destroyed herb garden. It looks like a lot of water fell from above with enough force to displace much of the soil from my potted herbs and splatter mud all over my balcony.
I’m not sure I should eat the herbs, even if they’re salvageable, because who knows what cleaning chemicals were in the falling water. There are several stories of apartments above mine so I can’t pinpoint which neighbor is at fault.
I’ve been daydreaming about moving for a while now. It’s not that I actually want to move. Our place is awesome and moving sucks. It’s just that after four years of downtown living, I’m growing tired of the constant noise, day and night. I’m tired of living so publicly — public parking, public elevators, public windows.
Though I would miss the view.
So sometimes I browse rental listings. Maybe by the time we actually want to move, I’ll have a great idea of what and where it should be. Since it’s only imaginary, my requirements can be as specific as I like.
I want a quiet neighborhood, one with trees. Not downtown, but still urban and walkable. Close to a little coffee shop and a library and a park. Good sidewalks for long walks. I want it to be a freestanding house to avoid all kinds of neighbor annoyances. Private outdoor space that allows grilling. A little more room to spread out. But no more money than we pay now. Dedicated parking for us and easy parking for friends. Wood floors. Gas stove, dishwasher, private laundry. Tons of windows and daylight. Separate office space. A beautiful view.
Wishful thinking, right?
Well, today I found that place.
As far as the listing shows, it meets Every. Single. Requirement.
The time isn’t right to move. But it’s painful to let it pass by, wondering if something this ideal will ever pop up again.