Nice View

I spent a good chunk of my childhood living in a parking lot, at least that is what we called it. We rented a house across the street from the hospital, and as the hospital expanded it bought up the houses around ours and either moved them or knocked them down to make room for parking lots. Almost overnight our neighbor went from Mrs. Merwin with her wheel-of-fortune, angel food cake, and hand made soap to cars. It made for good bike riding during none peak hours, and provided a large audience for our book mark enterprise.

When I was in fifth grade we built the new house. (Which I think most of us still call the new house). The summer my parents were working on the house was the summer I developed my aversion to macaroni and cheese and boiled hot dogs. Reuben has yet to have the "blue box" experience. We moved into the new house in late September and every time we sat down to eat someone would say, "Nice View." And it was, and is.

Out of the 9 apartments I have lived in since I left home I have been on street level (or below street level) in 7 times, and by street level I mean window and then cars (or yelling pedestrians in our last apartment.) And I've maybe had one window with a view that I could even consider nice out of all the those apartments.

We set up the table in the Reuben's room, dinning room so we can have an empty living room. When we eat, I sit so I can see out the window, and for the last couple days I catch myself saying, "Nice view." and it is.