It was a Radish; Now It's a Lemon

I live in a three-bedroom house, built in 1952. In the fifties a family of four or five people, or even more, would have lived here. It was a big house. I still think of it as a big house, because the house where I grew up is even smaller. But with this house, there is no way I can keep up with the Joneses. The Joneses have left me way, way, behind.

The Joneses live in mansions. Our house has a mansion on either side, like, say, a cow between two elephants If either house fell this way, mine would be toast.

My house is a rancher, or as it is called here, a rambler. Neither appellation is close to the truth. We’re certainly not on a ranch, and our house can’t ramble anywhere, but the yard is big enough for it to take a stroll, at least. On a yard as small as mine, a mansion looks like a bowling ball on a luncheon plate.

The mansions all look alike. I believe they are supposed to resemble farmhouses, but they don't look like the real farmhouse, which is two blocks down. (All of my neighborhood used to be a farm.) The real farmhouse is a medium-sized frame house on what, for this neighborhood, is a huge lot, but actually is just enough. A kid could hide-and-seek here; there are places to hide. Not so with these mansions. The yard is too small.

Of the eleven houses on our block, five are huge. It is inevitable: more mansions are coming. When we see the temporary power pole, we know the house is doomed, and with it go the trees.

I called the house on the corner the radish house because it used to be that color: not maroon, not terra cotta, but radish red. Every tree on that lot came down before the monstrosity went up.

Even our "desirable" neighborhood could not sell this house. The realtors tried to find a buyer, but none of them could find anyone with such bad taste.

After a year or so, someone painted it yellow. The radish is now a lemon. Again, it sat empty for months. Who would have guessed that people want a yard with trees?

We say our house is a hovel between two castles, but we're joking. It's more of a cottage: cozy, and just big enough.