More About Really Big Houses

Back in 2009 I wrote about one of my fantasies (one of the ones I'll admit to, anyhow) - my desire to live in a Really Big House. You can read that post here if you missed it at the time.

I hadn't thought much about my Really Big House fantasy for a while until yesterday morning when, on the way home from taking our granddaughters to their swimming lesson, our daughter decided to show us a model home she'd found in a community near her daughters' school ...

Holy #%$@!

The last time I saw a house that big, it was occupied by someone whose first name was Your Majesty. The photo in no way illustrates just how big this house is. It was so big it had its own zip code and distorted gravity in its vicinity. Here's a link to the floor plan.

Even considering that the model had every available option built into it ... including a sit-in wine cellar, multiple dens/studies/libraries, a rec room larger than most northeastern states, a three-car garage, and more bathrooms than I could count ... this house is enormous. You'd need GPS just to get from the master bedroom to the kitchen. The Octomom and her brood could have lived comfortably on one floor. As I whispered* to Agnes, the house was so big that a couple could have a fight and not have to see each other for days.

I still dream of living in a Really Big House, but I have to ask myself: who really needs a 6,000 square foot house with as many as seven bedrooms and six-and-a-half baths? Not too many young people with large families can afford a house with a starting price of over 3/4 of a million dollars. A house with a price tag like this is probably more in the mortgage range of someone who can buy an election.

But if you decide to buy this house, let me know. I'll rent part of it from you.

And trust me ... you'll never know I'm there.

Have a good day. Live large ... so to speak. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

* I had to whisper ... the echo would have been too distracting.

I Resign

To Whom It May Concern:

I hereby officially tender my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of a 6-year-old instead.

I want to go to McDonald's and think that it's a four-star restaurant.

I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make ripples with rocks.

I want to think M&M's are better than money, because you can eat them.

I want to play kickball during recess and paint with watercolors in the park.

I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.

I want to return to a time when life was simple. When all you knew were colors, addition tables and simple nursery rhymes, but that didn't bother you because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care.

I want to return to a time when all you knew was to be happy because you didn't know all the things that should make you worried and upset.

I want to think that the world is fair. That everyone in it is honest and good.

I want to believe that anything is possible.

Somewhere in my youth, I matured and learned too much. I learned of nuclear weapons, war, prejudice, starvation and abused children.

I learned of lies, unhappy marriages, suffering, illness, pain and death.

I learned of a world where men left their families to go and fight for our country, and returned only to end up living on the streets begging for their next meal.

I learned of a world where children knew how to kill - and did!

What happened to the time when we thought that everyone would live forever, because we didn't grasp the concept of death? When we thought the worst thing in the world was if someone took the jump rope from you, or picked you last for kickball? I want to be oblivious to the complexity of life and be overly excited by little things once again.

I want to return to the days when reading was fun, and music was clean. When television was used to report the news or for family entertainment and not to promote sex, violence and deceit.

I remember being naive and thinking that everyone was happy because I was. I would walk on the beach and only think of the sand between my toes and the prettiest seashell I could find...not tar balls and oil sheen and birds covered with sludge. I would spend my afternoons climbing trees and riding my bike. I didn't worry about time, bills, or where I was going to find the money to fix my car. I used to wonder what I was going to do or be when I grew up, not worry about what I'll do if this doesn't work out.

I want to live simple again. I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness and loss of loved ones. I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind and making angels in the snow.

I want to be 6 again.

This resignation is effective immediately.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Really Big Houses

One of the problems with living in Disneyland on the Potomac is that lots of people can't actually afford to live here. The cost of homes - even with the collapse of the housing market - is such that many young couples just starting out can't find homes they can afford within a reasonable distance of where they work. The vast herds of wealthy lobbyists, lawyers, corporate executives, and similar demigods has driven the price of real estate to stratospheric heights, and has led to the proliferation of the sprawling edifices disparagingly called "McMansions" - gigantic houses with all sorts of tasteful (and expensive) extras like gourmet kitchens, sun rooms, multi-car garages, spa-quality bathrooms, media rooms, game rooms, home gyms, and so on. Of course, land being as expensive as it is, these gigantic homes tend to sit on postage-stamp-sized lots, so that you have to turn sideways to walk between your mansion and your neighbor's mansion. It's ludicrous.

And it's expensive. If you're a clerk at the local grocery store, a janitor, a short-order cook, or a minor government employee with a title below the rank of First Principal Vice Deputy Assistant Under Secretary of Homeland Security for Making Air Travel a Pain in the Ass, you can't afford to buy a home appropriate to your income and the size of your family anywhere close to the capitol of your country...and you probably couldn't afford to pay the property taxes even if you could.

But nevertheless, I would love to live in a Really Big House.

I grew up in a modest 3-bedroom house in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with my parents, two brothers, and sister. Eventually, my father turned the basement into a bedroom for two of us, and installed a second (half) bathroom, which helped ease the crowding. But I always dreamed of having a Really Big House in which I didn't have to wait in line for a bathroom. In which I could have a bedroom to sleep in and another room for all my stuff. A Really Big House with long hallways, grand staircases, dens, parlors, sitting rooms, a solarium, and big French windows opening out onto terraces overlooking smooth, emerald-green lawns dotted with trees and flower beds. And a library - it absolutely must have a library, preferably with a nice stone fireplace. And a big kitchen with enough counter space that aircraft in trouble could make emergency landings without hitting the sink.

I'll never own the Really Big House of my dreams. But I'm close enough, and perfectly happy with what we have. Agnes and I have 2-1/2 bathrooms, so we're never far from relief when nature calls (and she calls much more often as we get older, dontcha know). We also have five bedrooms, allocated as follows:

The Grand Imperial Master Bedroom (use your imagination);

The Guest Room (which is large enough to be comfortable, and small enough to discourage lengthy stays);

The Nest (where Agnes can curl up with a book while her hair dries, and where we can stash the overflow from other rooms during spasms of housecleaning);

My Study (shared with Agnes); and,

Agnes's Workshop (currently piled high with fabric and equipped with an array of fancy sewing machines that each have more computer power than NASA used to put Neil Armstrong on the moon).

It's a minor-league place when compared even to the smaller of the McMansions, but it's a good size for us, and the payoff of the mortgage is actually glimmering on the not-so-distant horizon. We've worked hard be able to live in our nice, comfy Maison de Bilbo, and I'm not complaining.

But if I ever win the lottery, I'm getting my Really Big House. I think, at Northern Virginia prices, we can afford this one ...

And someone to clean it.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo