Home Plans

I have a bit of an odd stress reliever. When I'm bored or frustrated or stressed, I look at home plans or home listings. I come by it honestly. My mother, although she's never dreamed of building a home, continually brings home blueprints books. You see them in the grocery store or hardware box store. They contain blueprint after blueprint which are available for sale. Neither of us will ever buy a blueprint. But I love to look at those plans.

Jeff used to get frustrated with me that I always took home an Iowa Realty listing from the store. I'd even grab apartment guides. When we finally bought the house I think he assumed that it would be over. That I'd stop looking. What he didn't understand was that it wasn't the buying I was interested in. It was the looking.

Perhaps it is the possibility that I love. I enjoy looking at sites like Realtor.com which offer pictures of houses for sale. I can imagine all the possible ways to make the house my own. This is of course funny because I've done very little to customize our own house. But I'll imagine laying new floors in this one, putting a pool in that backyard, or even just picture my library in one of the rooms. Or I look at the blueprints and imagine what the house would have to look like. What configuration is right for us. Again I'm not really in the market, I just find it soothing.

This week's been a bit odd. I'm just starting to get used to my new nine hour days. Strange that I was easily working 8.5 to 9 hour days before. But now that it's mandatory it's much more draining. So on my lunch hours I've been staying in and looking at houses. I've found a couple in Des Moines that I wouldn't mind owning. I've glanced at homes in Asheville, a city I've become fascinated with. I looked for houses in San Antonio for no reason whatsoever. And in between I've been checking out blueprints on HousePlans.com. I'm much more relaxed and suddenly I'm thinking of fixing up my place. After all, these homes for sale have some good design ideas.

Poetry Friday

Sorry I didn't get a post done yesterday. I had great hopes for the day but then a friend of mine (thanks Carol) introduced me to the incredibly funny site It's Lovely, I'll Take It. The site finds some pretty unbelievable photos from real estate listings and posts them with a bit of commentary. Now I love looking at real estate listings. If I get a bit of time and don't know what to do with it, I'll randomly pick a city and look at the listings at Realtor.com. Maybe it's looking at the decorations, maybe it's me being snoopy, maybe it is just seeing what certain amounts can buy. But this is totally different. I truly can't believe what people will highlight as selling points of their house. Or how little people clean before listing their house. Now I won't say my house is clean, but don't you think it should be a little more presentable if you're trying to sell it. It's a great new blog find and I've got it bookmarked and am working my may through the archives. Hilarious.

I'll warn you, there won't be any posting this weekend. Everyone enjoy your long weekend. I'm heading south (Yay!) to St. Louis to see family and to attend a bridal shower. My brother-in-law is getting married this fall and I'm invited to a shower. And I'm actually pretty excited about it. We don't get down to St. Louis as often as we should and it will be a lot of fun to hang out with everyone. I'm blessed in that I enjoy hanging out with my in-laws. It should be a beautiful wedding and I'm excited to add my new sister-in-law. It should be an exciting fall.

That said I've been wracking my brains all morning trying to find a poem that would celebrate their upcoming marriage. I searched all the classical poets and only found cliches. I keep hunting through Brownings and Neruda and cummings with a hope of finding one. Then I realized that instead of old poets, I should go new. This is one of my favorite poets and one of my favorite poems about love.

San Antonio
by Naomi Shihab Nye


Tonight I lingered over your name,
the delicate assembly of vowels
a voice inside my head.
You were sleeping when I arrived.
I stood by your bed
and watched the sheets rise gently.
I knew what slant of light
would make you turn over.
It was then I felt
the highways slide out of my hands.
I remembered the old men
in the west side cafe,
dealing dominoes like magical charms.
It was then I knew,
like a woman looking backward,
I could not leave you,
or find anyone I loved more.