Posted by lex on April 24th, 2007
Don’t get me wrong, I like Sandy Eggo fine – it’s just that, you know: So many other people do too. It’s busy here. The rush hour can feel like a half-hour knife fight in a phone booth, and on a Friday evening you couldn’t get me to face the highway traffic on a bet. Expensive too, both in terms of taxes, overall cost of living and real estate.
One of the loveliest places I’ve ever visited was Perth, West Australia. It wasn’t just that the natives spoke a kind of English, and that the pubs sold refreshing and roborative adult beverages, but also that Perth reminded me of San Diego viewed through the lens of a “wayback” machine, a simpler time. Sun and beaches, golf and fresh air – but without all the over-congestion. I may have mentioned the pubs. I found myself thinking, “this is what it must have been like before, back in the 50’s.” Charming.
We’re pretty much committed to the local at least until the girls go off to college, even if it means taking work as a Walmart greeter after I retire from the naval – they’re that settled in down here. But for our own part, once the kids are launched downrange, we’re committed to downsizing a bit, and open to the idea of moving.
Now you are a tasteful set of readers, with evident discernment, so I wondered if maybe you’ve got some ideas about places to live in This Land of Ours.
In an idle moment last night I went a-googling for real estate in Portland and Bend – just two examples of places I think I wouldn’t mind settling down at. Much good that it did me: It doesn’t much matter to the Hobbit that you can buy a five bedroom place with acreage for horses by a babbling brook in the Portland environs for less than it costs to get your lawn mowed in San Diego – it rains too much for her up there. “It’s good for your complexion,” I told her, but no – you’d of thought she was made of sugar cubes. She feels the same way about Seattle, a place I always considered a possibility.
Nothing going for Missoula, Montana either, don’t care how many trout there are to be hooked in the Bitterroot. She hardened her heart against Flagstaff, AZ after I fell in love with it while passing through but she heard that the snowfall was measured in meters during the winter time. Something about being born Brazillian, I guess.
My dream home would be a Victorian type thing if we lived in the city, and a rambling log cabin affair if we lived in the country. I’d like convenient access to a river you could wade in, and maybe tease a rainbow with a dry fly when the hatch was on, although a smallmouth bass can be every bit as much fun. I prefer mountain air to sandy beaches, would rather hunt quail than sail on a Sunday afternoon, but wouldn’t mind being able to do both. Neither too cold – shoveling snow wears thin after your first few tries – nor too hot of course.
Now then: Where shall we go?