There is this house I like to drive by on my way to pick Snofie up from school. I don't quite know whether it is the house or the time spent driving by it that I enjoy so much. The house is in town, is brick and is old. It is at the end of a very short dead end street and with no leaves on the trees you can see it well from the road. I like to imagine that it is my house. As I drive through town I imagine how it looks inside and how if we lived there, we would walk into town for ice cream or for a parade.
Don't get me wrong, I love my house. I can't imagine at this point in my life living anywhere else. But, the ritual of driving through town everyday and seeing "my other house" is comforting. At about 2pm every afternoon I begin to look forward to my drive through town. Even on rainy days I cherish this time. For 50 minutes I am completely alone. No one talking to me, no one making noise around me and no one invading my personal space. I can listen to whatever I want on the radio and as loud as I want. I can sing, badly, along with Elvis Costello and no one will laugh at me. I can talk to myself and the conversation goes exactly how I want it to.
When I arrive at school the ritual continues. No longer do I talk to myself or sing along with the radio. Instead I turn off everything around me. No radio, no car motor running and no cell phone. I simply enjoy the peace and quite. Sometimes I read, sometimes I write or do a crossword puzzle and sometime I do absolutely nothing. And when Snofie comes running out of school and jumps in the car I am totally rejuvenated.
I wouldn't want any more than the 50 minutes I have. I wouldn't want any more than 5 days a week. Nor would I want to actually live in "my other house". Everything is perfect the way it is.