Every time I see Sarah Susanka's books ("The Not So Big House"), or books on log cabins, I get kind of dreamy and wish that I had my own house, just a tiny little one to decorate and paint and put window boxes on for daffodils. I imagine the bedroom would be red like mine is now, and the living room would be a soothing chestnut brown. Then I remember how much I hate cleaning (dusting, vacuuming, and the like) and the dream dies.
But then I think about a small apartment where they would let me paint. A brownstone, something near Grand Avenue in St. Paul, a walk-up on the third floor. More than likely, I'd have to go to the laundromat each week, but I would love it.
I think either of these scenarios is some time off in the future, but I can dream, can't I?
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