But then I calculated the amount of time I spend looking at the outside of my own perfectly marvelous three story home. Even factoring in those late spring and early fall evenings when we lounge on the deck after supper, I estimate that the average daily allotment of residential gazing is not more than forty seconds. I spend the bulk of my time inside. Assuming that I am home about sixteen hours a day, that is a ratio of 6720 to 4. 

 

There is a pervasive message flying around that the outside of one's abode should be up to snuff. Trim your hedges, paint the shutters, whitewash the fence. This is well and good, but may be a tad out of proportion. We spend the majority of our time indoors. How can I be sure that those houses in Rydal were as lovely on the inside? For all I know they were dumps.

 

Sometimes people put excessive weight on the outward appearance of their marriage. Surely the paparazzi are focusing on the glamorous bodies of Hollywood couples, rather than their communication skills or alacrity. I am not trying to diss sunset photos of couples walking along the beach hand in hand. They certainly look like they are happy. But perhaps there are other beautiful images not easily captured by a lens. 

 

When our basement floods and John stomps down into the muck to hook up the sump pump, he gets grimy. His feet get wet, and the whole job makes him smell like a soggy spaniel. Not exactly photogenic. But to me he is a hero. Any place is a castle if I am with him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Kat Gatti

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