Dad has arrived on a visit from South Africa. We picked him up yesterday on his Jetblue connection from JFK. Today we are planning on taking Frost to D&D role-playing camp and to install the new house numbers in brushed nickel neutra font.
Dad is concerned that the numbers are too nice and "someone might steal them off the house." He says that a quick lever with a crowbar is all that would be required.
I explained that house numbers are not often stolen in North Seattle.
On the drive home we followed the route of the light rail from Seatac through Columbia City (we went to the farmers market there on the way and Dad bought vegetables for a big curry we are serving at our housewarming on Saturday.
He thought that an eggplant vegetarian curry would go well with the Malay spice blend he brought us.
He mentioned that last month people stole the powerlines from the high-speed rail in Gauteng and so it wouldn't go for a while.
I don't think we've had that happen here, yet. Still, sitting looking out my lovely big glass windows without any burglar bars, it does seem remarkably indulgent, like hothouse flowers, to live behind glass.
As I type, Wren calls "where ARE you?" He is experiencing separation anxiety and likes to know where I am at all times. Having a bigger house with many rooms is a big concern because he doesn't know if I am in "the office" or "Downstairs" or "in the bedroom" or "in the living room."
Yesterday, while I was cleaning the house in anticipation of Dad's arrival, Wren lost me for 5 minutes. I had been in the 'formal' sitting room where he had not thought to look. Crying, he declared "but nobody EVER GOES IN THAT ROOM!"
Ah, the luxury of space. The tyranny of it.
