I love looking at Real Estate websites. I set the search parameters for location, price and whatever house details I choose for the day. Then, I peruse the pictures, dreaming of what it would be like to live within those walls. This is much cheaper than buying home decorating magazines and the pages I see don’t pile up in a nasty way.
It’s not that I don’t like my house, I do. She’s over 100 years old, a folk Victorian with shades of Craftsman thrown in. I have plenty of room, the 2,200 square feet is set out nicely and my stove is something I’ve dreamed of owning all my life. The town is quaint. I have nice and interesting neighbors. It’s convenient.
But my heart holds the DNA of a gypsy. I dream of other places, other walls, other windows from which to view my world.
Before my fire, I tour houses in Florida, Maine, California, my own town. I take screen shots of the rooms I love. Some of them end up as ideas for settings within my manuscripts.
Yesterday, I toured a $16,000,000 home with 14,000 square feet. I can picture Pepe taking a whole wing for himself!
I set my iPad down, stretch, and stare into the fire. Ah, it’s good to be home!