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Sooo good to be home again.
No, that’s not my house–it’s a sliver of ivy-covered autumnal tower from the Bavarian castle with wonderful wifi. And I don’t miss it, not one little bit. I’m back in the stolid brick Cambridge house that has all my own dear stuff inside it, including my very own bedroom and bookshelves and bathtub. Ahhhhhh! Which reminds me of one of my favorite stories about my somewhat-irascible Grandpa Devine. |
Long, long ago, in the late fifties or early sixties, I happened to be visiting his stolid brick NH house when he got what was then a very unusual phone call.
I heard only one side of it–his side–which went something like this:”Yes….yes…yes…WHAT?”
“I beg your pardon?”….
“This house? Do I want to remodel this house?”…
“Madame, have you ever seen my house?”…
“No, I didn’t think so. If you had, you would never have made such a phone call. This house doesn’t need to be remodeled, any more than the TAJ MAHAL!”…
“Good DAY, Madame.”
I’m so glad to be home, in my very own Taj Mahal.