I just got back from an hour long walk with Berlin through the suburban neighborhood that our apartment complex is set in. I started off the walk contemplating the couple thousand dollars it will cost us to repave our driveway this spring. Such are the concerns of a woman adjusting to home ownership.
It’s a rainy fall day, and something about how it smelled brought me back to where I was six months ago. Around this time every evening, I would have gone outside to the unofficial dog park to chat with other dog owners as our puppies played together. It was always the highlight of my day. I miss it, in fact. I wonder if the dogs would remember Berlin if they saw her?
And on rainy fall days like this, I would walk down to the bus stop, right across from a mom and pop Italian bakery that made the world’s best stromboli, and I’d commute into the city with all of the familiar 9-5 strangers. I wonder about the girl who used to take the 101 with me… the girl with the great hair. I wonder what she’s up to these days. I wonder if she also picked up and moved halfway across the country to a place where people spend $300 on a pair of cowboy boots.
Six months ago, I might have spent a day like today around the corner at the local coffee shop with one of my dearest friends, laptops open and getting refills on our mochas. To get to the shop, we’d walk past my doctor’s office and my hairdresser. And past the liquor store with a great wine selection that I discovered too late.
That was fun.
But you know what else will be fun? When that driveway is paved it will loop around into the backyard. And Matt wants to put up a basketball hoop. Last time Matt and I played basketball I schooled him. For reals.
And even though we’ll be living in the city proper, we still have nearly an acre of fenced in backyard. My evenings won’t be spent in the unofficial dog park, but they’ll be spent playing fetch in Berlin’s yard. And I think a year from now… next fall, we’ll be sitting outside in the backyard around a bonfire with some friends singing “American Pie” and stuffing our faces with smores.
I miss you, Medford, but I gotta be honest. I’d take smores over stromboli any day.
