Our first house was in the city.  It had a beautiful albeit tiny backyard.  This view is from from the deck looking out toward the garage. 

On my way to meet Bradley for coffee at my all-time favorite coffee+free wireless spot in Richmond, I swung by the old house (built in 1934).  The house looks much the same with upgraded window treatments and a freshly washed front porch.  I realize time makes one nostalgic, but if I could suddenly be 28 again (and 118 pounds!), living childless in that house, I would - for a couple of weeks.  Just as the house I reside in has become a symbol of the things I would like to fix, our first house on W. 45th Street symbolizes a time in my life when I actually felt settled and in control.

When I first met co-worker and future friend Bill at Witt Mares, we connected when we realized we were both real estate nerds.  I’m the type of person that could spend my weekends going through open houses in the city and dreaming.  I love architecture and originality.  I love looking for the little hidden details in older houses.  My favorite part of Laura’s house is the little tiny door between the living room and master bedroom where the phone used to be.  He pointed me to new areas of the city I wasn’t aware of, and even today, I’ll browse the real estate websites in my favorite zip codes. 

Being at Crossroads was another reminder of why I love the area so much.  The place was packed, even at 10.30 on a Wednesday morning.  Most of the customers knew each other - and most called the staff by their first names. It’s dog friendly which works well for the neighborhood, since it seems to be a prerequisite that you own some form of canine to live there.  It has an earthy, unpretentious air.  Even the Target near my current house is snooty. 

I felt a sense of community living there.  Neighbors were friendly and watched out for you, but without stalking you (mostly).  There was no pretention - but that might have been because the houses around us weren’t exactly pricey.  I miss that community.  Staying at Laura’s reminded me of that, and is probably one of the reasons I felt immediately comfortable in her home.  Instead of talking about someone’s new size 0 jeans or the cashmere wrap they picked up “for a STEAL!”, we talked about local politics or the economy or the amazing amount of leaves those big hundred year old oaks dropped in the fall. 

Nothing’s perfect, but I’ve always loved Richmond’s warty city center. I love the mixture of grime and history, white and black, safe and dangerous, beautiful and decaying.  Out in the suburbs, everything is bleached and sterilized and served up in prepackaged designer cups. 

Sitting at an outdoor table while Bradley slowly killed himself with cancer sticks cigarettes, I people-watched and missed my old neighborhood, as they say in the South, somethin’ fierce.