Other People’s Houses

I blogged earlier this week about trying to be more grateful, and most days I am particularly grateful for the small but comfortable home I inhabit. Ironic, then, that I should find myself feeling pangs of House Envy this afternoon.

This year, Atlanta’s Ansley Park Home Tour was exclusively devoted to houses designed by famed early-20th-century Atlanta architect Neil Reid. Because the library I now manage is located on the edge of the neighborhood – and because I’ve long deemed Ansley Park as the neighborhood containing the city’s most beautiful houses, I decided to do this year’s tour.

I expected to be impressed, and I certainly was.  True, there were way too many heavily-draped windows and there was more silver and more cut crystal than I would personally care to have around, but, hey, I could imagine actually living in these relatively modest-sized places – unlike some of the downright elephantine homes in other neighborhoods around town that I’ve toured. 

Not only could I imagine living in most of these homes, I found myself in a few cases yearning to possess and inhabit them.   Certainly more than once, I found myself helplessly flashing on the title of a book published earlier this year entitled Life Would Be Perfect If I Lived in That House.

(On the proverbial other hand, tucked away in a corner of a gorgeous bedroom of one of these houses was a framed version of the Serenity Prayer. Was the house’s owner a veteran of Alcoholics Anonymous, I immediately wondered? And if so, perhaps the lives of at least some of the people inhabiting these lavishly-appointed homes are not as charming and perfect as their houses appear? Such are the mean-spirited fantasies of the envious, I suppose.)

Under the mesmerizing spell these half-dozen drool-worthy dens, kitchens, and sun porches, I couldn’t stop myself from obsessing about what kinds of people live in these places, and places like them all over town, and in virtually every town.  As the afternoon wore on and I trotted into ever-more-spectacular – and spectacularly comfortable and pleasing – rooms, I began feeling more and more…morose. Who knew that anyone could be wealthy enough to own so many paintings? So many sculptures? So many Persian carpets? So many chandeliers? So many sets of china? So many books? Wandering sheepishly and bedazzled through the staggering wealth on display, I felt like I was visiting from another planet, not from another (and far humbler) neighborhood across town.

Still, it was pleasant to learn that great wealth can be channeled by gifted architects and designers into truly beautiful domestic spaces – instead of into something garish or unwelcoming.  Somebody should be living in houses like Reid’s, so even if it ain’t me, I’m glad somebody is.

Meanwhile, I feel lucky to be able to gaze upon these houses every day as I scooter to and from work , and lucky to be able to have peeked inside a half-dozen houses whose exteriors I’ve admired from afar for decades now. After all, these magnificent non-grandiose houses might have been torn down years ago and replaced by another half-dozen uninspired McMansions, but Reid’s houses are still there, being enjoyed, and for that we should all be glad.

One thought on “Other People’s Houses

  1. I solace myself by remembering anything you own you have to maintain. I would never be finished dusting the crystal or polishing the silver but then I am not thinking rich am I? If I were that rich I would have someone else to do my dirty work. It all works better in fantasy and thanks for sharing yours.

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