Not far from me are some posh houses. Of course, we don’t call them that. We call them fancy. I didn’t know about them until last year when I took a studio tour that landed me in one of these posh houses looking at bad paintings and petting the artist’s cat.
There’s a big gap between the posh houses in my part of the country and the antediluvian mobile homes that sell for $1000 on Facebook and end up wrapped around a young family, struggling to make ends meet. “1976 mobile home, still on wheels, new water heater, new floor in kitchen, in good shape for its age.”
I am literally and figuratively between the two. For me, this summer, using my sprinkler system and having a kid that mowed my lawn every week was pretty posh. We were in a drought, and I didn’t want the grass to die completely. After hip surgery, I could neither drag the hose around or cut the lawn myself. I’ve since turned off the sprinkler and laid off the kid. Between him and the cost of water, it was too posh for me. Next year? I hope there’s no drought and probably twice a month is enough lawn mowing.
I’m not a socialist per se but I don’t understand greed or abject materialism. Much of our success in life (financial and otherwise) is due to sheer luck — where and when we were born and to whom. I think having enough is enough. I wonder how different our world would be if everyone shared that perspective. Having the means to buy art supplies and take a class did not make that woman in South Fork an artist. Who knows what unknown talents might lurk behind the eyes of the guy living in the beat-up trailer and working three jobs to feed his family.