Anyway, the last couple years I had this analogy that I kept thinking about. It is the white picket fence, the wife, dog and two kids by the civil war/victorian style Americana house. Yeah, its that, but if you say 'american dream' I might turn around and walk away. I had (have?) so many issues with this dream. First off, if you see one of these picturesque houses, its usually in a row of identical (except the trim) looking houses in a neighborhood of clone houses. I hate being in these places. Its like playing 'Where's Waldo' when EVERYONE is identical to Waldo.
However, my analogy has to do with that white picket fence. Why a fence? To keep the dog in? Maybe. To mark my territory? Maybe. To keep others out? Maybe. But it seems to have that affect. This is mine, you stay out. This bothers me. I don't want people to feel unwelcome to my home. if you want to be around me then come on over. So the white fence became to me everything that keeps us lonely, everything that keeps each other at arms length, everything that keeps us unable to live life together. Instead, we simple interact over the fence when we notice someone is there.
How sad.
I won't say I've overcome this isolationism. Having left the open Great Plains for the tightly packed East Coast cities, I miss the yards and resulting privacy they provide. People still don't often just drop by for a chat and tea (maybe I'm dreaming of an idealized time that never existed) but I do feel some development.
But among a group of friends, 'mi casa es su casa' is more than just a phrase to be penned in fancy calligraphy and hung just inside the door. This group of friends have regularly answered the door- as though it was there own house. They have given 'the tour' with the gate and confidence of one who lives there. They spend the night when its convient. They share dinner and know their way around our kitchen. And I love it.
No longer is my house, just my house.
My house is our house.
