we have to move to Philadelphia
I had many thoughts at the movie theater last night as my sister and I wept our way through the end of Marley & Me–thoughts about devotion and loyalty, about family and marriage, about pets I have loved and lost, about how much I love stories that validate my own life choices. But one of the strongest thoughts I had was, “I have to move to Philadelphia.”
I don’t think I’m spoiling anything important when I tell you that near the end, the family moves from a pretty normal-looking, suburban life in south Florida to an absolutely enormous and breathtaking stone house in Pennsylvania. And then adorable little snowball fights are happening, and like magic their whole house is full of fabulous antiques and warm fires and cocoa. And I was like, Okay. We’re moving.
So I went online to see what you could really find for yourself up there near Philly, and I typed in the fairly random maximum house price of 500,000. And shoowee, they’ve got some great old houses up North. Even if I can’t tell you the difference between Lansdowne Township or Cheltenham or Limerick, I can sure enjoy oggling those houses.
Okay, this one happens to be 600,000. But, hello? Built in 1890-ish, and look at the windows in this garden room:
Here are some others:
Of course, we can’t actually move. Partly because my whole fun family is right here in Texas and I want to be near them, and partly because I love the rich and layered experience of having deep roots (5th generation, baby!) right where I grew up. And the older I get, the more I love our big, friendly town of Houston.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t stay up late some nights shopping for houses I will never buy in places I’ll likely never visit.