Monday, January 28, 2008
My family came for dinner tonight.
They drove up to this suburban haven of large houses, double garages, and vast swathes of lawns from the city.
They remarked on the silence - quiet wealth makes no sound.
The trees are carefully landscaped and calibrated to enhance the neighbourhood. White birch, low slung colourful shrubbery and precise flowerbeds carved out of eye-hurting emerald green lawns.
There are no sidewalks.
Every house has got security and has picturesque ye olde outdoor lighting.
The front windows are all in darkness.
There is never any life on this street.
I assume any life takes place in the back of the house.
SUVs (and they are nearly all SUVS) are shunted quietly into the double garages and the doors slide remotely shut.
I imagine the installation of an outdoor clothesline would be a valid enough reason to execute the perpetrator.
I am a brand new inhabitee of this lofty citadel (nearly a month now) and no neighbour has come to call. One cannot meet them on the street as they are never outside. They slide into their SUVs from inside their garages and glide away to shop, to dine, to attend theatre one surmises.
There is no local shop to walk to even if there was a sidewalk. The nearest park is over a mile away. There is nothing to look at apart from across the street at another house similar in grandeur to one's own.
We discussed the sadness of it all, my family and I. And felt grateful none of us had ever consciously chosen to live in such expensive, soulless isolation.