We talked last week about my experiences with the nouveau riche, let's talk a little about the other class. The real people, beset by real problems but a whole lot more interesting than their "monied" cousins.
We responded to a couple of other estate calls last week. After we had settled down from our lecture by the trophy wife with the priceless silver collection we arrived at a low-key tract home in the East Bay area. Although it had none of the pretense of the "gated" household, this place too was a total wreck.
At least half of it was.
Throughout the home's six rooms a line had been painted. At some times imaginary, in some parts of the house - an actual white line. On one side of the room, the mess I mentioned and a decidedly male collection of guns, deer heads, tools and other items. The other side had a distinctly feminine feeling to it.
My host was in his early 40s. He was watching me take it all in.
"My parent's house," he said with a shrug. "They were divorced for the last 15 years of their marriage but continued to live together anyway. Probably didn't know any other way."
It was a strange feeling being inside that house, but it had a quirky sensibility to it I liked.
"Dad stayed on his side of the place, mom on hers," the son told me. "The strange thing of it was they both seemed happier that way."
It was a cool story and a great housecall. I ended up buying several things. But I can't seem to shake the memories of those two people, and wonder if they have a line drawn between them up in heaven.
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