Landed Gentry
Much to our shock, the bank has announced that we've got such excellent credit ratings* that we're eligible not only for the mortgage and the swing loan but some scary loan concerning marginal border liminal risky transactions. Not bloody likely, is what we said -- it's bad enough, as far as we're concerned, having the mortgage at all, let alone that second one, without borrowing yet more money and going off to play a stock market we understand not. It gives us Dickensian visions.
But Deborah, the department secretary, disagrees. Not because she thinks we'd be good at playing the stock market, no no, she figures, as we do, that we'd suck at it -- no, she LIKES the Dickensian vision, and shares it, and indeed takes it further -- we're buying the equivalent of an aristocratic landed gentry property, in the middle of a little English village, as far as she's concerned, and we're SUPPOSED to live a hand-to-mouth existence, surviving bravely and decorously, with fortitude, keeping up the old standards, God bless us, surrounded by tacky prosperity.
I suspect she thinks the neighbors should bring us bushels of turnips, in their charitable attempt to help the failing aristocrats keep up the old ways, but she'll have to keep dreaming, on account of I don't believe they're allowed vegetable gardens.
We discovered that the surrounding development has Covenants, whereby their outward decorum is regulated. We've yet to discover all the rules, though believe me, I'd like to know them. We ourselves will not be governed by them, as we are not part of The Development. But if we were, we know that we wouldn't be allowed to build any outbuildings on the property unless they were built out of the same material as our house itself (the child pointed out that this would be quite a hardship in our case, as we'd have to build everything half out of logs and half out of bricks); we suspect we'd be required to keep our garage door closed, assuming we had one, which we don't; and if the community is anything like the one my brother once lived in, we would not be allowed to keep pink flamingos on the lawn.
It's a good thing the Bears' House isn't part of that development, cause the first thing I'd do is go buy a passle of pink flamingos and stick them on the lawn, and then open up the non-existent garage door and leave for the day. Even though I don't particularly want any pink flamingos, and agree that a garage door looks better closed. I'm just ornery.
As it is, I'm deeply deeply gratified by the idea of owning a visually unregulated property in the midst of Rules, and am looking forward to the many, many years to come.
Heh heh.
When the development was put in, the current owners of the Bears' House were GIVEN -- for FREE -- 30 feet of ground in the front of the house, for the express purpose of keeping the new road away from the building. This allows for some trees and greenery in the front, so that the house is not that visible from the street.
I thought, at the time, that this was simply kindness on the part of the people who were selling land to the developers, and a measure of the community's fondness for the old homestead (see Deborah's vision, above).
Now, alas, I suspect that the conversation leading up to this gift was all about how the developers could best keep the quirky old house from ruining the look of all the giant expensive cookie-cutter houses.*
Deborah sent me a link to an article from the New York Times concerning, as she put it, my new neighbors. I can see that she's envisioning Bears' Retreat as the sacred center of The Development, the bothersome yet tolerated stronghold of ancient and nearly forgotten customs and values, the historic museum-piece of Inglefield Estates.
She'll be giving me mob caps and calico aprons for Christmas.
Fair enough, Deborah, but I'll have to draw the line at the pink flamingos.
**************************
*This has us baffled, really. We told truth on the application, but suspect that the bank didn't ask all the right questions. We've got a few things we think they could well have asked -- but have decided not to call up and volunteer this.
**Ok, not REALLY cookie-cutter, in that the first owners get to choose from a host, a veritable host, of house plans and variations. Still and nevertheless. The houses all look alike.
But Deborah, the department secretary, disagrees. Not because she thinks we'd be good at playing the stock market, no no, she figures, as we do, that we'd suck at it -- no, she LIKES the Dickensian vision, and shares it, and indeed takes it further -- we're buying the equivalent of an aristocratic landed gentry property, in the middle of a little English village, as far as she's concerned, and we're SUPPOSED to live a hand-to-mouth existence, surviving bravely and decorously, with fortitude, keeping up the old standards, God bless us, surrounded by tacky prosperity.
I suspect she thinks the neighbors should bring us bushels of turnips, in their charitable attempt to help the failing aristocrats keep up the old ways, but she'll have to keep dreaming, on account of I don't believe they're allowed vegetable gardens.
We discovered that the surrounding development has Covenants, whereby their outward decorum is regulated. We've yet to discover all the rules, though believe me, I'd like to know them. We ourselves will not be governed by them, as we are not part of The Development. But if we were, we know that we wouldn't be allowed to build any outbuildings on the property unless they were built out of the same material as our house itself (the child pointed out that this would be quite a hardship in our case, as we'd have to build everything half out of logs and half out of bricks); we suspect we'd be required to keep our garage door closed, assuming we had one, which we don't; and if the community is anything like the one my brother once lived in, we would not be allowed to keep pink flamingos on the lawn.
It's a good thing the Bears' House isn't part of that development, cause the first thing I'd do is go buy a passle of pink flamingos and stick them on the lawn, and then open up the non-existent garage door and leave for the day. Even though I don't particularly want any pink flamingos, and agree that a garage door looks better closed. I'm just ornery.
As it is, I'm deeply deeply gratified by the idea of owning a visually unregulated property in the midst of Rules, and am looking forward to the many, many years to come.
Heh heh.
When the development was put in, the current owners of the Bears' House were GIVEN -- for FREE -- 30 feet of ground in the front of the house, for the express purpose of keeping the new road away from the building. This allows for some trees and greenery in the front, so that the house is not that visible from the street.
I thought, at the time, that this was simply kindness on the part of the people who were selling land to the developers, and a measure of the community's fondness for the old homestead (see Deborah's vision, above).
Now, alas, I suspect that the conversation leading up to this gift was all about how the developers could best keep the quirky old house from ruining the look of all the giant expensive cookie-cutter houses.*
Deborah sent me a link to an article from the New York Times concerning, as she put it, my new neighbors. I can see that she's envisioning Bears' Retreat as the sacred center of The Development, the bothersome yet tolerated stronghold of ancient and nearly forgotten customs and values, the historic museum-piece of Inglefield Estates.
She'll be giving me mob caps and calico aprons for Christmas.
Fair enough, Deborah, but I'll have to draw the line at the pink flamingos.
**************************
*This has us baffled, really. We told truth on the application, but suspect that the bank didn't ask all the right questions. We've got a few things we think they could well have asked -- but have decided not to call up and volunteer this.
**Ok, not REALLY cookie-cutter, in that the first owners get to choose from a host, a veritable host, of house plans and variations. Still and nevertheless. The houses all look alike.
<< Home