Do you ever wonder if the famous Mr. Blandings, who once upon a time built his dream house, was ever unfaithful? To his house, I mean. (How could Cary Grant ever leave Myrna Loy?) For some time, I’ve felt a twinge of guilt upon observing (lusting after?) this neighbor’s house while driving by, and ever more slowly each time. There’s something so appealing about its starkness, its pristine white paint job, its prideful stance in the middle of a field. The lines are simple, classic, symmetrical and elegant and I sometimes picture myself there. But then reality hits and I return to my senses and my own dream house. All is well, I didn’t go too far. Well, at least until the next time I get behind the wheel.
Photos by Joel Woodard