Clean Country Air

When I finally arrived at Ohare last night after a four hour delay in New York, things went pretty smoothly. Our gate was ready, everybody deplaned quickly, and my taxi arrived within minutes of my call.

The driver knew what town I was going to, but his guess as to the street was two blocks off and worlds away. "Country Lane?" he asked.

Country Lane? Well that just gave me a chuckle, although I was flattered that he thought me to

be well-heeled and happy enough to live on such an idyllic street. On Country Lane, the flowers are lush, the white picket fences are freshly painted, and married folks live happily ever after. On Country Lane, everyone always seems to be smiling.

"No. Laurel," I admitted, rather sheepishly. Where the houses and the people are a bit more gritty and run down. Where, whenever there's a big storm, the neighborhood's highest percentage of trees and playground equipment and fences are felled. Things just seem a bit more dispensable on Laurel, a little less precious and protected than they are on Country Lane. All I know is if I park my double wide on Laurel, the tornado will come.

My husband's attorney is insisting that I sell my house -- well, actually, it's our house -- on Laurel. As a show of good faith, she says. I'm not really sure why I need to make a show of good faith, but, then again, I'm not very astute about these kinds of complicated legal maneuvers. I'm kind of hoping the court will issue an order to someone -- anyone -- to buy our house. A sort of show of good faith by humankind in general. Folks from a more idyllic street, perhaps, so they can see how the other half lives. It ain't pretty here on Laurel most of the time, but sometimes a little adversity is good for the soul.

God willing, the sale won't take long, and my daughter and I will finally be able to move into our double wide. Maybe I'll just violate a village ordinance or two and set it up on the idyllic lane two blocks south of here. Maybe some of the bliss will rub off.