Looking into Windows of Other People's Houses

1.

Crystoscopophila: the urge to look into other people's windows when passing by.

I am a crytoscopophile who glances in open windows at night.

I don't go out of my way to look.  I don't stand at the window like a peeping tom.  But if the windows are open to passersby, I'm  curious.  

2. 

Sometimes a bite of cake, a gesture, three notes of a song--just about anything--can unearth a memory so deep in the bank that it's almost totally forgotten.  This happened to me last night when I moved a lamp from the bathroom to the kitchen.

It wasn't the lamp, per se, it was the way it reflected in the window glass.  It looked kind or romantic and mysterious, like the lamps you might see passing by.  

3. 

As you can see, the windows are installed but not yet framed.  The installer has been sick all week and the job is in limbo. For a week, the front rooms have been virtually empty, me keeping the space ready for  completion.  Sheets have been spread over the furniture, concrete dust coating the floors. 

Messiness makes me crazy.  So after Jan's arborist hauled away enough sad limbs from my driveway to build a whole new tree, I asked Sergio, the yard man, to help me put everything back in place.  And then I mopped and dusted and peeled the stickers off the glass.  The lamp was the final touch.  

4.

The memory that evoked goes back 36 years--when I rode with a "friend" to pick up her daughter from the swimming pool at the end of my street.

To get to the pool from her house, we had to have driven past my current house.  

5.

It was dark already. As usual, I couldn't resist looking into the windows of houses as I passed by.  Every window had a story to tell--or offered a piece of my idealized fantasy of happiness. 

So it's entirely possible that I glanced at the lights glowing from the windows of this very house.  I might have seen lamps lit in Jan's house--long before it was Jan's house. 

I remember saying out loud: this is exactly the kind of street I'd like to live on!  I loved that all the houses in the "cottage district"( when they were actually cottage-sized) were all different colors and styles.  I was intrigued with the concept of a neighborhood--and with the peacefulness of these quiet tree-lined streets.

6.

My marriage was unraveling  that night she drove me down Ogden Lane.  Lots of walking on eggshells.  Lots of long silences.  

In my imagination, every house was a happy house--families talking amiably over dinner, couples starting first homes.  All was cozy, easy going, nobody walking on eggshells.  

A single lamp in a window could illuminate my imagination, could flesh out the picture of the life I might have on this very street. 

7.

Ten years later, another friend was helping me find a place to rent.  Just as we were passing this house, the owner was putting a For Rent sign in the yard.  We turned around to take a look. My hands were trembling as I signed the lease on the ugliest house on the street.

The rest is history.  A short-term rental became my permanent home, my play house, my forever changing canvas.

8.

Without knowing it yet, the woman whose daughter was a swimmer was more than just a colleague to my then-husband.  I thought she was joking when she said she "had a crush" on him. 

After our divorce, they no longer had to pretend otherwise. 

Over the years I've seen them together at birthday parties, recitals and rodeos.  They never married or  moved in together, but she bought a house next door to his.  They share a dog and go places together.  

For years, I avoided her.  I stood as far away as possible and couldn't even bear to make eye contact with her. 

8.

After a while, the burden of anger got too heavy and I let it go.  I had built a life that was a way better fit for me than the one I had before.  I didn't want the one they had. Or the seven acres and the house he'd built.  I wouldn't  have traded places with either of them.  

They seem reasonably companionable, she walking behind him (not holding hands or walking side by side) just as I used to do.  

9. 

This all bubbled up when I snapped the reflection of the lamp.  I wondered what a passerby might imagine if she glanced inside.