After 800-900 miles of traipsing around New England and upstate New York, we are back in White Plains, in a bachelor pad for two Yankees dominated by the trappings of a woman from Mississippi. Susan lived here for a long time and then -- after her daughter Allison started having kids down in Austin and unable to get George to move, to have faith that he would ever have a team of attendants who could take care of him as well as his current team (and this is 95% Sam, I'm pretty sure), she hied off to Texas. Understandably so, mind you. It was a miracle she ever came and shared as much of her life as she did with George.
But it is funny to live amongst all of her stuff. Big prints of flowers on the walls with gilded frames. A little piano no one ever plays. A pretty sizeable Noah's Ark off in the corner.
It doesn't bother Rob and George, mind you. It seems entirely natural and honestly probably comforting to George, I think, and for Rob.... well, Rob cleaned out Larchmont, at least 80-85% by himself. I think the prospect of emptying another house of the belongings of a woman is the last thing he'd ever want to do again. And if he emptied it, he'd have to fill it with other stuff, which would be so deeply contrary to his nature that it defies description. As far as things go, Rob is a pure minimalist -- with the exception of gadgets and athletic equipment and shoes, which he accumulates in reasonable but modest quantities, relative to your average American male.
Certainly I'm glad to be back here. I have come to appreciate this little love seat in the sun/piano room, whatever you call this space to the left of the front door. And also the armchair in the corner of our bedroom, and the wildflowers Rob has "cultivated" out back. There are places to stretch out before hitting the road once more.
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