M. Suzanne Terry

I have noticed my attitude about my neighborhood changing lately. And I am grateful.

Yes, it’s loud. Yes, that’s annoying.

Yes, it gets the short end of the stick (I’m looking at you, impending DME Substation. By “Other sites…weren’t viable,” they do seem to mean, “Other neighborhoods would have cost too much money to demolish. Let’s screw the low-income people.” Or at least that’s how it looks.)

It’s also multicultural. The loud music that vibrates my windows? I never know what it’s going to be. It could be country or bachata or rap. All of these things (and everything in between) ring through my neighborhood on a daily basis. And I think I’m the minority in my apartment building (numerically speaking, at least. The socio-cultural essence of minority status has little to do with the numbers).

It’s also within walking distance from my main job. That’s pretty convenient, even if I never, ever walk. Because Texas. And construction.

I dream of having a house with a yard so I can garden and have a grill. I would love to have room for a piano (and also a home with a ground floor on which to put it). I covet other people’s pantries and kitchens. But I have everything I need in my little apartment, and lately, I have found it charming.

So I’m going to stop procrastinating when it comes to things like putting up the towel rack in the bathroom and the coat rack by the door. I’m going to sweep off her stoop and buy her a new doormat. I am going to buy frames and hang more pictures. For the foreseeable future, I’m going to make my apartment my home.