According to my niece Lindsay, my sister and I were expected to grow old alone and then move in together during our twilight years.
This was supposed to be us in fifty years: two old maids and our little dog.
We would have had so much fun together, doing each other’s hair and ironing our voluminous dresses and drinking sherry and playing Scrabble late into the night. (She’s a top-notch Scrabble player, by the way, but I’m a bit better.)
But now she’s gone and gotten herself married, so I need a new 50-year plan.
I could always become an eccentric cat lady, I suppose. Or I could move to Seattle and buy the house next door to Steve Bard. I corresponded with Steve a couple of years ago when he was looking for a wife, but he said I wasn’t weird enough for him. (That was a first.) He gave me a few tips, though, on how to improve:
“Collecting assorted antique stuff and photos of dead people is an excellent start on the path to true weirdness. I only have a few antique post-mortem photos, but I have several wonderful books full of dead people posed like they are still alive or just sleeping. Next on the path you need to develop an obsession with sideshow freaks, collecting original photos and books about them — also, you might enjoy old electrical quack-medical gadgets, that actually have a more of titilating than theraputic effect . . . oh, and Victorian hair wreaths . . .”
Little did he know I already collect most of those things, just not on the same scale as him. But I don’t think anybody collects anything on the same scale as Steve Bard.
The virtual tour of Steve’s uniquely bizarre house is one of those legendary can’t-miss websites.
Popular Posts