Room with a View

After something shy of two years here, Mr. Muscato and I are more or less at home in what is, I suppose, the Villa Muscato 2.0 (which is actually, when I think about it, the fourth place, not counting temporary boltholes, that we've shared).  In our franker moments, we've agreed, though, that while it's pleasant enough (and what with being provided gratis by Golden Handcuffs Consulting, LLC, and all, we really oughtn't complain), it's not a patch on its predecessor, back there in that other Sandland that we used to live in.

That house grows ever lovelier in memory, with its shaded front garden, its boasting of not one but three pantries, its french doors onto the upstairs balcony, its ideal location a block from the sea...

Fortunately, we can keep an excess of nostalgia at bay by reminding ourselves as well of its tiny bedrooms, its tragic bathrooms (burnt orange?  Really?), and that damn step beteen the dining and drawing rooms that were the Waterloo of many a slightly tipsy caller.

So we try and focus on what we do like about where we find ourselves - that we're handy, for example, to several pleasant restaurants, that the kitchen's very practical, and that we have a very comfortable square sitting room upstairs with room for chairs for both dogs (along with, as almost an afterthought, a place for Mr. Muscato's easy chair and my sofa (what?  I'm a sprawler)  and the view you see above.  We look across a park, one of many that dot this city that seems at time almost lunatically committed to ignoring that it sits at the edge of one of the most arid places on earth and completely, but completely, lacks that most important thing in keeping sweeping lawns and floral borders going, fresh water.  At sunset, it's really rather pretty, and with a minimal amount of squinting, you'd never now that we're thisclose to downtown...