So, there’s this house.
I don’t know the owners and I’ve never actually been inside, but I can say with absolute certainty that I’ve never given any other house this much thought in my life.
So, this house, it’s not a bad little number. It’s painted a soft yellow and looks nicely kept by whomever calls it home, but there’s something mildly haunting about it. No, haunting isn’t the word. Confusing? Intriguing? Maybe, it’s a combination of all three… and then probably some other fancier vocabulary words that I ain’t done know’d.
So, this house. Like, I said, it’s painted a soft yellow and in fact, looks quite nice really, but the thing is, it directly abuts an incredibly busy, 4-lane section of I-40W. And when I say abuts, I’m not just saying it to get a cheap laugh – I mean a stiff breeze could blow this house into traffic. The front door might as well be in the breakdown lane.
But that’s not all.
Not only is this house permanently face-to-face with oncoming traffic, but its backyard is a Port-O-Potty dispensary.
So, there’s this house. This little, yellow house, sandwiched between a major US highway and Blinker-Lite Port-A-Pot. It should be the place where all hope goes to die, right? With an unhappy owner who shakes his fist at unruly youths loitering near his property and turns his porch lights off on Halloween?
But here’s the thing – it’s not like that at all. This house, this little yellow house squashed in between hundreds of used toilets and miles of asphalt, that I drive by every day on my way home, is always brightly lit. It is always immaculately groomed. And it is always, always decorated for an upcoming holiday. Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Christmas, Halloween, Arbor Day – you name it. This little yellow house is always all dolled up and rockin’ it for whatever festivities lay ’round the corner. The decorations aren’t over-the-top or overly glamorous, but they are there, without fail, come hell or high water.
So, there’s this house. This house that should be the worst house in Nashville. This house that should be a depressing quagmire of exhaust fumes and formaldehyde. But it’s not that at all; it’s an oasis. A break in the monotony. And for me, a constant reminder that even when you’re stuck between some shit and a hard place, you can always take life in your own hands and put some damn tinsel on it.