Living on the Inside

My boyfriend's house is the coolest. It's centuries old, the basement and kitchen dating back to George Washington's time- he allegedly frequented the stables that were on the grounds in the late 1700's. With most of the house rebuilt in the mid 1800s, and additions built throughout the 20th century, Mt. Erin's eclectic presence holds the history of not only the evolution of the country, being one of the oldest properties in the Washington, D.C. area, but the history of being a home. Every room is different, exciting, hopelessly broken in, and creepy in its own way.

One of the first impressions I had of the house was the downstairs living room, which I have affectionately nicknamed the Jungle Room. In the winter, Joseph's mom brings in ALL the outdoor plants- there is an extensive collection- so that they flourish throughout the winter together in one room. The room is part of a 1970's addition to the house, the front wall all glass, giving its winter persona a greenhouse look. The first time I walked into the jungle room, I had a feeling I'd seen it somewhere before.

There is a Michael Franks song about a relationship that's perfectly compatible- he sings about the way the a couple does things- separately or together- and how it just seems to fit: "I play my scales, and you protect the whales..." For some reason when I hear the song Living on the Inside, listening to Michael Franks sing about staying inside with the one he loves on a rainy day has always given me a mental image of a room filled with greenery, lined with windows so that there's a feeling of being in nature, but being sheltered from it by the comfort of the indoors, a blanket, and the warmth of the companionship of someone you love. In fact, I had seen the jungle room before, in own imagination!