Four in the afternoon in winter. Nobody warns you that narrow lots can create dark tunnels. The middle of the home gives up and goes grey by mid afternoon. So there is a second courtyard cut in off the kitchen, dropping daylight into the exact spot that would otherwise need a lamp on at four. You won’t notice it the day you walk through. You’ll notice it every winter afterwards.
Six in the evening, and the kitchen faces the room rather than the wall. Family, dining, and the courtyard past them, all aligned. Whoever is cooking is still part of it.
Friday, and there are people over. They come in the front, and the powder room is right there by the entry, so nobody wanders down toward your bedroom looking for a toilet. Your half of the house stays your half, which is something you only appreciate the first time it isn’t.
Nine at night. Kids upstairs, you down. Not a wall between you. A floor.
And on the weekend you actually leave, because there is nothing here that needs mowing, watering, or using up your valuable free time.
