« What Ever Happened? | Main | Everything in its right place »


I visited the home suburb this week. It was cleaner than I remembered, newer, lawns more manicured, pavement better durasealed. But walking by my grade school, good old George F. Smith, with its Spartan 50s (60s?) design, a little worse for the wear but utilitarian as ever, I realized that those crisp lines had always been a part of my surroundings. Is it any wonder that I'm a sucker for minimalism? We suburbanites are all children of Frank Lloyd Wright, I suppose.

Post a comment

(If you haven't left a comment here before, you may need to be approved by the site owner before your comment will appear. Until then, it won't appear on the entry. Thanks for waiting.)