From 1990 to 2005, I lived exclusively in dorms and apartments – with one exception. For a little over a year, I lived in an aging house in a suburban neighborhood in Arlington. And the thing I keep coming back to with that house is the porch.
It was necessary. The house had no central air conditioning, so the one window unit was dedicated to keeping the bedroom tolerable. With no fog or marine layer, the “open windows at night to cool off” was minimally effective – and with enough tree cover to make DirecTV a nonstarter, there was shade over the flat porch above the garage. I bought some sort of Adirondack-type lounge chair at a wine festival, and just like that, there was a place to recline with a cigar and a bottle of cider, with fresh air and a breeze and maybe sun, maybe shade, depending on season and leaf coverage.
It occurs to me that’s the only time I had that. The dorms never really had outdoor space and the apartments never had balconies, and while my house this last decade has a porch, it’s narrow and doesn’t have legroom or reclining space. And let’s face it, cigars probably aren’t happening in Northern California in a tight-packed neighborhood like this.
But it occurs to me that some of the things I miss most about DC are things like my porch, or my then-girlfriend’s balcony, or the rooftop deck at the 18th Street Lounge, or the patio space at the Mudd House or Mackey’s or the 4th Estate. Maybe what I need is some good old-fashioned alfresco drinking with the gang, assuming a suitable venue can be found that isn’t overrun with skinny-britches techbags.