This American Life

I have a white picket fence.

It was never my dream possession or longed for house perimeter.  It just happened to be around my yard when I moved in to my Los Angeles home. Further setting me apart from the symbolic American norm is that what I love most about the fence is its lack of perfection ~ the peeling paint, the loose pickets and the incredible amount of yard grime that finds its way on top of every possible ledge.  To me that fence is more than a deterrent to neighborhood dogs and paparazzi ~ it has a life.  No, I’m not contact high on medical marijuana, I’m just crazy about metaphors.  And because when I look at that fence every day I am reminded that a life without layers of rippling texture, dirt and a little flexibility certainly isn’t as interesting as the ideally imagined one.  At least not for this American life.

© Jennifer Dowd 


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