Not that there seems to be anyone left to hear my small voice, but
I've been thinking about how long my house is going to last.  Sagging beams,
wood floors cracking, the whole row sliding inexorably downhill, not to far from
the ash-filled creek bed running under 43rd St.  I'm still fixing up my house so
that it's a nice place to live, for the here and now.  But I think I'm going to
outlive it.  I'm not thinking of my house as an investment like a lot of baby
boomers do; I just need a place to live for the next 50 years or so and a house
is cheaper and more comfortable for me than an apartment.  I hope it lasts until
I'm ready to move to the nursing home in 2050 and L&I isn't forced to kick me
and my neighbors out before that.  It may not have any resale value in 2050 when
the floors will be slanting like a highway exit ramp, so in order to pay the
nursing home I'm going to have to invest in stocks, not architecturally pure
porch railings that may not keep up with inflation.  The dry-creek ash bed we
now call 43rd St. runs right through the proposed district.  Thinking that we're
saving the architectural integrity of these houses for all eternity is ignoring
the reality that these houses, like our own bodies, will rightfully return to
dust someday.   I bet there's no one my age on any of the committees working on
the HD plan.  I know the HD people think they're doing my generation a favor by
preserving architectural purity.  I gotta tell you, my generation has more
important things to worry about.
Holly Hotchkiss


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