Kinross Lane, by Richard Hartwell
Monday, March 26 2012 @ 12:00 AM MST
Views: 604
Views: 604
How to figure out how much living space you really have, by one of our regular contributors. Humor Editor
Kinross Lane, by Richard Hartwell
I live in a house on Kinross Lane. Pleasant sounding, as if it invites you to stop and chat on the front porch, which it doesn’t have, or to visit over a picket fence, which it also doesn’t have.
What it does have, besides Sally and me and our children, Jaime and Joshua, is Joshua’s ex-wife and baby, Catrina and Ca’Jaya at twenty months, and their thirteen-year-old son Te’Juan, going on fourteen, or sometimes forty. It also has the ghosts of two dead dogs, one dead cat, and even a dead pet snake, all buried outside in the backyard or in a brass urn or polished mahogany boxes, but I don’t think the ghosts, if there are any, take up too much space or air.
It’s a larger house than the apartment five of us moved from in Tustin -- technically 1,498 square feet, which includes living room, family room, kitchen, dining alcove, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a laundry room. It fitted us so well, 24 years ago when we moved in. The children were in their rooms, and Sally and I were in the master suite. It’s shrunk since then. Now we each have less than 180 square feet to ourselves, less if you count the cats.
Let’s see, if every breathing entity in the house is counted, 18 as of the moment, if my math skills haven’t deserted me in my declining years, then each of us now has slightly over 83 square feet of living space. This, of course, isn’t a completely accurate accounting; often I have two cats in my lap and then there is the dog – did I mention the new daschund? – supposedly outside. Anyway, it’s not so much a matter of square footage as of breathing space, cubic footage.
However, the house has steeply slanted ceilings so I think a reasonable average might be about 10 feet; I’m being generous. So . . . 1,498 square feet times 9 feet in height, then divided by 7 humans, comes out to 1,926 cubic feet of breathing space. Seems far better than the International Space Station! Ooooorrr . . . divided by 18 breathing creatures, only some of which are sentient beings, results in 749 cubic feet of personal air. Perhaps a bit less than most penal living quarters, which actually seems appropriate, now that I think of it.
I’m very glad I’ve run the numbers. I’m convinced the dog should stay inside. In order to promote peace in the family, maintain a higher level of human kindness for the canine and feline occupants (not to mention my kith ‘n kin), and to clear my mind for higher-level thinking, I will forego my 749 cubic feet and move to the “open air” back patio. I’m not at all certain that I will have sufficient breathing space, but I’ll try.
Kinross Lane, by Richard Hartwell
I live in a house on Kinross Lane. Pleasant sounding, as if it invites you to stop and chat on the front porch, which it doesn’t have, or to visit over a picket fence, which it also doesn’t have.
What it does have, besides Sally and me and our children, Jaime and Joshua, is Joshua’s ex-wife and baby, Catrina and Ca’Jaya at twenty months, and their thirteen-year-old son Te’Juan, going on fourteen, or sometimes forty. It also has the ghosts of two dead dogs, one dead cat, and even a dead pet snake, all buried outside in the backyard or in a brass urn or polished mahogany boxes, but I don’t think the ghosts, if there are any, take up too much space or air.
It’s a larger house than the apartment five of us moved from in Tustin -- technically 1,498 square feet, which includes living room, family room, kitchen, dining alcove, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a laundry room. It fitted us so well, 24 years ago when we moved in. The children were in their rooms, and Sally and I were in the master suite. It’s shrunk since then. Now we each have less than 180 square feet to ourselves, less if you count the cats.
Let’s see, if every breathing entity in the house is counted, 18 as of the moment, if my math skills haven’t deserted me in my declining years, then each of us now has slightly over 83 square feet of living space. This, of course, isn’t a completely accurate accounting; often I have two cats in my lap and then there is the dog – did I mention the new daschund? – supposedly outside. Anyway, it’s not so much a matter of square footage as of breathing space, cubic footage.
However, the house has steeply slanted ceilings so I think a reasonable average might be about 10 feet; I’m being generous. So . . . 1,498 square feet times 9 feet in height, then divided by 7 humans, comes out to 1,926 cubic feet of breathing space. Seems far better than the International Space Station! Ooooorrr . . . divided by 18 breathing creatures, only some of which are sentient beings, results in 749 cubic feet of personal air. Perhaps a bit less than most penal living quarters, which actually seems appropriate, now that I think of it.
I’m very glad I’ve run the numbers. I’m convinced the dog should stay inside. In order to promote peace in the family, maintain a higher level of human kindness for the canine and feline occupants (not to mention my kith ‘n kin), and to clear my mind for higher-level thinking, I will forego my 749 cubic feet and move to the “open air” back patio. I’m not at all certain that I will have sufficient breathing space, but I’ll try.