Location, location, location.

The key to life, as a real estate agent would tell it, is where you live.

Nowadays it seems that is more true than ever. I'm not putting money down

on that theory, but lots do.

The house a person lives in

seems to be the measure of a person's worth. The address that people occupy

seems to be more about status than any other device. My theory here may

be a house of cards, but Fayette County, especially, needs to realize

that we live smack-dab in the middle of this distorted and perverted value

system.

Live in a big house if you

want to, but, my goodness, to do it just to feel superior? Very sad.

I was on a sales trip to Los

Angeles recently and a customer of mine simply asked me if I was rich.

I replied, "In Angola, I am."

It was one of my typical inane

comments that always tells people absolutely nothing about myself, but

it set me to thinking about how people always like to compare themselves.

This is the most boring part of adulthood, having to stand around with

people and talk about square footage, equity and property values. I would

rather fly Delta than be caught in that vacuum of mediocrity.

It seems odd to me that people

would set buying the right house as the ultimate goal in life. Getting

the right number of rooms and always getting at that extra one-half bathroom,

too.

Two bathrooms is never enough,

three bathrooms is never enough. We always have to be able to say, with

an elitist edge to our voice, "Four bedroom, three-and-a-half baths."

It hits close to home that

people would bring home the bacon for year after year, just so they can

move into a bigger box. To hammer this point home and home in on this

point, a house is not a home just because it costs a lot of money.

I come from rural South Carolina

where our living conditions were a little less than expected today. I

mean, the really rich people in South Carolina just buy two-story house

trailers.

People I grew up with were

just as likely to have wheels on their house as they were to have ancestors

wearing white sheets out at night, formally. But, it still wasn't much

different. At our cookouts and parties, people still would talk about

and compare their orange shag carpet and faux-wood paneling.

I know a man's home is his

castle, but it's time we put our house in order. Like a house afire my

emotions run hot to see everything take a back seat to getting that 3,000-square-foot

closet of avarice.

Too many have gotten to that

final moment only to realize there is no home left to make there. The

kids are all gone, the home fire burns no longer and life has passed them

by.

Now is the time we all need

a little home improvement, but not of the aesthetic kind. I will share

this mantra of mine until there is not a dry eye in the house and until

people come home to roost with my message. But, alas, sometimes I feel

the lights are on, but nobody's home.

Personally, I just want to

live in a fun house and, yes, sure, have all the comforts of home, but

as with everything in America, we have taken this concept to extremes

beyond belief.

I know what I am saying is

nothing to write home about, but you can consider it free advice at least,

on the house. So clean house and remember there's no place like home,

there's no place like home.

We should all get our priorities

straight, because in the end there is nothing to compare and we are all

the same. We just wind up coming home, in a box.

[Visit Billy Murphy on the

Internet at www.ebilly.net.]