I would live in a turn of the century white clapboard house...turn of 1800 or maybe even 1700.... on a village green, a manicured grassy parkland with a gazebo or a monument. I would share my green with the ghost of Harriet Beecher Stowe or Mark Twain or Marian Anderson or Eugene O'Neill. And I would belong to St. James Episocopal Church....every town has one.
I'd have a landscape rock sticking out of my lawn because it would be too massive to move. With all the other rocks I would build low walls of set stone, no mortar. In the summer I would manicure the lawn around the rock, and in the fall, I wouldn't mind raking leaves, because they are so splendid on the maples and elms in the fall. In the winter, I'd snowplow with my 4x4 vehicle.
I would drive the coast of Long Island Sound or up the Connecticut River for peekaboo views of sailboats and harbors.
I think I see the delivery driver now.