I used to go visit my in-laws several times a year in the late sixties when I was married to Meg. Their house is still there and Meg's brother, John, lives in it; his parents are both deceased. When I saw him a few weeks ago he said he likes the tranquility and familiarity.
I was reminded of it again because the latest New Yorker (Jan 10) has an article Out of Ohio - Leaving home by Ian Frazier. The most amusing piece of the article was a little vignette about a trip he'd taken to Morgantown Kentucky that I quote here:
...and I was so tired that I immediately lay down and fell asleep on a bed in a side room. It happened that Kent was giving a party for the entire community that night. As the guests came in, they piled their coats on top of the bed, on top of me. At the party's height a man and a woman entered the room and closed the door and, not knowing I was there, lay down on the coats and began to talk about the extra-marital affair they were having. I emerged from my sleep to the sound of the French movie-type dialogue: "Oh, Roger, I've felt like crying for the last three days!" "Oh, Arliss, [mumble, mumble, mumble]." Then suddenly the door opened, and from it, like a super-loud PA system, the voice of the estranged husband: "Get out of that fuckin' bed, Roger!" The two men adjourned outside for a fistfight while the woman stayed on the coats, sobbing. I began to stir, poking my head out from under. The sobbing stopped; silence; then, in complete bafflement, "Who's he?"