unchanging changed

it's strange to me the way places change. places that i see everyday. when i wake up every morning to the familiarity of my my bedroom, the bathroom, the view out on to school street, and yet sometimes they appear different. this appearance of change has happened all my life. i remember driving down roe avenue, in the backseat, trying to describe it to my parents one day. i was probably in middle school. they didn't understand me, and i didn't understand why they didn't understand what i was talking about. then again, i don't actually understand what the change is. it could be equated to the light change in a room-- nothing about the room as "the room" has changed but some external force acts on it, making it appear different. the metaphor doesn't really work though because light quality doesn't bring on the change. more appropriate is maybe likening it to a memory. and the more i think about it, maybe that's what it is. when i return to a place i can remember the way i saw, felt, and interpreted the place when i saw it a previous time. this leads to familiar places, like my neighborhood, sometimes feeling unfamiliar, which can be unsettling at times.
it's a strange concept-- to think of places changed when they are still the same solid building or car-lined street. or maybe it's limiting to describe "places" this way. maybe they aren't changed but just revealing different aspects at different times. is it possible that places are more than just a static entity-- that they are more complicated? or is it all tied to my perception of the place based on the projection of my feelings at the time? i would say it's more likely the latter, however, i don't experience this thing with people. maybe because there are so many variables with another person. the input from them and the very fact that they actually are changing and all the time. maybe it's impossible to gauge the change in something if it's not static.

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there is a house on melrose that sticks out. it's street-facing facade is almost completely glass. obviously this makes the inside very visible to the outside. when you look in, however, all you see is white. huge white walls, cathedral ceilings all in white, white carpeted stairs, and white banisters. at first i thought it was vacant. then i noticed a large metal art-deco chandelier hanging from the ceiling. this didn't seem like evidence, though. finally, today, as i rode by i noticed two pairs of crocs by the entryway. not only were they not white but they weren't even neatly arranged. one could might even describe them as haphazardly thrown off! who are these people that live in a magazine-sterile home and then toss their comfy rubber unfashionable shoes willy-nilly on the landing for all the neighbors to see?