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Lots of talk lately about how to decrease our dependence on foreign oil. I filled the tank in my Elantra this week for the first time in over a month. It took six gallons to fill to the top. How do I do it? I don't go to work -- I am retired -- and most of the things I need, or want to go to, are less than a mile from my house.

My little house in Garland, Texas, is not my "dream" home. I would have loved a big, sprawling "Texas ranch" house with two-car garage and a den with a fireplace -- the kind we looked at in nearby Richardson in 1966. Instead, I am in a poorer neighborhood, no fireplace, and a one-car garage. It suites me just fine. I have good neighbors. I see young people riding their bicycles up and down the street in mixed groups of black, white, and brown.

I bought my little house in 2006 for several reasons. First, the price -- having sold my house in Albuquerque, I could pay cash for this one. No mortgage for me.

Also, the location. To the north, I'm seven minutes from my brother's house. If I drive southwest, in five minutes I am at Baylor Garland Medical Center, with its hospital and numerous office buildings. All my doctors are there. I can drive myself to the dialysis center without having to stop at a traffic light.

Bonuses: I am less than a mile from the Kroger supermarket, Garland's Central Post Office, the library, and the "arts center" where I go for plays and the Garland Symphony. In case of fire, it is less than a mile to the fire station!

Finally, just a mile from me is the Dart station, the end of the line for Dallas's commuter light rail line. Last week I parked my car at the station and took the train to downtown Dallas, where I crossed the platform to board the Trinity Railway Express. An hour later I got off the train in Fort Worth and found the bus waiting to take me to the Kimball Museum.

At the museum I met Jack and Margaret, who drove up from Houston to see the exhibit of Impressionist paintings on loan from the Chicago Art Institute. Incidentally, it was a joy to see again some of my favorites from the museum I visited often during the years I lived in Chicago. But I told my friends they would have to go to Chicago to appreciate the best collection of Impressionist paintings in the entire World.

Jack insisted they bring me home in their luxurious car. So, instead of letting me ride the train, he drove through rush hour traffic. Almost as bad as Los Angeles. It took two hours to drive the 50 miles to my house ON THE EXPRESSWAYS.

There were frequent slow-downs as cars and trucks piled up in front of us. As I watched the lines of cars going the opposite direction, I wondered, "Why do people who work in Dallas live in Fort Worth? And why do people who work in Fort Worth live in Dallas?"

Why do they insist on going to work in their cars?

In the 19th Century, before Henry Ford, everyone lived near their workplace. Shopkeepers lived above the store. When I lived in Pennsylvania in the early 1970's, my children's doctor had an office attached to his home. Now in the 21st Century, people seem to think nothing of driving 40 or 50 miles to work. Are they crazy? Is this any way to spend a life, sitting in traffic breathing someone else's exhaust fumes?

Soon a lot of fancy suburbs will be derelict with houses foreclosed on people who bought their "dream" homes only to find out they could not afford to live there. Maybe they will move closer to their workplaces. It makes no sense to spend hours a day driving in heavy traffic. And that will help us lesson our dependence on foreign oil.