Thursday, March 21, 2013


My mother still lives in the house I was raised in. They moved in years before I was born, on the day JFK was assassinated. The house has evolved over the years, but generally speaking, it is the same cozy story and a half cape cod on a large, shady corner lot lush with plants and green grass. When I return there, it is still "home." I have a cellular memory of the layout, the smell, the way the light changes throughout the day...

Matt's dad was in the Army. He moved a lot. He lived in Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas. In February, we marked our fourth year in our home - the new record for the longest he has been at the same address. He cherishes our home, takes pride in its appearance, its function, its vibe. He is building cell memory - for himself, for the kids, for me, for our guests.

I am grateful to learn through his enthusiasm the gift of home.

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