102 Maple Avenue

This is the address of the house I grew up in -- came home from the hospital to and lived in till I went away to college. I connected with someone on Facebook today who told me he sometimes walks by my "adorable house." There must have been something healthy in my dysfunctional family because that house had magic. Maybe it had nothing to do with us. Maybe the house had a soul of its own, and we were just the beneficiaries. We inhabited it like we inhabit the earth, not as owners, but as squatters.