Something about houses attracts the hope within. Tudors with their brick facades, happy bungalows — especially the ones equipped with porch swings, cottages framed by specialty gardens. The memoir I am writing is focused around the theme of various houses in which I have lived. Maybe I should have become a realtor. The house Mom …
During the sixth month of my pregnancy, I waddled outside. The June sunshine brightened my colorful zinnias, so I parked my lawn chair beside the garden and carefully arranged myself within its plastic womb. Six months. Three more to go. We had made it past the danger zone — those first 12 weeks when this …
Does it matter what type of house we live in – especially when the walls scream memories and we never have a change to say good-bye.