The last home we moved to, after Georgia Avenue, Stillwater Avenue, Gregorio Drive, Rue de L'enfer and I don't know how many others because I was too young to remember the names.
The house that Mom and Dad painted, dressed in blue painters' jumpsuits.
The house where I got married and celebrated my 25th wedding anniversary.
The house with the pool that made for so much splashing hilarity.
The house with the wormwood paneling around the living room fireplace and the ancient swingsets in the side yard.
The house with a landscape for birds (hummers!), deer, skunk (to Cole's and Elizabeth's and Ralph's dismay).
The house where Daddy died, and where Grammio died, too.
The house of family time, dinner conversation and quiet places.
The house of mirth. In the very, very best sense.
And the house of love.
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