For the past year, I have done very little work on my current writing projects. We bought a house, and for the first time I felt like I understood my mother.
Mother had her first five children in six years. Someone asked her about that childless year in the middle. “That was the year,” explained Mother, “we bought the house.” The Year Of The House included but was not limited to:
- My brother falling into the hole being dug for the new basement bathroom (one broken collarbone)
- My attempt to slide down a bannister which stopped halfway down the stairs even though I didn’t (stitches in chin)
- My brother running his arm through the wringer-washer (skin grafts)
- My sister releasing the handbrake on their first new car (totalled—the car, not the…
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