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  1. I liked this essay, Alison. It touched my heart. You know, I always have loved the apparent and ambient history in lived in homes, rooms, items, etc. I always regretted that my first husband and I decided to build a home. Somehow, and this seems idiotic and I shouldn't say it, but sometimes I feel that I don't possess the creative life force to be the FIRST family to have lived here… Without echoes of tradition to follow and resonate … I have fallen short. The next family to live here may just well start afresh. I love my home and this sounds stupid and my mom would smack me for even thinking it, but although I am artistic, strong, happy, and all that razzamatazz, I don't exude a lot of passionate vitality… and I have been sad here often… my home is a silent little sympathizer and comforter. It could use a little riot, roar, and raucous behavior… Anyway, thanks for a beautiful piece today. You are a gem, and your family and your home are lucky to have ya,as are we.

  2. Loved this too Alison! When I left my marriage and found this little place … even with its ugly 70's carpet (all musty and stinky); its amber glass in the light fittings and front door; and avocado kitchen … it had a 'good feel' to it. The previous family (the FIRST and only other family) had raised their children here; loved here and died here. Normally the thought of someone having died in my home would kinda put me off, but this time it didn't. I've lived in much grander abodes than this … and yet where I am right now feels the most like HOME. (My previous home was rambling and in an expensive area but I could never seem to get it to feel like home … I always said that although it had good bones, it had no heart. My marriage fell apart … just like the previous two couples who'd lived there).

  3. I wiped a tear………
    I moved to my current home after 23 years and the raising of my only child in the same house. It was SO hard to leave….the walls were like the pages of our lives…memories and words of love on each one. We had the door frame marking her height…which we celebrated grandly, given she had a bit of growth problem as a little one. The scuffs and dings and marks were like page holders in the book of our life. It pained me so to leave it behind but a new beginning can be good too. I had the pleasure of sharing my home's heart one Christmas with the lady who lived there before me. I was on the annual Christmas Tour of Homes and a friend filmed my sweet house all decked in Christmas finery and took it to the nursing home to share with the previous owner. It made my holiday!
    Thank you for a reminder that a house is not a home unless love builds it.

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