Friday, March 16, 2012


My husband and I were in Kansas City this week visiting family.  We drove to each house that had been home to grandparents, aunts and uncles, friends.  We peeked to see if the screened porch was still there.  We retraced the path to school and the park.  We found his first apartment and heard his stories about the first job, first independence, first try at being a man.  Some of the schools had closed - the big brick buildings boarded up.  Some of the houses had fallen on hard times.  One has a fine new owner.  I went for a walk one evening, looking for a book store.  I bought a copy of one of my favorite children's books, "The Little House" by Virginia Lee Burton.  Her story is told simply.  The house is part of the family, too. 

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