When I was young, my family got into the habit of driving around on Sundays and looking at model homes. We did this frequently and (some might argue) futilely, as we had no plans to move. I have banished most of the nineteen seventies and eighties from my fragile memory, but perhaps it was a common pastime of that era.

The only remaining impression I have from those excursions is the way my four brothers and I would fight over the model bedrooms. We would each seize the one we believed should be ours and then defend our imaginary territory with the ferocity of rabid raccoons.

Of course, we all wanted the biggest bedroom. I, being the oldest, was so shocked and dismayed by my brothers’ imperial claims that I made extensive lists as to why I deserved the most space, one of which I actually presented to my parents with the air of an aggrieved ambassador seeking restitution from the United Nations. They were naturally bewildered by this since, again, we were not actually moving into a new house, and I already had the biggest bedroom in our old one.*

Tomorrow, I am going to Baltimore for a series of events that will culminate in Rob’s and my closing on the new house. On Friday, it will be ours. We will share the biggest bedroom, and I gave Rob the second-biggest for his office and music room.

Somehow, home ownership has inspired in me a generosity previously untapped.


* And when we did move, years later, I got the largest room then, too.

Note: I am not going to write here for a few days, but I will see if I can scare up anyone to keep you entertained while I am gone. Wish me luck.