This series in the New York Times focuses on a columnist dismantling their family home. Read the complete article here.
When I was 11, we moved into a house in Baltimore. It was a big, old house built of brick, with large windows and several porches — light, spacious and airy — the sort of house that in Boston or New York, you’d have to be rich to buy. But in Baltimore, a once prosperous city that has fallen on tougher times, big, old houses were relatively cheap, and this one was within my parents’ reach. It was the first, and only, house they bought together. My brother and I grew up in it; and after my mother died, 20 years ago now, my father continued to live there, until he died in 2011, almost 30 years to the day from when we moved in. It was home.
Read the complete article here.