There she is. The Angel blessing my house. She moved in first. When the walls were still sepia smoke stained plaster. When the shag carpet crawled up your ankles and made you feel like you needed to shave your legs AGAIN with every barefoot step you took. She moved into the curtainless house and lived here for weeks by her self. From the street, she was a billboard. "Stay tuned". And the neighbors did. They watched. Actually they peeked. They walked their lap dogs, made obsessive trips to their mailboxes. Waiting. Eventually we did move in. Hauled our haphazard lives into the living room in cardboard boxes, and started to unpack the past. We marked our territory like a chihuahua with "little man" syndrome. This is "our" house. This is home. Over the years, it has been called a lot of names.... "Clown house" when the little ones were in kindergarten...."House of Nudes" when my pubescent son and his friends actually noticed the tattooed mannequins.... "California hippie house"...when I applied for a second mortgage.... but really, it is just "our house" and we landed here on borrowed wings.
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