Yesterday i sent letters (and freebies!) to two addresses in England. One was the house in which I was born and the other was the house that I left at the tender age of 7 to vault across the ocean to Canada. Well, ok, the vault was in one of those venerable old Boeing 707s so I suppose it was more of an amble but a bit faster than a sailing ship. I tried to imagine how it might feel to get a letter from a complete stranger asking to come take a peek at your house and ask you a few questions. If it was me I think I'd be intrigued and quite keen, but I can imagine that things might not go as well as I'm hoping. Time will tell.
It's a little daunting to realize that this entire quest to visit every place I've called home will consist of 24 different houses and apartments on 3 continents. It's going to take a little time. Some of these homes were chosen out of pure expediency - there were times when I was such an unattractive tenant --massive untrained dog and ragtag kids in hand -- that I had no choice but to leap at the first landlord foolish enough to let me unload my stuff inside their real estate investments. Others,like my current home, seem to have been tailor-made for me and have felt like home from the moment that I first walked into them. I suspect my friends are more tired of hearing the story than I am of telling it that I made the decision to buy this place within five minutes of walking in the front door and I had signed a terrifying firm offer within an hour. But that's the end of this story. I'm still not even at the beginning.