Today I’m thinking how lucky I am that my brother bought the house that was once my parents’. Now when I visit Lexington, I stay where they lived their last years.

It doesn’t look the same. Phillip is slowly turning it into a midcentury-modern showcase. But there are enough traces — I’m looking right now at the old set of World Book encyclopedias, for instance — that it resonates, touches me deeply every time I’m here.

Places matter, houses especially. They become our second skin.

(The room where I’m sitting as I write this post, though it’s been remodeled since this photo was taken.)