Ghosts

When I got back to the office after the holidays, I ran into a friend who owns a beautiful townhouse in the 'hood, and who is conscientious enough to really read the newspaper. He always reads the section about Baltimore history, and came across an article about MY townhouse! I say my townhouse as if I owned it (oh I wish I did!) and as if it really were all mine, even though I only live in the first floor apt., but feel that way, I think, because I've lived upstairs too.

Ever since I first moved in something like three years ago to the upstairs apartment, I've felt that there was just something good and peaceful about the place. It felt like a happy house, and being a spiritual person, I put a lot of stock in feelings like that. I digress slightly, but I used to work at a certain Victorian mansion just down the street that definitely did NOT feel that way. It was scary and forbidding and I used to dread going everyday.

"My" house was purportedly built in 1867, and has the fireplaces and gas chandeliers to prove it. I've always been very eager to learn whatever I can about the house, so the newspaper article was as much fun for me as a shopping trip. I was not surprised to find that the family who last owned the home as a single-family residence (before it was split into apartments) were philanthropic, educated, well-traveled. The lady of the house was a Hopkins grad, an army nurse in the second World War, a fabulous cook, famous for her parties, and not surprisingly: Irish. She died at 102.

So now I know why we are so happy living there. Plenty of residual good fun and love.

Now, if I can just win the lottery, I can afford to buy the place so that I will never ever have to move again.