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In 1982, my parents divorce, and my mom, sister, and I move to a small house in West Concord, at the time a working class town twenty miles west of Boston. I am eight years old.
The new house was built around the turn of the century, and the most recent owner used it to store rotting furniture and other flotsam, so we get the house cheap. My sister and I are allowed to roller-skate over the plywood floor circling the new kitchen island in our new house while my mom oversees the first of what will be a forty-year tenure of major house and apartment renovations. I watch how the workmen watch my mom, and how she has to tell them to do the same things more than once.
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