When I was a girl, I had a yellow Easter dress with a matching parasol purse. Hand-me-downs were a way of life for us, so it was exquisitely special to have a dress that was all mine from the time it was new. I wanted that dress to remain mine—forever. I would squeeze myself into it like a sausage into its casing while proclaiming that it still fit, hoping to avoid the dreaded act of passing my favorite along to my younger cousin. That's a bit how The Big Move has felt—as if we were trying to squeeze all my parents' treasures from a large, four-bedroom house into a two-bedroom apartment. I think my parents really thought they'd be in their house "forever," just the way I had felt about my dress. … Back to Article
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