This has been a week of reflection for me.  Those of you that have followed my blog the past few years know that my parents passed away within a few months of each other two years ago.  The house that they moved into when I was three years old was the house that they shared until their deaths.  The first owners of this house and the first house built on the block, they moved in with the dreams of their life together and the dreams of building a family.  The house was the shell that was filled with the shared experiences of my parents, my two brothers, and myself as we all grew up.  This home expanded to include grandparents, in-laws, grandchildren, and friends way too numerous to count.  As the family grew, so too the house grew with additions designed by my father the architect.  And with each addition and change, the new rooms were filled to the brim with more memories and love.  The once new “stick-tree” in the front yard has matured and extends over the entire yard and house, its arms having held so many of us as we climbed up its branches.   Each person who passed over the threshold knew they were welcomed with the large arms my parents opened.  The house has now been passed on to the second owner in its 58 years.  But I know that the house is only a structure; the people are the ones that made it a home.  The memories and stories of the family and friends that have been a part of the structure will continue in our family throughout the generations that follow.