Time to Transplant

After my parents passed away, my husband and I took on the sad and challenging task of sorting through their belonging accumulated during their 37-year residence in my childhood home, an old, wood-frame house surrounded by flower beds, set on a quarter-acre lot on a gravel road in a suburb west of Detroit. My parents, children of The Great Depression, had a use-what-you-have mindset and threw away little. They never knew when they might need a hundred Ball canning jars, a bent nail (stored in one of many overflowing coffee cans), or a part from a broken appliance. The City Building Inspector deemed the place unfit for sale due to the many code violations. Before we put it on the market, my e

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