If it is nearly midnite and your body is aching nearly everywhere because of packing, lifting, cleaning, reaching, and walking. And you are now stretched out on your cozy chair, checking email for the first time in three days. And every once in awhile you look up and around your ‘new’ living room and remember the drama of your friends unrolling the magic red carpet and arranging the furniture that made this nice place into a *home*. Well if this is you, you just found yourself thinking back to that cozy little place across the street where you’ve lived the past five years. And you wonder if the next residents will know what those initials and handprints in the front sidewalk mean? And will the painters even pause a moment when they see a row of pencil marks and dates along the edge of the wall marking my kids’ changing height? And will those few rooms be somehow, always, marked with the memory of us even when all of the superficial evidence is gone?