Not long ago, I drove past the first house we bought together. A Victorian row house at the top of an inclined street, in a neighborhood more inclined to wrong than right. Two blocks in any direction and the neighborhood was completely different, far better or far worse. Baltimore is a funny city that way. It’s an old city, lovely in all the ways old places are lovely. With grand national history and not-so-grand personal stories behind every centuries-old brick wall and cobblestone paver. It sometimes felt like such a sad place, with more loss and hurt than feels possible for a place so small.
Still, I love that city and miss its markets, and row houses, painted screens and Old Bay scented air. I miss our friends. And I miss that house. I miss the way it sounded.