Thinking back, I realize that my first house could quite easily be described as a shoebox. My wife would never call it that, but if I take a step back and think back about it, it was really just a fifty year old plywood box. Even so, she did manage to decorate it rather tastefully, hiding its imperfections with rugs, furniture, and well placed artwork on its thin walls.
When people came over to stand inside the miniature living room, bumping against the sofa as they squeezed through the doorway, they might have called it cozy or cute.
Once, while planting a small tree in the weed infested backyard, I discovered and removed a child’s mattress from beneath the earth.
We moved a month later.