I wish I could take you for a walk some day...

Walking in an old house neighborhood is unlike any other stroll. An old house neighborhood is alive. Its pulse can be felt as you make your way up and down the streets. Neighbors tend to their lawns, ladders are precariously perched on sloping driveways as others attempt to address badly behaving clapboards. Carports empty and fill as weekend errands are begun and completed. Joning all of the hustle and bustle that is the pulse of an historic neighborhood is the resperation of the living entity we call home. This breath of life is evident in the walkers whose path I might cross, with or without dogs, there's a friendly greeting, and nod of how do you do and have a good day. It can also be found in sounds coming from the bungalows that line the streets. There are the obligatory football game sounds, fans cheering or geering their teams, the familiar children sounds, either sweet with innocence or ripe with rath, and there are the other sounds, the musicain on the corner who is practicing the trumpet, the vocalist who is warming up her instrument before church on Sunday morning, the couple who is reliving their resent broadway trip and playing loudly the score from Rent. Just as with any other living being the deep breaths in and the exhalations out provide the needed oxygen for this organisim to live and to thrive. This old neighborhood with its red bricked streets, homes in varied states of repair, and collection of misfit neighbors is alive, just as alive as we are, an you only need to take a walk to see it for yourself. I hope some day you'll join us.