An Interesting Visitor

This morning, Ben and I were lounging on the couch (we're both sick), when a gray minivan pulled up to the curb. A woman leaned out the window and started taking pictures of our house. She waved, and we waved back. I was puzzled, but they didn't look like spies or theives.

The driver got out and introduced himself. He was a white-haired man named Bill, and he lived in our house 36 years ago. He and his wife lived here for nearly 10 years. He said it looks pretty much the same now. He also said he planted the oak tree out front, which is hard for me to imagine--it now towers over the house. He was pleased to hear that it was our first house, and he said he thought it had probably been the first house for many people over the years.

I would have invited him in, but he was a stranger, and the house was a wreck. His visit made me remember, though, what I realized when I was buying a house last year: we never really own houses (or anything else in this world). We're merely taking care of things temporarily.