My family moved a lot when I was young. By the time I was nine, I had lived in four different cities. But then we settled down, and I finished elementary school and high school in the same city. After college, I made one major move. But for the last fifty years, none of my address changes has involved moving more than ten miles.

Peter and I lived in an apartment when we got married. After a year, we bought a small house in a nearby suburb followed by a bigger house in the same suburb. Fifteen years ago when the kids had been launched, we moved back to the city. Now we live in a small house that suits us.

About fourteen months ago, a short time after Peter was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, we thought it might be wise to consider moving to an apartment. We thought we might be better off on one floor in a building with an elevator. So we started looking. We saw some really nice apartments, but there was always something that we didn't like. Our real estate broker was good about showing us appropriate places. But nothing was quite right.

On Wednesday she told us about an apartment in a building that hasn't had an opening in the whole time we've been looking, one that has everything that's been missing in all the others, and one we'd been hoping would be the ONE. We talked about it for a long time Wednesday night, and in the end, we decided not to even take a look.

Peter is doing quite well. We love our house. We love stepping out onto our patio and reading in our garden. We like our "gym" in the basement and we like our neighbors. Someday we might regret our decision to stay where we are. If we could predict the future, we might make a different decision.

But for now, this home is where our heart is.