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October 17, 2008
The living and dining rooms in our Cherry Hill, NJ split-level house waited with stoic patience for furnishings for the duration of the three years of my family's inhabitation. The family room, a misnomer if ever there was one, was decked out in a variety of funky late '60s/early '70s accoutrements, including a near-skin-tone Naugehyde sofa that remained cold no matter how long you availed yourself of it (a charming metaphor for my father), a long red Parsons table, and a skin-tone and red table and chairs with accommodations for four, even though there were five of us.

Continued 10/18