When I was young, my family lived with my grandmother for a time in Washington, D.C. , in one of the old neighborhoods with houses of colonial brick and Italianate stucco. Grandmother’s house was a colonial, with perfect symmetry: a window on each side of the front door, three windows across the top, and a little pediment decorating the top of the entry. The house was in a neighborhood with a dizzying array of similarly designed houses, on blocks and blocks of numbered and alphabetically-named streets. I memorized the address – as every city child should do – and can recite it to this day.
The Dutch House
