To prove to me that this was ture, she _________ through a tote bag and a manila envelope and finally unfolded a sheet of typing paper and brought out her photographs.

It was like a thousand houses in a hundred towns, not _______, not city, but somewhere in between.

There were no need for ________.

I knew what she was trying to tell me, for it was something I had often felt. She was not ______, not alone, not _______.

I'm not simply talking about _______ from the elements, or three square _____ a day.

Not a mailing address to which the ________ people can the check.

I'm talking about a home, about ________ those kinds of feelings that have wound up in cross-stitch and French knots on samplers over the years.

Home is where the ________ is.

You are where you ______.

I love my home with a ferocity totally out of proportion to its __________ or location.