My mother is a woman who knows Hinsdale real estate. She has her favorite homes, favorite streets and favorite builders — usually the ones that honor brick walkways, white paint and front porches.
A few days before Christmas, I sat next to her as she drove me around to visit some of the favorites. We sat in the warm car, pointing out features we liked and did not like. If architectural taste is genetic, then I surely take after her:
Ah, I love this one, I’d say.
Me too! She’d squeal. Look at the shutters, the way they frame the windows. Oh, and that landscaping…
We are one and the same, my mom and I. There’s nobody I’d rather real-estalk with.
