Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner standing by a cross-like iron object hung on the wall of their Springs house as photographed by Hans Namuth was on my mind one morning last week as I walked west along the bay shore.

There is no greater pain than the feeling of shame. I know. As a victim of clerical sexual abuse, my tears waited nearly half a century to stream from my eyes.

If everyone who’s said they’ll come comes today there will be 21 in our house, of all ages, an infusion of spirit that ought to see Mary, me, and O’en, the house’s everyday occupants, through most of the winter.

The prices listed here have been calculated from the county transfer tax. Unless otherwise noted, the parcels contain structures.