Now my mother was pregnant with baby #4 and we were still in a two bedroom, one bathroom house with my brother and me in the attic. Our next door neighbor, Don, came over with a promising proposition. His aunt Lela had just died and left her his house. His aunt was a recluse and a hoarder who had once used the house as a home for mentally limited adults. Don had a poor relationship with his aunt and a phobia about setting foot in the house. If my parents would buy it directly from him without him ever having to go in the house, they could have it for a very reasonable price.
The house was enormous, three stories, five bathrooms, set on two acres of property. It was also in a very exclusive neighborhood with an excellent public school. My parents took a look at it, acknowledged the issues facing them with the purchase, and bought it. I only saw it once before we moved in. The house was full to bursting with newspapers, magazines and who knows what else. My mother made a deal with the Salvation Army. They could have every thing in the house if they took every thing in the house. Three whole moving trucks later, there was room to move our family in.
Oh. By the way. There was still one person living in the house–Norman. He came with the house. It turns out that was part of the deal.