Diary: Sven Birkerts, 35 Magnolia

When I think of it now, I see our apartment on Magnolia Avenue in Cambridge as a container for a part of my life distinct from other parts. I moved in in 1980 when my girlfriend, Lynn—our relationship was only a few months old—told me that her roommate was moving out. We circled warily around what seemed like a very likely next step. I was living up the street with a roommate and our domestic arrangement was bare-bones. But did Lynn and I know enough to take such a risk? Yes or no, we went ahead, and that we are now over forty years married argues that it was the right, very possibly decisive, move.

We were in our late twenties, both under-employed, my belongings so few that the two of us moved me on foot, taking two trips from Fayette Park to Magnolia, only a few blocks’ distance. Her bedside table was a large trunk with a blanket thrown over it. I was in awe when she made a pizza from frozen dough. We kept our guitars and record player in the living room. The kitchen window looked out on the parking lot of the Youville Hospital.