Susan Carey Dempsey All the stars seemed to align when we made the decision to sell our winter home just before Christmas. The five-bedroom house on two acres in Pennsylvania was quickly snapped up by a young couple looking for room to raise their two little boys. Our family had moved on, with a son on Shelter Island and two daughters with their families in Manhattan. Rather than remain keepers of an empty nest, we could lend a hand with our own little grandsons as they grew. We embraced the idea of downsizing to a one-bedroom apartment, letting go of much of the house’s contents: “I don’t want to be possessed by my possessions,” I declared confidently. In hindsight, I should have just hired an exorcist.