hospitality

Some people are just so good at hospitality.

Take my sister and brother-in-law....they just have a standing agreement with me to come and go as I need to. I walk in the door and the kids scatter to play and I can help myself to anything I might need. Before I can even blink, they've served up my kid's plates, even cutting Charleigh's food into little bites before I can even think what I need to do next. A glass of something cold is always handy, and Cathy always makes a nice dessert to enjoy a little later. Then we all go downstairs and get comfy on the couch or recliner to watch tv or movies. Comfortable like a pair of broken in jeans and a soft t-shirt.

My friend Mary is an artist. Every time I step into her home, Lucy comes barking to welcome me (or scare me off?), and it smells nice....like flowers and old books and snickerdoodles. Her palette is her house. She paints it with old-world and timeless china, pewter, pottery and linens. The dog barking may be loud, but there is a hushed quietness and calm that she and her husband have imposed on the house with their own character. My room here is the perfect shade of green, and snuggling down in the iron bed seems like I've slipped between the pages of one of my beloved L. M. Montgomery novels.

My friend Donna has a hospitality of self. She welcomes you to be yourself, to say what you really think, and to try out new ideas just by saying them out loud. She's casual, brassy, intuitive. If you don't talk, she can almost guess what you are thinking and save you the effort of talking at all.

I'm grateful.