When You Love Your Home Most

Your company just left.  If you have children, they’re in bed, exhausted from the good times, asleep almost before the light has left the room.  You sit back with your beverage of choice–a cup of tea, a glass of wine, a mug of hot chocolate–and sigh.  Suddenly the house is quiet.  The laughter, the clamor, the animated conversation have stilled but their ghosts rest silently on the furniture, their belts loosened, their energy spent.

The house has been quiet before, but it feels different now.  It feels the way you feel after a warm hug from someone you love.  It feels content.  The air smiles.

Tomorrow you’ll need to wash the towels and linens, wipe away the fingerprints and stains, do a last search for dirty dishes abandoned in odd places.  But tonight you sit and sigh.  No castle could feel finer than your house does at this moment.

Poor, indeed, is the house that’s never crowded with loving guests–be they friends, family, or interesting strangers.  Poor, indeed, the people who never reach out to pull others close.  Connections are the magic of living.  To hell with the worn carpet and scratched chairs.  Invite someone over.