So, here’s the thing about houses: they don’t just take a village, they are the village.
Who was the carpenter that cut the wood for the floors? Who was the artist that painted the art? Who framed it? The counter, what material is it? From what quarry did it come? Are the windows still the ones from 1907? Maybe more importantly, who is welcomed here now?
It doesn’t seem to make any sense to preserve the character of a home, to care for it and update it and renovate it, if we don’t ensure its hearth– that beating heart of a home– continues to serve as a gathering place for the people in our lives. Because it’s through the people in our lives that the light gets in.
Same is true for our neighborhoods. Gardens can be beautiful. Local shops can be charming and stock full of all the things we want and need, but if the folks who work and live there aren’t flowing with life, what are we doing? It’s a wonderful thing when neighborhoods are walkable, when the strangers at the bookstore become named and the corner market feeds us with friendly faces and kind hearts.
Thank god for them, because what they do they do so well.
But mostly, thanks to the people in our lives who hold us too.
Those we know well and those who we walk by on our way from place to place. Life is moving and swirling, and sometimes it stands still. Time enough for us to all take each other in. Right before we take in the gelato.
