As long as I can remember, our home was ‘a place to be’ for
all our friends. It started with 240
square feet no indoor plumbing, wood stove shack where I was born. My sister’s
classmates would come regularly for an evening of Pictionary and eating my
mom’s krempita, piled up on top of each other inside a single all-purpose
kitchen/living room/bedroom that took most of the square footage of what we affectionately
called ‘chicken coop’.
From there we moved up doubling in size to a 5th
floor 490 square feet apartment with indoor plumbing AND central heating. Not
only did we have all this SPACE but I also got my very own room, which became
‘a place to be’ for all my friends. We would pile up on top of each other, eat
snacks and drink coffee, talk and
philosophize until our brains hurt, which indicated it was time to crank up the record player and quibble over favorites.
We loved having people over, making them feel loved and
welcome, enjoying their company. The space (or lack of!) never seemed to be an
issue nor did the shabbiness or absence of any recognizable decorating style. I was blissfully oblivious to both.
You can only imagine my happiness when I moved to the
States, and we bought a 1900+ square feet mansion with a giant back
yard. I had such huge plan for such enormous space. So much room! So many people to have!
We did just that. Flung our doors open wide and invited
anyone who cared to come in. When we were not around, we handed our keys to
friends, family, neighbors and complete strangers.
No furniture? No problem! We improvised with cardboard
boxes, curbside mall, castaways and hand-me-downs. The carpet was worn
out, but who had time to notice! The dishes were mismatched, but who cares?? The walls were bare and cabinets dated. So what?
My relaxed approach to hosting seemed to work very well, or so I
thought, until…
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