When people kindly invite you into their homes, it’s as if they say, “Here, have a peek at my soul.”
Perhaps it’s not as deep, and then again, perhaps it is. We surround ourselves with material goods, which in and of itself is rather meaningless, but the emotional and spiritual energy attached to those objects is profound. The restored dining table: a pinch of creativity and resourcefulness. The crumpled trumpet: late night flea markets. The stacks of unorganized books: hunger.
When I step into someone’s home and spot a pebble-grey, stone mortar and pestle, or an oversized, painted vase, I think, “That looks nice,” followed by, “I wonder if it has any stories?”