Visiting is making a comeback. At least John and I are taking a stab at it. Recently, we have shown up at the thresholds of people we care about, to wish them well. Sometimes it is just for a minute or two, if they are busy. Other times they invite us in and we sit a while. The other night the couple had a fire blazing and gave us the best seats in the room. 

As it happens, I lived there before I was married. My attention wandered a bit as I recalled my first experience playing house. It was only for a few months after my grandmother died, but I cooked my meals in her kitchen, and did the last term of homework by her wall of windows. I was allowed to keep her rolling pin. 

I did not take proper care of the gardens, the ones she loved. As a little girl it was my labyrinth, even though the rose bushes were not so tall that they precluded a four-year-old's view. Down below was a fishpond, and I tossed bread for the ducks who came calling. 

The current homeowners told us stories about how they met, and what life is like now. They seemed content with the slower pace of their seventies. 

Another couple we caught by surprise was busy with house renovations. What a sweet way to build memories. I mused about the time John and I gave the kitchen a face lift, and spent hours convincing tiles to cover the floor and backsplash. They are still beautiful. 

A few weeks back, one of our neighbors invited the residents of our road for a party. We warmed our hands by the fire pit, and munched on warm cookies. They had lined the path with fairy lights, to guide our way.

It is a blessing to be in community, and to blur the lines of separation.