WELCOME HOME, DEAR ONES
W
by DONNA J.W. MUNRO
asn't so long ago I was young and full of life. I remember the comings and goings of fine ladies in swishing skirts, gentlemen dressed for dinner at the long tables lit by bright candles, servants quietly dishing out the fine dinners from silver platters. How warm the kitchen was then, full of movement and light. Bubbling concoctions filling the back all with the smells of perfectly balanced dishes. Things the lady of the house served with pride. Wasn't so long ago. Thick curtains hung in sumptuous cascades from the tall, clean windows then. Art gathered from years of travel and discernment lined the walls, a small museum. High backed furniture arranged in groupings to promote discussion. Interaction. Flirtation. My favorite is the sparking chair. Two seats and a twisted back to keep young lovers from touching. Such an innocent naivete built that lovely piece. The curtains and the dark corners know that young lovers won't be kept from touches and kisses and pressed bodies. The room remembers the passionate embraces of the couples that found warmth in each other under the eaves of this roof. No more though. The table is set in the dining room, though the fare is thin and dusty, the room warms from use. I try to make you as comfortable as I can, though it's been so long since the cooks warmed the stoves and the maids dusted away the thick coat of time on the woodwork. The ladies of the house are not pleased with their efforts. 40
