Last night we were sitting outside enjoying a welcome break from the heat when our neighbor stopped by on his way to the laundry room. As we caught up on all the latest news and our recent travels the conversation turned to a few items he had picked up while he was in Texas. He has a business buying and selling antiques and other interesting things. He began going into detail about a little wooden table he had found. As he shared the details about the portable table made in India, it piqued my curiosity. When he asked if I would like to see it, without hesitation, I said, “Yes.”
He quickly came back with two wooden pieces in his arms. He unfolded the base with several hinged wooden panels, then attached the small round top. The first thing that caught my eye were tiny brass-colored inlaid pieces shaped like little hearts and a circle of intricately carved tiny flowers. It was a work of art. My husband Mickey said he saw my eyes light up, which I’m sure they did, and after a short discussion about the price, he handed our neighbor some cash.
This morning, as I write this, I’m sitting on the floor with my computer on the little table. It passes the test of things that are allowed to cohabitate in our small living space— it’s beautiful and useful.
However, it’s not so much the beautiful things I’ve collected over the years that I value most. It’s the space between the things—that peaceful, easy feeling where I come home to myself. When the talking is talked and the doing is done.
After I wrote this, I thought it seemed trivial to write about a piece of furniture, so I held off posting it and started writing something else. But in the meantime, I listened to a book by John O’Donohue, and in his tender comforting voice, he talked about home.
“A home is not simply a building; it is the shelter around the intimacy of a life. Coming in from the outside world and its rasp of force and usage, you relax and allow yourself to be who you are. The inner walls of a home are threaded with the textures of one's soul, a subtle weave of presences. If you could see your home through the lens of the soul, you would be surprised at the beauty concealed in the memory your home holds. When you enter some homes, you sense how the memories have seeped to the surface, infusing the aura of the place and deepening the tone of its presence. Where love has lived, a house still holds the warmth. Even the poorest home feels like a nest if love and tenderness dwell there.
John O'Donohue, Excerpt from BEAUTY
Yes, this little table helps thread the walls of my living space with the textures of my soul. It’s all part of the me-ness that adorns our motorhome. And it also gives me gratitude for the artisans who created every little detail. I wonder if they know how much joy each tiny flower brings me every time I run my fingers over the surface.
I love this! So sweet to share time with you and your loving thoughts and insights!
What a beautiful story. Thank you💖