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I hosted one of my two book clubs this week.  Because the weather was cooperative, I set the round table on the deck for five and the screened porch table for four.  Even though we were having a casual pot luck salad supper, I sat the tables with cloth tablecloths and cloth napkins, the good china and good silver and flowers in the center.  We’re all old enough to need a reminder of more genteel days in this world of deposable dinnerware.  With cold tea or lemonade or a glass of wine, we were soon chatting up a storm as only a bunch of women can do.  Two members brought their mothers who were sweet and charming.  A leisurely meal and good conversation brings out the best in all of us.

I mentioned that night that we were thinking of moving.*  The next day I got several emails from members who wrote glowing thank-yous about how nice it all was:  sitting and eating outdoors, the pots of flowers on the deck, the charm of a late spring evening.  I read them to  Bruce, the man who has our lower yard looking like a park, so the house on the hill looks down on that serene view.

The reason I’ve lived here for 29 years is that I’ve never been able to find a place I like better.    We have put a lot of time, energy and thought into this place and it really is an oasis.  I know that if we put it on the market and it sells in two weeks, I will cry like a baby.  Will anyone ever love it the way I have?

* See Bruce’s post at Red Clay and Sand

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