Visiting One's Past

Over the years decades lots of people have entered our home as guests. Some were just for a few minutes or hours and others became like part of the family with a relationship lasting for years. It's so strange to think of it now when my husband and I rattle alone around this junk-filled house that was once so filled with our kids and guests.

The other day my husband had an interview with the BBC.  The house was a mess. He knew the routine.

"Yes, don't bring them in.  I'll deal with them outside."

It was a rare day for me to be home.  I was dressed like a slob in in old sweatshirt and indiscript skirt.  Long gone were the days I'd dress up and put on make-up for some reporters.  I barely had time to clean up, certainly none to "play Pat Nixon."  I was busy in the house when my husband suddenly came back.

"Someone wants to see you."

Luckily my husband hadn't brought the guy in. It was the photographer who had remembered sleeping over one time when he was accompanying a gimmicky reporter who had decided to ride a donkey through the Holy Land.  He wanted to thank me and say hello.

Not long ago, one of those who had spent a lot of time in our house when he was studying in Shiloh came with his family.

I took them around Shiloh HaKeduma at Tel Shiloh.  It was strange for him, since it had changed so much since he had last been there, but for his family it was their first time.

I'm not good at visiting my past.  I always feel very award.  I'm glad that other people don't have that problem.  I really do like it when my past comes to visit.