{"id":1937,"date":"2012-01-28T07:14:48","date_gmt":"2012-01-28T15:14:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/?p=1937"},"modified":"2012-01-28T07:14:48","modified_gmt":"2012-01-28T15:14:48","slug":"hospitality-with-a-capital-hahh","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/2012\/01\/28\/hospitality-with-a-capital-hahh\/","title":{"rendered":"Hospitality with a Capital Hahh…"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a><\/h6>\n
Here’s Mom, still a teenager, painted from one of Dad’s old black and white photos, which he took himself when he was young and in love (which he still is). Click for larger view, and again for larger yet.<\/h6>\n

My mother is in the hospital. Happily they can’t find anything really wrong with her. I think it might be candles. Last birthday there were 93 of them on her cake . . . or would have been but for fire code. My dad is ahead of her, with 95.<\/p>\n

They live in the same home I grew up in. They have full time help, which keeps them out of trouble . . . and the dreaded nursing home. The hospital, however, gets to be kind of a familiar place.<\/p>\n

There’s a certain justice, or is it injustice, about my mother and hospitals. My mother is the most hospitable person I’ve ever known, outside of my father (by association, because he went along with it). We kids didn’t think anything of it; we thought everybody’s house was full of people every Sunday after church, or evenings of ping-pong (two tables in the patio), or new friends staying the night, or the week.<\/p>\n

It wasn’t unusual for her to bring someone home from the supermarket who needed a place to stay. She wasn’t lacking in discernment; she just saw the needs and met them.<\/p>\n

One family, who was remodeling their home, stayed with my folks, all four of them, some sleeping in the living room, rent free, for a year! That length was never the plan, but that’s how it worked out.<\/p>\n

Looking back, I don’t know how my parents did it, or why. It’s a gift I didn’t inherit, not to that degree. (My sister Sue has it and is writing a book on it, and a blog. If you’re interested, it’s here<\/a>.)<\/p>\n

Another story: Once she met a missionary family in town who ended up not only staying at the house for a season, but left a trailer full of their worldly goods in the yard for the four years they were away. It was all the kind of thing Mom and Dad took joy in, and they made a lot of friends.<\/p>\n

Once, when I was in Australia, I met a family heading for California and Disneyland. As my parents lived within an hour of Disneyland, I invited these travelers to give them a call when they arrived and see about staying with them. It was sheer audacity, but I knew Mom well enough that she’d not only rise to it but consider it a compliment. I learned later that they did call and, sure enough, were invited to stay the days they were in town.<\/p>\n

HAHHSPITABLE. That’s Mom. So now it seems odd that the hospitality she’s receiving is at the hospital. It is the place she needs at the moment. They are welcoming, and caring. Happily she has the staff smiling with her witticism and general good temper, at least when they’ve got the pain under control.<\/p>\n

Actually, I think the pain is mainly from that Arthur character she’s got in bed with her. (Don’t tell Dad.)\u00a0Arthur-itis, she calls him, and doesn’t like him much.<\/p>\n

One of these days, or years, the candles will take over and she’ll move on to another place. It’ll be hospitality beyond her imagination. And reward.<\/p>\n

But she’d say she’s\u00a0been rewarded right along.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

_________<\/p>\n

A NOTE ON THE BLOG: The schedule for these posts will change from three times a week to every three days.<\/p>\n

Speaking of posts, the next topic will be about your post, and staying by it, regardless. Coming Tuesday.<\/p>\n

Feel free to comment, and share with a friend.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In some places hospitality is a rare virtue, in others it’s a high art. An art of the heart. Here’s one of the finest examples one could know . . . and many have.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1937"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1937"}],"version-history":[{"count":45,"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1937\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1997,"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1937\/revisions\/1997"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1937"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1937"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hyattmoore.com\/blank-slate\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1937"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}