The value went far beyond any price tag. It was in the thought, the care. These hosts clearly have little children of their own. They live far from anywhere. They must know what it’s like to road trip with toddlers. And they’d put on a masterclass in welcome—without even being there. But they were. They showed up in every thoughtful detail.
a blender says it all
Unlike pretty much every other airbnb I’ve stayed at, this place had everything. Washer and dryer. Box fan for white noise. Iron and ironing board. Space for the playpen. Basic things, I know. But you wouldn’t believe how rare it is to have all the basics in place and working.
And then there was the blender.
I’d invited a friend over. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. I ran downstairs and bought milk and ice cream to make milkshakes. Only after spending $14 and barreling up those stairs again did I realize my stupidity. What Airbnb has a blender?
This one.
Those shakes tasted extra good.
celebrating ceiling tiles
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I noticed the ceiling tiles. As somewhat of a design snob, few things in modern building irritate me more than ceiling tiles. Sterile, bland, institutional.
I had to laugh. I hadn’t even noticed them before—the entire ceiling. Everything else in the space—decor, cleanliness, amenities, that magical welcome—was so full of heart, I didn’t care.
Design affects how we feel, but care is even more powerful.
How do you show care?
I once heard someone say: “hospitality means: we thought of you before you got here.”
Amen.
As if we hadn’t been spoiled enough, the next night our friends Rory and Rebecca invited us to stay at their old, beautiful farmhouse in Tennessee. In it sits an old, beautiful Steinway grand piano. Yes, that’s a nice thing to own. But to have it in your house for a guest to play? And especially for a guest who loooves great pianos?
Heaven.
