At the outset, I titled this post, “Sometimes Citrus”. When I first began drafting it, the title offered itself involuntarily. I still love that title. The sounds of the words. Sexy. Alliterative. Tempting. Possibilities. Saying the words invokes a cool clementine, perhaps, juice vesicles swollen, ready to burst when barely bitten. But readying photos and revising preliminary ideas into nominally more cogent concepts and then into words, hewing toward intelligibility, I discovered a more ample current at work. A question, really. One that continues to manifest in new masks. So today I ask, you: Does the generosity of friends make a house a home?
Lest you’ve missed earlier approximations of this inquiry (or joined recently), let’s dilate the lens for a moment. 
At the root of Rosslyn Redux is a question. What makes a house a home?
Simple question. Less simple answer. More precisely, the answers to what makes a house a home are diverse and possibly even evolving — slowly, perpetually — as we live our lives. What defines “homeness” [ie. the notion of home] as a child likely differs as a young, independent adult, nesting for the first time. And our first autonomous forays into homemaking likely morph as we live through our twenties and into subsequent decades, family and lifestyle changes, etc. (Source: What Makes a House a Home?)
For the last couple of years, I’ve been slow-poking my way along a meandering meditation on what makes a house a home. Today’s twist asks, does the generosity of friends make a house a home? Those picture perfect clementines in Matt Horner’s bowl above prompted the meditation. Tony and Glen gifted us baskets of delicacies, fresh organic fruit, dried fruit, nuts, cheese, chocolate,… for the holidays. Decadent (especially in the middle of winter), delicious, and just plain generous.
I remembered a previous post inspired by citrus and pondering the possibility of homeness being defined, at least in part, by the munificence of close kin and companions.
Perhaps the generosity of friends and family is one of the essential ingredients for what makes a house a home? (Source: Generosity of Friends: Lemons from Afar)
It struck me that I’d arrived at the same question wheel peeling and enjoying gifted citrus fruit. It was then that I could sense the singing underneath. Another glimmer at the holy grail guiding my quest? Certainty coalesced in the quiet kitchen, clementine juice vesicles succumbing to the pressure of my teeth, bursting like fireworks on my tongue.
The generosity of family and the generosity of friends must inextricably related to the notion of home, to *my* notion of home.
The night before a dozen or so friends and family had gathered with us at Rosslyn for an informal potluck, a revitalizing start to the new year as much for the delicious dishes as for the laughter and fellowship.
Yes, sometimes citrus (and sometimes a friendly potluck) remind us that the generosity of friends and family make a house a home.
Maybe this post isn’t exactly cut of the same cloth as “Sometimes Sailing”, but there’s a similar sense of adventure in it, a subtle but swelling certainty that I’m approaching my ambition albeit obliquely, perhaps, and far less efficiently than I’d anticipated almost 30 months ago when I set out on a 12-month challenge that I’ve more recently redefined as a 1,000 day challenge, anticipated to end nearly on my birthday (a good omen, I hope!)
And so it is, I will now end where I thought I was to begin.
Sometimes Citrus
And sometimes citrus,
a friend’s generosity,
makes a house a home.
I haven’t decided yet if I’m satisfied with this haiku, with that first line, with that first word in the first line. But it strikes me as a way to place this within a stream of answers to the question with which I began. For, I’m coming to see, there is no single answer.
What do you think?