If you'd come to our place years ago, you'd have known.

As a guest, you'd have gotten a basket of fresh fruit in your room.  A bottle or two of water.  Some reading material, maybe, things tailored to your journey and interests.

I'd have shopped for just the right thing, made sure it was waiting for you when you arrived.

I'd have had the place spit polished, nice and clean, beds freshly washed, towels fluffy, new bar of soap I'd think you'd like, interesting shampoo.

I'd take my cue from places I'd stayed around the world, Inn at the Market in Seattle, The Crillion in Paris, The Grant Corner Inn in Santa Fe, The Capital in London.  Halekulani.

Before you went to bed at night, I'd manage to sneak into your room without notice, turn down your bed and leave chocolates.  If you were at the cottage, there'd also be postcards of the area, lakes and loons, serenity and sunset, selected especially for you.

If you came years ago.

Early the next morning, before you rose from your bed, I'd have a fresh pitcher of orange juice poured just for you, table freshly set, milk and water and an interesting breakfast, maybe waffles, and you could come as you were, bringing only conversation.  If weather permitted, it might be Alfresco, on the deck overlooking the still morning lake.

If you came years ago.

Observing the three-day rule, we'd try to be gracious, wondering how friends in England managed overseas guests who came for months at a time, find interesting things to do, try to give you some space.  We'd try not to notice when things went awry, and remember the people who'd done the same for us.

Please excuse if you come now.  Hopefully I'll make it to the market before you arrive, but I couldn't say for sure.  The sheets and towels will be clean, and I'll run a vacuum.  The fruit might be in the refrigerator; there might not be chocolates.  You'll be turning down your own bed.  Breakfast could be on your own.  There might not be a view of Diamond Head, Il Duomo at your feet, or waves crashing on the rugged California coast.  There might not be a Hawaiian quilt on your bed, eiderdown or freshly picked orchids.  There'll still be a fire in the fireplace for chill summer nights, a postcard or two, and plenty of love.

Please excuse if you come now.  You're welcome all the same. 

(top image:  Downderry House; bottom:  Hotel Hana Maui )