I bought my current house because of a hallway. I looked at the pictures online and was not impressed and really didn’t want to keep the appointment with the realtor. It just looked too square and sensible and un-romantic? Is that a thing with houses? If it had been a guy back in my dating days, it would have called every night and would have been ten minutes early for every date. Perfectly respectable and tragically boring. I’m picturing a face in my mind right now and feel a little guilty. He was lovely, but there was no spark. I expected the same from the little gray house, but I had not allowed for its’ hallway. I don’t know what it is with me, but I love hallways. Especially, the first time you meet them. Long, cool empty hallways. Space wasting, bare walled hallways that make no sense. Lots of doors with rooms you haven’t checked out. Full of promise and potential. But, I like them after too. When family pictures are hung everywhere and a spare umbrella is in the corner and there are echoes of busy kids running up and down and in and out. Family words hanging in the air like you could reach out and touch them. “Is that Grandpa? I heard the back door open!” “Honey, can you bring my shoes when you come?” “Dogs, come on. It’s time to go.” Hallways. They make me want to wrap presents and mix a mojito and slip into fuzzy slippers. They are a huge part of the feeling that says, “You’re home.” If I am away and close my eyes and picture home it is my hallway waiting there silently for me that I most want to get back to. And, every time I walk through my back door, I stop and drink it in. I pat the wall and say, “I see you.” We have a moment. My husband with his engineer brain understands none of this and pushes past me with the suitcases and makes a comment about wasted space. I allow it because I understand hallways are not for everyone. I’m just glad they are for me.