I’ve always hated white aluminum siding. But today I find myself homesick for it, and the little beach cottage that wears it with grace. Weather-worn windows are simply adorned with wine-red shutters and a freshly painted entrance door to match. Red is good energy for an entrance. At least, that’s what I’ve learned from the dog-eared pages of my  Feng-Shui manuals. Everything in the house is old. Not old enough to be valued antiques, but old enough to have memories. I even miss the occasional pungent aroma of cigar that wafts through the rooms while I’m there. Since my visits are most often solitary, I imagine the smoker is the keeper of some of those memories. We are on gracious terms, and I often thank him for letting me share in the deep peace of the place. Sometimes, when I am feeling melancholy, I invite him to come and sit a spell, and sometimes, he obliges.

Maybe I am comfortable with the arrangement because the smell of cigars reminds me of my Uncle Elias of Blessed Memory, the epitome of curmudgeon, full of bluff and bluster, who loved his family deeply. I remember him bringing soup and sandwiches from his coffee counter across the street from the hospital where I spent long hours in Hospice with my mom, after my dad died. Each day he would ask the same things about his sister. “Did she like the soup? Did she eat the sandwich? Tomorrow I’ll bring her a pastry.” It was his way of dealing. He fed people. For me, it’s about changing shells, like the hermit crab. My favorite is made of white aluminum with red shutters.