I sat with my Aunt Robin at her kitchen counter one morning, and over toast and tea, we spoke of a variety of things - from the color of the sunset in Narragansett to the ways in which we cope with grief. I showed her how to press wax seals, and she, in turn, shared her techniques for designing the intricate inlay for her banjo collection.

In her home, there is a shelf filled with birdcages of all shapes and sizes - antique wooden cages once used for transporting chickens, medium-sized cages for songbirds, and tiny ornamental cages too small for any bird to fit in. Though she never uses the cages, Robin, a free spirit herself, always keeps the doors to the cages open, as she puts it to "let things flow."

Her own door is always unlocked and guests are welcome to come and go as they please. I find great beauty in this metaphor for living: open your doors, open your heart, and let things flow.

Across the quiet street, my Aunt Annie runs her house just as openly and generously. In fact when I arrived last night, I didn’t know where I was going to stay. Imagine flying into a city with no plan, but knowing there would always be space for you. What love. What openness.

Aunt Annie has a vast and varied mind, and as a child visiting her, I was always struck by the wide array of guests she would entertain - friends of her children, people she'd met kayaking in Mexico or New England, and even the children of her friends from other countries. Annie has a remarkable ability to hold all these different people and their stories in her mind, and her home was always open and welcoming to everyone.

Meals were often served late, sometimes not until 9 at night, and interesting conversations could be heard throughout the house, from the kitchen to the dining room to the den. My uncle Kimi, meanwhile, played a key role in creating this sense of openness and inclusivity, often cooking gourmet meals but retiring before the night grew too hectic.

From my family here, I've come to understand the value of an openness that is both present and thoughtful, like my Aunt Robin, and that also creates an atmosphere of inclusiveness that draws together people from a wide range of backgrounds, as my Aunt Annie so effortlessly does.

What does an opening your home mean to you?

where we are (for edward field) by Gerald Loclkin

i envy those
who live in two places:
new york, say, and london;
wales and spain;
l.a. and paris;
hawaii and switzerland.

there is always the anticipation
of the change, the chance that what is wrong
is the result of where you are. i have
always loved both the freshness of
arriving and the relief of leaving. with
two homes every move would be a homecoming.
i am not even considering the weather, hot
or cold, dry or wet: i am talking about hope.