{Yesterday, this Lenten series about room(s) noted the den in which our kids grew up. Today, another den, or living room, or either one … in my Mom and Dad’s last home.}

This will be short since there’s only one point to make. It’s something that Joan and I still smile about today, decades after it happened. And it happened again and again.

My parents lived in Raleigh, NC. They’d moved there in the mid-1960s when IBM opened a big plant at the then-new Research Triangle Park. Decades later, the last home they purchased was a cozy two-bedroom ranch in a very pleasant neighbohood in North Hills. The front door opened directly into the den, and a quick turn to the right — there was the living room. They lived equally in both rooms. The living room had a slightly more formal look, and more seating, and since the TV was in there, and Dad’s stereo (including a reel-to-reel tape recorder!), it was more the entertainment center of the house than the den. When family was visiting, we gathered there. Sometimes.

Other times, and because the dining area was in the den, we’d plop down in the den furniture or around the dining table. The den was warm and inviting as one would expect dens to be. There was a nice brick fireplace surrounded by bookcases. Dad liked history and Mom liked novels and the books were segregated in the two bookshelves. I recall only two comfy highback upholstered chairs in there, so when the larger family gathered, we made use of the chairs around the table. The too-small kitchen was just off the den, so obviously any offering of food or snacks drove us to the den, not the living room.

In the Kellam den– you might get the impression Dad carved birds

Here’s the thing that still tickles Joan and me. So…we’d be visiting from Virginia or Vermont, and natually my siblings and families would come by to see us. Not the whole crowd all at once, but enough to fill the room. Which room? Well, we’d find ourselves in the den first. Some commotion, then settling, and lively conversation. Nearly always, there’d be a quiet one-by-one migration to the living room. Maybe the TV would be the draw, or just more comfortable chairs. Joan would find herself sitting alone in the den, maybe having taken on some handicrafted distraction. She’d realize the crowd had moved to “the other room” and she’d join us.

Then, at some point, she’d look up to realize everyone had moved again…to “the other room.” The other, “other room.” Many times the migration was just a trickle, unannounced. Now, we weren’t intentionally leaving her behind, and she wasn’t being anti-social in missing the cue to move from den to living room to den and back. It was just something that happened, every time we visited. And sometimes, it was just a quieter time with only the four of us in the house, Mom and Dad, Joan and me. Three of us would be in the den, and Mom would ask, “Is Joan in there (the living room) by herself again?”

We Kellams were always on the move. At least, from room to room.

See? This reflection was no big thing. It was just a smile for our family, and the luxury of two rooms in which to live, move, and have our being. Especially move.