Years ago, while raising my children as a single mom in Virginia Beach, I rented rooms to foreign women who had moved to the area for work. It was one of the most meaningful experiences of our lives. My kids and I still talk about the friendships, shared meals, and mutual learning that took place under our roof.
I helped them navigate English and everyday American life, while they introduced us to traditions and dishes from their own cultures. That season of life sparked my deep love for sharing my home with others — not just as a host, but as someone who values connection, kindness, and hospitality.
That spirit continues here, in my grandparents’ former home. They cared for it for over forty years, with pride and love in every corner. My grandmother filled the home with warmth and baked for every guest, while my grandfather was known for “finding” small problems just so he could pay a neighbor to fix them — he truly enjoyed keeping the house in top shape. I spent countless late nights with him listening to stories from his time as a WWII medic, including the honor he felt in helping liberate concentration camps.
His admiration and compassion for the Jewish community left a profound mark on me, and I carry that legacy with deep respect. It shaped how he viewed service, and it continues to guide how I welcome and care for others today.
As a teen, I dreamed of living in this house. Over thirty years later, I returned — purchasing it from a family member and restoring it from disrepair. The dining room table once belonged to my grandparents, and their photos still hang in the hallway. I’ve held onto their cherrywood grandfather clock too, with its beautiful chime, waiting for the right time to restore it.
Hosting here allows me to honor their legacy, and share a home filled with heritage, love, and the quiet kind of pride that lasts through generations.