Growing up in small-town Montana, my Gramma Florence and Grampa Max always had a Guestbook. It was like a religion – if you are welcomed into their home, you sign the Guestbook.
Stop for some delicious Gramma buns or Grampa toast for lunch? Sign the Guestbook. The neighbor boy comes over to mow the lawn? Sign the Guestbook. You’re here trick-or-treating on Halloween? That’s right, sign the Guestbook. When they hosted parties at other venues, the Guestbook went with. It has ended many arguments in my family on what happened when to whom, because the Guestbook never lies.
When Grayson and I moved into our home in Portland, I decided to carry on the tradition, and I love it. I was warned against having trick-or-treaters come in and sign for a piece of candy, but otherwise – please sign my Guestbook. The Guestbook made the move to Amsterdam with us, and is ready to welcome family and friends, old and new, into our home.
I’ll be tagging all posts written when we have company with “Guestbook” for easy searching!