Sharing a meal, I think to be an act of humanity that delves deep into the very factors that make society and the world around us tenable. I have grown up, knowing that my grandmother thought of her life as one filled with people coming to eat. Her family, her children, her grandchildren, my grandfather's friends. Never herself really, but that tale of female neglect I will leave for another melancholic day. My grandfather offered to feed everybody that came their way, in this was his benevolence and his humanity. My grandmother did all the work that supported his humanity. Between the two of them, they scraped and scringed, often denying themselves rest and resources in small measures to keep an open house.
Today, I was reading this...
And found it remarkably poignant, the peasant's simple act of hospitality.
Perhaps, history and the stories of people need to be told with different eyes, anecdotally, from kindnesses and considerations. Without erasing evidence of divisions and structures. But softly.