Living the Butler Door Life

One of my favorite features of our old house is the butler door. It swings in both directions between the kitchen and what used to be the formal dining room. We never used it that way. For years, it was the playroom—filled with dollhouses, video game controllers, and the sound of kids growing up. Now it’s just an office. No toys. No mess. Just quiet.

These days, I feel like that old butler door — swinging quietly between generations and moments I wish I could freeze. My kids are walking forward into amazing lives of their own, and my dad is joyfully revisiting the days when he was their age. And here I am — the hinge.

That swing of time feels especially vivid during summer.

Beach Vacations

This is year fifteen. For fifteen summers, we’ve followed a white vehicle to the beach. The vehicle has changed — a different make and model — but it’s always been white.

For fourteen of those years, we traveled as a party of sixteen. Some years, even more.

This year, things look a little different. We’re proud of our little beach babies — now grown into young adults with wives, job interviews, and advanced degrees on the horizon. No beach bums here.

When David and I packed the car, we looked at each other and asked, “Why is this all fitting so easily?” The answer is simple: the Wiffle balls, crab hunting buckets, and boogie boards are gone. We’re traveling lighter — with fewer things, and fewer kids.

“ I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.” – Andy Bernard (The Office)

I find myself replaying past beach trips in my mind: Shell Island, late-night milkshakes, family photos, fireworks, the circle of crabs at our feet — and the beautiful chaos of traveling with a full house. This year I want to soak it all in, just as it is now. Less gear, new traditions.

And as I watch this new version, I can’t help but think: Job well done, Beach Crew.

Camping Trips

As our beach trip begins, I find myself thinking about how my dad lives now — with pieces of the past sprinkled into his present. The residents around him are a mix of “old friends” and new ones, and sometimes it’s hard to tell which are which.

His crew was the camping crew — boats, grills, picnic tables, and cold drinks. These days, when he spends time with his “old” buddies, it looks different. The boats have been replaced with wheelchairs, but the conversation is still full of laughs.

His memories drift in and out, but some still land with clarity. Just yesterday, we talked about those old camping trips and the fast boat rides. He grinned and said, “I could do that, but I shouldn’t.”

And then — just like that — the conversation swung the other way. We were talking about my son moving to Baton Rouge for his next adventure. Dad is proud, I know it. He wears the new purple hat with a smile… though I’m not sure he’s ready to embrace the purple tiger shirt just yet.

In these moments, I feel the swing — from past to future, old stories to new beginnings. And I hold steady in the middle, like the hinge on that old butler door, trying to be present for both sides.

Life at the Pivot Point

I couldn’t make up the life we’ve lived — we’ve lost loved ones, weathered heartbreaks, and raised some pretty great kids along the way.

Somewhere along this journey, I decided to appreciate life for what it used to be — and for what it is now. I don’t want to look back like Andy, with a tendency to not fully appreciate the present until it becomes the past. I want to live like my dad — carrying a little nostalgia, but staying grounded in the fleeting moments of everyday life.

I’m learning to stand in the middle — not trying to hold the door closed or keep it open too wide, just staying present as it swings.Remembering the old stories of beach vacations and camping trips, and welcoming in the new ones.

Standing in the hinge is, in its own way, a kind of grace.