It was a small space located between Newberry's and the bank, the small local bank in the days before all the mergers. It was where the brass ensemble would play outside in the cold winter air while our small town went about their Christmas shopping. The cold mouthpiece of the French horn as the mouthpiece met my lip and the frigid bell as I slid my hand inside. Perhaps that is why this night, Hospitality night in our small village, brings me such joy and pleasure. It is the continuum of who I was to who I am and the knowledge that as much as things change, they are often still the same.