at the house

In the guest room

The Lamp Is
Already On

Getting a room ready for someone who has been in the car too long. Somebody is getting in late. The lamp is on.

By Lucy Cuneo · 5 minutes · Turned down at four, so nobody has to do it at midnight. The suitcase is open. Nobody has unpacked. Somebody is still asleep. Coffee is downstairs.

Somebody is getting in late. After dinner, or off the last ferry, or off the flight that was delayed twice. They’re tired, the house isn’t theirs, and they don’t know where anything is. As their host, you get to be the one at the door with a big hug, and a cozy room already waiting.

A guest room has one job: to make them feel at home in under a minute. Water they can reach. A light they can find without patting the wall. A charger already in the socket they can see, not the one behind the chest of drawers.

The guest-room chest: a wicker lamp on, magazines, books and a bowl of fruit The guest room at sunset, the water through the window and the bed turned down
The lamp on before they arrive. Something to read, something to eat.

Do it in the afternoon

Open the windows. Make the bed, turn the lamp on, fill the carafe. Then lie down on the bed for a minute, the way they will. Can you reach the water, and turn off the light without getting up? Is there somewhere for a suitcase that isn’t the floor? Close the windows before it gets dark.

Sleep in your guest room once yourself, and you’ll know what’s missing.

The guest bathroom cabinet, stocked with everything a guest forgets A fluffy cat sitting in the guest-room wicker wastebasket
Everything a guest forgets, already in the cabinet. The wastebasket is occupied.

If you’re in bed before they arrive

Leave a little dinner on the kitchen counter, covered, with a note: something cold, good bread, a wedge of cheese. A bottle of wine, already open, with a glass beside it. Water. A robe on the bed and chocolate on the pillow, so they can ease in. At midnight, nobody wants to be hosted. They want to be left alone, comfortably, with the door shut.

A drawer with the hairdryer already in it
In the bedside drawer What somebody actually looks for at midnight.

The guest room checklist

Everything above, in one list. Do it in the afternoon, the week before if you can. Print the checklist (PDF)

  • Your best sheets on the bed
  • An extra blanket in the bottom drawer
  • A throw, for naps
  • A hot-water bottle, on very cold nights
  • Water and a glass
  • A lamp they can reach from the pillow
  • A charger, already plugged in
  • Flowers, low
  • A candle, with matches beside it
  • Chocolates
  • Current magazines and a few books
  • Fresh seasonal fruit
  • A pencil and a few cards
  • Earplugs, a small torch, a hair tie
  • Room to unpack, and hangers
  • A hairdryer they can actually find
  • A fluffy robe behind the door
  • Towels out
  • Beautiful little soaps
  • Lovely shampoo and conditioner
  • The stocked cabinet: toothbrushes, toothpaste, razors, Advil, a shower cap
  • If you’re in bed first: a little dinner, covered, and the wine open
  • The lamp on, the door open a few inches
In the guest room

The bed is turned down.

Down the hall

In the kitchen The Thanksgiving Planner From the people coming to the sandwich the next morning. It prints. Red and yellow tulips in a copper urn, green plates hung on the wall above By the glass cupboard A Thing Worth Keeping Who made it, what it is for, and why you would be sorry if it broke. The first fire of the season, the puppy sitting at the screen, a basket of logs beside it In the drawing room The First Fire The first cold evening, and the little ceremony that makes it magical.