Today is such a great day for being home. As snow blows past windows and dances around blooming roses, I sit in knitted woolen socks, drinking a steaming mug of tea and sorting through old photographs. Ah, home. It truly is the best place there is.
Over Thanksgiving, which now seems like 73 1/2 years ago, my beautiful Aunt Mindy and charming Uncle Tim asked me to post more pictures of the house on my blog. I hesitate, because my home... as much as I adore it... is a diamond-in-the-rough type of place. Freeman House is wild and creaky and ... wonderful. Only you have to be a true visionary (or a NyQuil-dependent cold and flu sufferer) to see it.
Take this for example. Oh goodness. Look at this picture. I think it was taken around September of 2004. This is a picture of one of the three kitchens in Freeman House when I bought her. (Yep, three yicky-yuck kitchens.)
This room is now my bedroom. In fact, the two photographs above are of the same wall in the same room. Uncle George's ancient wardrobe backs up against the very spot those dingy cabinets once hung. That makes me smile. Where there used to be disgusting kitchen storage and gummy-residued panelling, there is now freshly-painted sheetrock and a newly-waxed family heirloom. This wall is one of the first things I see when I wake up in the morning. I love it.
Slanted floors, creaky doors, yucky chores... gosh, I adore this home. And while I suddenly wish I could invite you over, slice into a warm chocolate cake, and take you on a tour, I know home is sacred. I know our time at home... our time with each other and with our pets and our projects... is sacrosanct and fleeting. So on this gray, snow-sprinkled day, I simply wanted to say that I wish you warmth and peace and yummy things wherever you are.
...In a word, I wish you home.