Creature Comforts

I write this while sitting directly opposite a snoozing cat. She is tucked in around herself, curled like a crescent moon with ends made of tail and ears and feet. She is just now lightly snoring, and did not move a muscle when the mail was dropped in through the door slot about 20 feet (and one closed door) away from her.

Being comfortable is a matter of priorities, I think. Are you more cold than hot? Are you more concerned about the noise of a room or the light? What is the most amount of "annoyance" that you're willing to tolerate?

I've lived here for close to seven months now, and I am comfortable. I've moved beyond noticing the things that perhaps others would find annoying (not gonna put any "for instances" here because they're not MY annoyances) and am quite cozy with the way things are. It's wonderful, to accept and fully appreciate ones surroundings.

When I first moved, I made a concerted effort to not refer to my previous residence as "home" because, after all, I'd moved from there TO "home" ... which is "here". Now, after more than half a year has passed, I no longer need to make the effort. This *is* home. Sure, it's true that I'll still refer to where I'd been as "home" but anyone I'd be saying that to would know that's just a reference to living in a place for 4 decades. That doesn't go away overnight, and it doesn't disrespect where I am now. To this home. To our home.

The cat has now tucked her head underneath her arm and I see her whiskers twitching. She has also changed homes in the past six months. If she were able to talk, I wouldn't doubt that she'd refer to her past residence as "home". She was there for quite a bit of her life, but now she seems quite settled in here. She has achieved a comfort level that she's at ease with. She has companionship, toys, basic necessities, and a choice of laps to curl up on at night, if she's so inclined. She is, once again, comfortable and at home.

Bloom Where You Are Planted

I come from a family of gardeners. My father grows grapes. Quite a few of them, in fact. My sister has had her fair share of crops, legal and other, and has a fondness for flowers these days. My mother is a master gardener and has "grafted trees" (whatever THAT means) and was happy to inherit the family orchids from my father's parents after they passed. (They're over 100 years old now and have been split into hundreds of individual plants.) My mom has the ability to look at a plant and know if it needs water, better soil, is a weed, will flower soon, has too much light, was planted in the right area ... all the things that a gardener should know. A relaxing evening to my folks is to take an hour or so after dinner and water a portion of their property - the old fashioned way, with a hose and all. (They have a drip system for most everything and an irrigation plan for the grapes, but still.) Yep - I come from a family of gardeners.

And, while I've commented here before that I'm for sure not adopted, I am the black sheep of the family. Or, more appropriately, the black thumb. I can't tell flower from herb from tree from weed, unless it is flowering, has a trunk, or I'm already cooking it. As I recently confessed elsewhere, I've killed ivy, for cryin' out loud.

So it was a surprise to me how happy I felt when The Awesome Boyfriend told me he was going to get his garden in shape for this approaching season. I know that the rest of the family has been wondering about it (because they've asked "so you kids gonna garden this year?") and I figured we would, but with the amount of snow we had this past Winter, I was curious as to how the soil would look after we ... uh ... "fluffed it up?" (Again, not a gardener so I'm sure there's a more technical term ... perhaps "turned it over" would be better.)

Last night, "Mike, the rototiller guy" showed up as promised and, in less than an hour, he ... errrr ... "tilled?" the plot of land that will be the garden. This morning, I visited the area with a rake and did my best to remove any larger clumps and to level things off. In an hour or so, we're gonna head to the gardening supply store to get ... mmmmm ... whatever it is that we need from the gardening supply store. (Seriously - I have no idea. The Awesome Boyfriend mentioned something about netting and I figured it was to keep the birds out - but apparently it's to keep the weeds out. Or was that "webbing"? Wow yeah, no idea at all.)

So in a few months, perhaps we'll be enjoying the fruits (and veggies and herbs) of our labor. I'll update with "garden news" throughout the season.

This is me, blooming where I've been planted.

Be Our Guest

I can't recall my parents ever cleaning the house from top to bottom prior to hosting friends overnight at their home. For whatever reason, everyone always would leave at some point, even if in the wee hours. Driving tipsy back then was ... well, I won't say it was "common" but it wasn't as discussed publically as it is now and I know for a fact that after a few "Fun Club" parties, some of those folks should NOT have been behind the wheel (my father included) but ... well ... yeah, it happened.

While I have no growing-up experiences with my parents having guests stay with us, I do have growing-up experiences with major house-cleaning efforts prior to hosting a gathering (family or friends). My mother is very good at organizing and filing and making sure things find their place in their home, but she's not the best house-keeper (and she's alright with that). The battle of dust was always being faught (and mostly lost) and it probably didn't help that there was a constant remodel project going on, or the dog being in a state of "shed".

I always found it curious the amount of time we spent cleaning the house prior to a party. I couldn't imagine who we'd be cleaning the top of the medicine cabinent for. Did we honestly worry that someone would slip on a white glove and run their hand along the top, just to check for possible dirt? Was someone REALLY gonna move the blanket from the bed to make sure the corners were tucked in properly? I mean - why would we WANT anyone like that in our home? Who needs a friend like that?

I was thinking of this during the week - when I was vacuuming the window sills and we spent the evening hanging pictures on Monday, as I was washing off the light dust on the plants and recalking the bathtub on Tuesday, when I was vacuuming the downstairs and getting the truck washed in the evening on Wednesday, and today, when I was figuring out which daffodils should be in the front of the vase and then tucked in the corners of the sheets ... properly.

We are hosting our first overnight guest for the next few days and I understand the whole cleaning thing now. We do it not to get approval from who is visiting, but to be proud that we have a warm, clean, well-decorated nest that folks WANT to visit. It's more than just getting a new "welcome" mat to put outside the door ... it's extending that welcome throughout your home.

Hello there, friend. Welcome to our home.