There's something about home that I'm still working on...
Maybe it's an effort to count my blessings.
It may have started with the washer workouts and trying to see the bright side of things. (The plumbers will come again on Friday, with their jackhammer, mud, etc. I've just thrown my hands up in the air about all of it- the mess, the money, the men trudging through.) We have a house. We are ok.
There were hyacinth bulbs in jars at the grocery store for only a few dollars. Still, it seemed like a splurge... not needed, just wanted.
I'm enjoying it so much!
The scent is heady, a constant gift, and a trace of memory too, but I can't quite place it.
Very slowly, only a few pages a day, I'm reading Katherine May's The Electricity of Every Living Thing. So far, I love it and it's hard, comforting and too close to home. Last week, there were these sentences:
"... Everybody has a song like this. A song that is a map, a compass: a song that sets you straight again. Learn it, and it will take you home."
This feels like what I'm trying to get to, what much of my stitching, stories, inner work are about. The words, or even whole coherent thoughts about it aren't formed yet, but I'm a few steps closer.
In the meantime, this may have gone a bit far, but it felt like a party!
"The Shindig of Home"
