My house

I love the quiet of my house in the mornings after Tim leaves.  The cats and I sit around, eating breakfast, getting ready for the day.  The rush hour traffic has passed and so the street is quiet, I can hear the birds (now that spring is coming), and the sun creeps slowly from window to window.  The cats' claws click-click on the hardwood floors; sometimes one sits on my lap, and we three just enjoy the unfolding of the day.  

It's the quiet that I love.  That peaceful hum of a house before activity is begun.  All my pretty things seem to be resting on their shelves, the pictures look out at me from the walls, and the walls themselves - their colors carefully chosen - speak of this as being my home.  I love the simple knowing of where things are, where they belong, the intimate knowledge of each cupboard.  I connect with this building as my nest, my space, again - my home.  

What makes it so?  What makes it more than just an abode, a place to sleep, eat, read?  Is it my things that makes it so?  Is it the time spent here?  Of course, it is all those things together. The energy I put into making it mine, the time spent here with Tim, the cats wandering around, putting my stuff just so, here and there, making it not only functional for me, but lovely to my eyes.

Whatever that magic is that turns a building into a home, I'm very thankful for it!  I don't take for granted that I have a place to call my own, to share with Tim and the kitties, in which I can create, relax, totally be me, and invite others in to share with me.  I don't take for granted that it is warm in winter and cool in summer, filled with color, filled with my memories embodied in my things (vases, pictures, decorations).  And I don't take for granted the love Tim and I share here, the love we've had for so long.  For him I'm supremely thankful.