The days and weeks seem to be flowing gently by with not much happening and not much change here of late. Sort of a continuous stream of wintry day-after-day spent indoors keeping warm. I keep getting a vague wave of dissatisfaction wafting over me, feeling that somehow we should be doing more family stuff, more activity, more something, but the feeling comes and goes in a blink. There and then gone. The family (as far as I can tell) are more than happy to just float in this slow, wintry stream, it only seems to be me who thinks from time to time that we need to jump out! Explore! Go places! Have fun! But like I say, the feeling is there and then gone.
I think these sort of days/weeks are sometimes necessary, a sweet and gentle fallow period when everyone can rest and recharge their batteries. We each seem to be taking turns to do battle with the odd lurgy. Just coughs and colds and a little tummy ache here and there, but instinctively we have slowed down and are allowing this time to pass gently.
Each and every day I give gratitude for my sweet home life, for the fact that we have come to live in such a warm, cosy, solid, happy house. I love this house, number 24. It's quite modest as houses go, a mid terrace with a small footprint, and often we do feel like we could do with more space. We keep wondering whether we should move. We often spend time speculating over property, J and I. Houses with a garden and outside space for Connievan, a bigger kitchen (my dream) and a study (his dream), houses with open vistas and greenery, houses with more, more, more. But every time we think about moving we come back to this basic fact :: we are so happy here. There is an indefinable something which makes this house so special to live in. So we stay.
Of course, this house is just a house, and there is a tremendous difference between a house and a home. I fill this house with love and colour and creativity, with sweet smelling flowers, good food and all manner of pretty things. I make it into Home for me and my family. And if I say so myself, I think I'm rather good at Making Home.
This past week J taught me to poach eggs. Not with any fancy equipment, just with a pan of water and a little splash of vinegar. I've wanted to acquire this skill for so long, especially since I adore the sort of posh brunch you get in posh eateries that include muffins and smoked salmon and these beautifully posh, creamy poached eggs. Hooorraaahhh!! Now I can do it all-by-myself!! I am eating eggs for breakfast and lunch. No stopping me now I have The Poaching Knowhow.
Are you finding this post odd? It's a bit rambly and all over the place isn't it, full of not-a-lot. I am sorry. I've got a jug of bright daffodils sitting on my table this week. They started out as tightly closed green buds, but very quickly unfurled in the warmth of Home.
Such glorious colour and unpretentious beauty. I really love daffodils, most especially at this rather grey time of year.
Can I just say, before I retreat off to bed with my basket full of Ripple and a hot water bottle, that I love that you visit me. So much. Thank you, thank you for stopping by and reading my ramble, especially on a day like today when I am a little run down and am drivelling. When I am full of Nothing in Particular, but I feel like babbling all the same.
Thank you ♥