April is almost coming to a close and I have been living in this house 11 months. A year ago at the end of April I owned this house, but I hadn't moved in yet. Work was being done, and I was here daily. I already felt like this was home, and yet there was so much I still hadn't discovered, that I still didn't see.
I am still in love with my house. It just feels like home. I smile when I turn into my driveway. I loved the house and the garden and even the empty lawn and the wooded slope in the backyard, so full of potential, before I moved in, but it feels like I am still discovering the joys of my own house. I don't remember the red azaleas from last year even though I was here everyday, even though this house felt more like my home than my old house did, even though the yard was filled with trucks and the workmen and I still lived elsewhere. But then, I was packing up the old house, getting ready to move. Perhaps I was a tad distracted.
I do remember the tiarella near the front door, I admired them all summer, but I don't remember them blooming. That was probably lost in packing, and moving, and making choices. Above is a photo I posted to instagram the other day. These lovely little foam flowers make me smile every time I walk through my front door. In fact I am just happy being home. It seems absurd that such a small little patch of earth can hold so much promise and joy and happiness. Moises meets me at the door, Tikka dances around in circles, I curl up in a chair with a book or music or work in my kitchen. Even the fact that another drawer has broken on the old refrigerator doesn't dent my joy.
When I returned home from Nebraska last week, I was stunned to turn the corner to the garage and see the large pink Azaleas. I had photographed them before, they had started to bloom before I left, but I returned to a mass of bright vivid pink. My heart swells with laughter every time I turn that corner, every moment I am confronted with such a mass of pink. Who knew that a pink azalea could mean so much?
I need to start a garden journal before I forget, forget what I saw, forget what I planted, forget my dreams. I had one in Hyde Park. I may not have brought it with me. I guess I thought that part of my life was over and I abandoned it. Or perhaps it will still turn up somewhere. Perhaps I was too quick to think my life was over in those days. Perhaps now I feel like it is just beginning. Not such a bad thing, to begin again, and again and again.
Do I feel so much more settled in my skin, so much more like myself because I found a place I can just be myself? Or did I find the right place because I was already beginning to reawaken to who I was, who I am, hopefully who I can be? These are all chicken or egg questions and there is no correct answer, but my first spring in my home has been a joy, and I have been happy to sit and watch the birds, to dig in the dirt, to read a book, to simply come home -- home -- and feel that deep sense of contentment, that sense of this is where I belong. What is next?
Oh, and I've been cooking too. Well I cook when I am happy, even for myself. Since I was under the weather this past week, it has mostly been for myself. This is kai yat say or stuffed egg crepes from Leela Punyaratabandhu's Simple Thai Food. Leela writes the blog shesimmers, which I've been following off and on for quite a while. The dish is savory but mild and pretty simple. It is pretty much an omelet, only shaped a bit differently. I had it for lunch and made no attempt at creating a traditional Thai meal. I like the square omelette. The ratio of filling to egg seems higher, and there are no ends where you just get overcooked egg without filling, which seems to happen too often in traditional omelets. Or perhaps I am just too picky. Besides the little package is pretty. Perhaps I will experiment with the idea some more.
Anyway, I hope you are having a good week. I went to hear a concert the other night, a piano trio. I had to leave after the first work because I started coughing and couldn't control it, but that first piece was worth the effort. My spirit danced even as my lungs convulsed. I took a nice walk yesterday, and went out to dinner with family. I ironed sheets. Yes, I am the kind of person who finds ironing sheets a joy, perhaps even more of a joy than slipping between freshly ironed sheets that first night,,..
I hope your week is filled with small joys.