I left the door open to my flower-less back garden as I sipped my cup of coffee. Wool wash is churning gently in the washing machine. The grass has been cut shortly before the rain came and it smelled good. Pippi is hiding behind my raised flower bed, stalking the birds. Tom is softly snoring on the sofa. We make our own associations based on our individual experiences when we are asked what “home” means to us. My definition has evolved having moved so far from our families. I struggled with it for a while, felt lost. It has been a slow process of discovering what works for me and for our little family, until I realized the most essential component is there already in abundance – LOVE in all its beautiful forms. Inspired, I started working towards the physical comforts and manisfestations of this love. Nothing grand, just simple things like a vase of fresh flowers and lighted candles for dinner. Through the years I’ve slowly made little corners for myself to nurture me, heal me, inspire me. Yes, I’m home. I’ve been home all along.
[ Our new dining area got a bit of a make-over when we had to replace our tiny fridge with a bigger one – which didn’t leave enough space for the old table. Yay! (I love changes!) Dining table and chairs are from Ikea and cushions are from the Carolyn Donnelly eclectic collection for Dunnes. ]
While I go nurse myself from a really really really really bad hay fever, I leave you with pictures of my babies.
Till next time.