Home

Being rather an introvert by nature, home has always been where I prefer being more than any place in the world. That hasn't changed with the move to our new (to us) home back in April. In fact, the preference for home has grown more intense now that I no longer work from my home. I treasure every moment that I get to spend here - from the early morning breakfasts on the deck, sipping our coffee, watching the humming birds dance and the robins nest, to a lazy Saturday afternoon when the sun drenches the dining area and living room (they flow together), to the quiet evenings with some Bach playing softly on the surround-sound (I'd never had that before!) as we enjoy a glass or two of Pinot Noir to the flicker of candles on the piano and the old bench we're using as a coffee table. But most of all, most of all, I treasure the times when the children are home for a meal and the house is filled again with their raucous laughter and the conversations grow louder and louder, and the cards get pulled out.

I'm especially eager for starting new memories of holidays here. A home doesn't quite properly seem a home until there are memories in it of Thanksgiving turkeys, Christmas hymn sings, and New Year Eve parties.

I've heard tell that smell is one of the most evocative senses for nostalgia. I know that has been true for me with the smell of a wood fire. I get one whiff on a cold and gray day, and images float before my mind of the old kitchen at Grandma Bess' or Aunt Emma's - cornbread baking in the oven and coffee sitting on the stove, and somehow the warmth in the house (which was more than the fire in the wood stove, but that seems closely akin to it) had the promise beating back the encroaching chill. This house has a real fire-place and even though if you step outside it feels like you're IN a roaring fire, I am still eagerly anticipating the day I come home and there's a fire in the hearth with that wondrous smell that says "home" to my nose and memory like nothing else.