Normally I am not much of one for the pleasures of the home or the satisfactions of housekeeping, but here I am sitting at the living room table, quietly delighting in this afternoon in my house. It’s very comforting to be here. iTunes has been playing all my favorite songs this afternoon and the kitchen smells agreeably of the chocolate biscotti I just made and of the CitraSolv I used to wipe down the stovetop. The floor is swept and the dishes are done. I got my package mailed and balanced my checkbook. I’m even thinking about doing a little filing before I go out to dinner…I have a very compelling image in my head of perfectly organized documents that is making me swoon a little.
I’ve always thought of myself as highly extroverted and socially oriented…happiest when I’m around interesting and fun people, talking and building forts and listening to music and gossiping and dancing and eating cookies and all that. And it’s true I do like that very much. I forget sometimes, though, that I have times where I’m deeply happy puttering around the house and wandering around Target and having grandiose visions that include many candle holders in all different colors and a fridge full of food that I cooked myself with really nice pots and pans. I’m finding myself smiling when the cat gets hair all over my sweater and ends up clawing my head and when I mess up cutting the biscotti into biscotti-shapes; dancing around the kitchen a little and being conscientious when I sweep the living room floor and actually moving the furniture to get all the dust bunnies.
I slept in this morning and accidentally set the toaster oven on fire a little bit before I had to run out the door for my haircut with Zan. (She was understanding about why I was a little late). The mix ice cream place next door to the salon had had its door smashed by someone and I felt sad for the owner sitting and waiting for the cops to come, wondering why someone would attack an ice cream place. I did my errands in the kind of weather that makes it really difficult to judge what time it is: could be ten thirty! Could be three fifteen! I read a book with my lunch and was happily surprised to find, when it came time to bake cookies, that I had every single ingredient I needed (except the eggs, which I borrowed from an accommodating housemate). I had a brief moment of affection for my self of a couple weeks or months ago, who thoughtfully bought seemingly random stuff so that today I could chop cherries and fold in chocolate chips into butter and eggs and flour. When the biscotti went in the oven I found that I couldn’t stop cleaning once I’d done the dishes and so now the kitchen smells like orange rind and I have congratulated myself several times for my good citizenship.
I have my shirt all picked out to wear to Treasa and John’s tonight. I have a new Netflix and several books piled up by my bed for when I come home and the flannel sheets have been keeping me very warm and cozy. Tomorrow I have another day to get new bras and to fix up my files and to organize my closet. I don’t know why the prospect of these quotidian tasks is so inviting to me this weekend; I don’t know why they have created a deep and welcome pool of calm in my head, in which I’m content to float dreamily in my sock feet, satisfied in the here and now.