“A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.” William G.T. Shedd
I have to find a way to make my house more unappealing. I get home and it’s so comfy, cool and quiet that I just want to stay home. I haven’t had this problem before, having never been a homebody. But I love this house! I am not usually this passionately attached to a building: walls and floors and doors and stuff. It’s just a place. It’s not alive, it doesn’t talk to me, it was here before me and it will be here when I leave it. It doesn’t even know I’m alive. But I just keep tending to it: pulling weeds in the yard, painting things, correcting things that have been long forgotten, little repairs, beautifying, listening to it’s squeeks and creeks. I move things around – put them in strange places, like the couch in the kitchen, the tree in the bedroom, the wine glasses on the windowsill. What is that? Am I slowly going crazy in this damn house a la Sarah Winchester?
I’ve created reading nooks for Tall Handsome Son: first in a corner of his bedroom with a comfy chair and ottoman then in his large closet (weird place I know, but it worked well). I never had a reading nook of my own. I usually read in the bathtub or the bed. But I have nowhere to read if I’m not also bathing or getting ready for sleep, so I made my first reading nook today. It’s terrible, just terrible. Comfortable pillows, under a nice light, on a soft rug. I’m never leaving this house now.