It’s ZZ

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I seem to have claimed the kitchen table as My Spot. Not the whole thing, but the chair where I can look at this ZZ plant or stare out the big window. My plants are here. I've got my laptop. A magazine. Space for tea. Napkins. Knitting. Watercolour stuff nearby. And the chairs are comfortable. Straightforward wood chairs with enough height and room in the seat to feel just right as I type this, or eat toast, or putter away at something. It's a cozy nook at the end of a galley kitchen that holds our essentials and a few extras. 

Home looks like plants on a windowsill, and favourite things within reach.

Home smells like a spice cupboard full of my favourites. The cupboard is clean but the combination of spices is a pure riot of scent every time I open the cupboard.

Home sounds like Dave playing Stratomatic Baseball in the other room, dice rolling in the box and the news or sports on in the background. Someday soon it will sound like our favourite people visiting and laughing with us.

Home tastes like tea, toast, and "poop juice" in a familiar glass.*

Home feels like reading in bed. Always. 

I have everything I need.

There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be
It's easy
Love is all you need

* Restoralax. And it feels like home because I always forget it when we go away or I'm out of my routine. So, yes, love and poop juice are all you need.

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