Wednesday, December 10, 2008

At Last


Moving is a terrible thing. I've just done it, and let me tell you, it is one of the most psychically stressful things you can do in this life. After two weeks of packing and unpacking, I was ready to keel over and sleep for several days at least, but I couldn't rest until I felt a sense of my home being my own--that strange assumption of self that a place takes on after a while. I knew I would feel it when it happened, and so it did, as I cooked breakfast two days ago.

It wasn't the first time I'd cooked in my new kitchen, but it was the first time I knew where everything was--a big difference. I had eggs from my parents chickens and I'd gone to the farmers' market to stock up on basics. I brewed some coffee with beans from my roaster down the street, scrambled the eggs with some sweet little tomatoes, a little tarragon and onion, and toasted some bread. (An entirely local breakfast, what a pleasure!) Out the kitchen window I could see my neighborhood birds chatting on the berry bush. And as I walked into the dining room with my plate, I discovered the morning light, great big shafts of it, beaming in from the terrace onto the table. I sat and ate in the glow of sun, watching the birds and feeling, at last, that it was good to be home.

No comments: