being at home

There’s something to be said for the mid-week flex day. Something like, “Flex days in the middle of the week are quite fabulous.” I’m enjoying one today, and am strongly resisting the urge to pack it full of exciting adventures. Right now, I’m sitting on the couch eating porridge with dates, listening to the hum of the dryer and the gurgle of the washing machine. A magpie is warbling outside. It’s quiet. It’s 10.00am and I’m still in my PJs. Bliss!

Later I’ll venture out and take a trip to the hardware store. Shame on me, I still haven’t bought the ceiling fan for the laundry, and I also need some teeny-weeny light bulbs, and some screws so I can finish swapping out the old kitchen handles for the shiny green ones courtesy of Ikea. There will hopefully also be a trip to Vinnies so I can drop off some boxes – yes, boxes – of unwanted stuffs. Then I’m going to take in a movie – a matinee, darling!

After that I could run hither and thither, but I want to keep resisting the urge, so I intend to toddle home, maybe catch up on some ironing and mending, and watch Star Wars Uncut. I may even bake a cake. I like being at home. I am a homebody. Except when I’m not at home. Then I’m just another person not at home, wishing they were at home*. Especially when I’m at work.

But I’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, I’m going to enjoy the sunshine and the shadows of trees playing on my walls, do another load of laundry, have another cuppa, and soak up the homely goodness of being at home doing homely things.

*Unless I’m with friends and family, at church, in a bookstore or library, walking around Sydney Harbour, or other places that are familiar and feel like home.