At last my kitchen feels like home. Not that it didn’t before, not that I didn’t like it. Not that I had a difficult adjustment coming to Louisville. I didn’t. This house felt like home the minute I came. But this morning, I looked up from my Cheerios, which, until now, I’ve eaten standing up, and I looked across the room and everything looked different to me. Felt like home.
I’m sure this has something to do with having turned a chapter
and looking for the story
and being surrounded by creative voices
and autumn colors
and my baby sister turning 60 tomorrow
and my being reflective,
even more reflective than before everything happened,
if that’s possible.
I have taken in the long view and found it set against a backdrop of peace, which defies logic. I could even say it’s ironic, but I try never to use words that people typically follow with “whatever that means.” It’s accurate, though. I looked it up!
A bona fide irony, right here in my kitchen, right here in my life.