An ordinary day. A blessed, beloved ordinary day. Oh how I love thee.
Today then. Hands that smell of garlic and coal tar. A kitchen that smells like home. Pictures hung in the conservatory. Books stacked on the bookcase in the tiny little breakfast room. A bulb fitted in the laundry room. The grey bin pulled on to the busy lane. Oh the tyranny of bin day. A constant worry on the mind of she who is too forgetful.
Ste making tuna barmcakes to eat at the football sidelines. Long dull conversations with all the utilities. A chat with a lovely new neighbour. 7500 steps taken just around this house. The desktop computer finally set up. A new resolve. Delicious egg paste (heavenly egg paste!) with garlic chives and rye bread. Cinnamon kisses sprinkled in icing sugar. Too much dough. Three quarters of it frozen for cookie emergencies.
Fifteen minutes spent giggling while the perpetually bewildered builders narrowly avoid a whole lot of damage with a crane and pallets full of heaven knows what. Entertainment on my back doorstep! An afternoon bath and a plan for my very own Miracle Evening dreamt up in sandalwood bubbles.
Pictures changed in the conservatory. Twice (ahem). A minor wobble about the size of the new sofa (huuuuuge). A lost pair of slippers, a lost yoga mat, a missing chair (how??) and a dash out for another glass chopping board I suddenly cannot live without. The irrational desires of the pre-menstrual woman. Clary sage rubbed in to my wrists. Selfies with my son. Another gloriously silly episode of Friday Night Dinner. Half-an-hour spent with a stack of recipe books on my knees. Fairy lights in a jar on the dining room table.
Missing the dog. Loving this house.
Candles lit. Floral pyjamas on. A splatter of pink and red roses on a brooding black fabric. A chat with my Dad. Radiators I can rely on! A stolen peanut butter cup. The cosy bliss of another Maureen Lee novel, just right for Autumn evenings. Birthday presents to wrap. Cedarwood diffusing around the house. Plans for a trip to the pumpkin patch with the kids. Dreams about toffee apples cold from the fridge.
Enough. So much. Just right.