58 toes

We bought a house just over a year ago. It’s one of six units in a Melrose Place style building, sans pool. It has a basement and three levels. Built in 1926, there are built-ins and hardwood floors and lots of charm. It’s all crooked and slanty and sometimes I think it will collapse at any moment. There is a fireplace and a tv room and a kitchen so small all the appliances have been blasted with our shrink ray in order to fit. We call it The HOM. Or the CONDOM, given it's condominium status.

Yesterday, it felt like a HOME for the first time in our forever there. It has something to do with :A: and her things filling out the gaps in our things and her just being there really. A happy face to come home to. And her feathered friends, too. I love their tweeting. It has something to do with M and HIM the cat being there. M’s kitschy contributions to the décor polka dotting all the rooms. His basement bedroom, all circa 16 year old him. His guitar playing making its way through the heating vents and filling the rooms with music as homey as fresh baked bread. And it has to do with me. My art on the walls. The odd ball colors I opted to paint everything. I am a maker of the cozy. I know how to fluff a pillow and fold a blanket in such a way that you want to take a nap the second you look at ‘em. It’s a gift.

I was finishing my paint-by-number when I felt it. :A: was getting ready to meet her boyfriend for coffee and studying at Spyhouse. M was waiting for his friend N to pick him up to go play music at an open mic night in northeast Minneapolis. I didn’t have anywhere to be, but a movie to watch and a painting to finish. It just kinda hit me and I felt at home and smilie and thankful for it. Lucky even. It’s a nice place. Full of funky things. Overflowing with neat people.

Happy.