After two weeks with Mama, it was time to come home again. Seems like I barely get here before I have to reload and return to Houston, but it is always good to come back home.
That fact really hit me last night when I was cooking us a late supper. The kitchen counters were cluttered with things My Prince had not put away and more clutter that we had just dumped in the kitchen while unloading the van, so I had to do a little shuffling to make room to work. Suddenly the thought just popped into my head that I was glad to be back in my own kitchen.
The kitchen is small. Not enough cabinets. Not enough drawers. Not the best arrangement in the world. Don't even get me started on the tatty old carpet on the floor. (I would prefer bare concrete to that carpet!)
BUT . . .
I know where stuff is, and the stuff is arranged more for convenience in cooking than for how it looks. Porque it is my stuff, my space.
When My Prince and I finally got hungry enough to stop talking, it was easy enough to go in the kitchen and start grabbing utensils and vegetables and whack away for a little stir fry. I had been gone for two weeks, had been cooking in someone else's kitchen, and had to move some clutter out of the way--but the basic arrangement that I had created and was used to working in was right there, accessible, easy, and--yes--comforting.
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