this is my home

This is my home.

As such, I’m in charge of its upkeep.
Its weekly toenail and fingernail clippings,
its fresh coats of paint.

It’s my duty and honor to make it a home, not simply a house.

I dust the cobwebs from the corners,

I clear out the rooms with smoking sage.

I only invite in visitors I trust, and who respect my space.

Sometimes, I throw parties here. Then, I break out the streamers, the bubbly, the prettiest linens.

We have fun here.

The next day, I take time to clean up and transition my home from party mode to daily life mode.
When something breaks in my home, I fix it.

When I can’t make the repair myself, I call in a specialist.

I’ve carefully selected them over the years, because I only trust the most kind and talented people with my precious space.

Sometimes, they show me how to fix things myself, for the future.

I’m always learning how to be a better homeowner, how to keep things running smoothly.
I love my home just as it is. Some people think their homes are too small or too large, and are always in the middle of renovation projects.

I understand what that’s like.

But I’d rather make the best of the home I have, buy it flowers from time to time, and relax in it, even when it’s looking plain.

That’s how I choose to make my life here.

It’s a life that’s full of family and friends, loud gatherings and quiet moments of solitude.

My home never looks picture-perfect, and that’s the way I like it.

It’s lived-in and populated with imperfect presence.

It’s tear-streaked. It tells my story.

This is my home.

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