Tuesday, July 28, 2015

     
                                                      HERE COMES FIFI

     

     Most of us don’t think about our homes or the rooms in them until we’re sick and confined in one or until we decide to sell them. We just got back from a short trip, and I always revel in the beauty of our home after spending several nights in a hotel room.

     As I climbed the stairs to my “Woman Cave,” this morning at 4:15 a.m., a ritual I follow most days, I thought, “Wow, I love this room and this warm, fuzzy feeling of being in my own space.” My large room above the garage is like my own little house in which I write, read, watch TV, workout, think, reflect, rage, cry and laugh to myself. It’s my sanctuary, and if and when we ever move, it will be sorely missed. 

     I have ceased watching the news while I eat my breakfast on my lap. All the bad vibes from the horror and terror of this crazy world need no longer poison my cereal. I sit in absolute silence and taste every bite. My breakfast is the same every morning, and I can’t wait to get to it. So funny how our good habits go unnoticed until we have to leave them and adapt to a new environment for a few days. Getting away is always an instant “get perspective” injection. I come home, and I am grateful.

     When my father died five years ago, he left me enough money to add a beautiful room to our home. His United States Army flag hangs in its triangle-frame above the door, his photos are on the wall, and the floor to ceiling windows look out on his favorite kind of place:  the golf course. He would have loved this room, and I do. It’s intimate, yet it fills with the radiance of his laughter and his song every day. I will be very sad when I have to say good-bye to our “Tribute to Chet” room.

     As I heated my cup of water in our spacious kitchen this morning, I am reminded how every time we travel, I learn something. I learned that getting some of my water requirement out of the way early in the day, allows me not to fret about forgetting to carry a water bottle everywhere I go. I was putting the cup on my tray when I glanced over at the multitude of birthday cards sitting on the counter. I smiled humbly thinking how lucky I am to have such thoughtful and caring friends. Most of the cards had stilettos or slinky women on them, and I am touched by the image I apparently project.  I can’t even begin to imagine the hole that will be left in my heart when I have to leave these friends.


     Ah, it’s 5:18, and time to fetch the first cup of Joe. Nothing like coffee from your own pot to start your day. I will tuck my legs under me in my big old leather chair, munch on my peanut-butter-coated banana and peruse the “to do” list. Good morning, world. Here comes Fifi!