I spend a lot of time in bed. Since June, there has really been no other place at home for me to be. My husband has his little office and the kids have their dungeon but we have no kitchen or living room and I have made my bed a sanctuary replete with snacks both sweet and salty, laptop and reading materials. Himself has been tolerant of incessant crumbs and tapping but as I tap this from the boudoir, one floor below me, an extremely gruff foreman is leading a crew and cabinets are being installed.
My friend Jan, said, many years ago, upon entering our house that she knew it was a happy house. While it hasn’t exactly been Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf around here, the last few months have been hard on my family and it fills me with pure joy to think of cooking a meal and having a place in the house where we can sit together. Maybe it is hippie b.s. but houses give me a feel. Some houses, replete with splendid furnishings, feel empty. Some feel full of fear and others blast love. A friend sent a photo of a beautiful modern home. It was clean and perfect and beautiful and I was told that the plans were unbelievably elegant but it gave me no feel and I wanted to strew used kotex over the lawn.
We blew last night as workmen were rushing to install moldings in order to be ready for the intimidating cabinet installers and certain family members said and did some things that were very bad and definitely not befitting a happy home As for myself, I plead temporary insanity and suggest in the interest of long term mental health my words and actions be erased from memory, as the costs of gaining further insight through therapy would be prohibitive.
The foreman is barking orders and the drills and saws reverberate. I am thankful for the happiness I have known and shared here at Casamurphy. I pray my new kitchen brings more happiness to my family and friends. All of our funky homes have room for more love. Shabbat wishes for full hearts and houses we can live in.