The One in the Window Seat

Where the doors are moaning all day long,
Where the stairs are leaning dusk to dawn,
Where the windows are breathing in the light,
Where the rooms are a collection of our lives:

This is a place where I don’t feel alone.
This is a place that I call my home.

–  “That Home” by The Cinematic Orchestra

I’m sitting here looking at all this delicious food I just made.  And eating it.  I was feeling lonely and depressed today… well, really for the past few days… and the audiobook of Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie I had checked out was due tomorrow, so I drove around quite a bit listening to the end of the book.  I went to the grocery store, and when I came back from returning the audiobook and checking out a new one, I had planned to make a chicken vegetable soup.  I started cooking frantically.  I boiled the chicken, then started to cook sweet potatoes and carrots in the water as I tore up the chicken.  Then my cooking plans changed completely.  I ended up making a sweet potato/carrot/almond/peanut soup and stir-frying chicken and vegetables on the side.  There wasn’t enough space in the pot for everything at once and the puréed smooth carby vegetable and nut soup just sounded too good to pass by.  When I cook, I often end up making something completely different than what I planned on making.  I will plan to use a recipe to try something new, and then change half of it around by the time I get to the end of my cooking endeavors, completely forgetting that I even had a recipe to follow in the first place.  Now I sit here with two delicious dishes, and I feel much better.  I cooked today more than I have in a long while.  I took out my anger and frustration and sadness on the sweet potatoes, listened to Mumford & Sons, and felt very stylish with a nice hairdo and a cute apron.  The only thing I’m missing are people with whom to share all this good food.  Then my house would feel like home.

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It’s Not About Us, Either

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable. – C.S. Lewis in The Four Loves

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Soar Cloud-High

“Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre?  Don’t trouble yourself to answer – I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious.  The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother – or father, or master, or what you will – to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now.  I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.” – Mr. Rochester in Chapter XIV of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, first published in 1847

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