Well, not quite. But I persist in trying to find some on the many, many days like this when the news makes you intermittently wonder if your incandescent rage is enough to burn a city down.
(Not yet, but….)
Anyway, I’m trying hard not to let grief at the ways this world insists on trying to use us for kindling be my natural, black ass state.
Last week I caught myself smiling as I walked past this photo, taken over a decade ago in Philadelphia’s Queen Village neighborhood. Look at my pensive lass nestling her ambivert self against a vine-covered stone wall.
I bought this house, my first as a homeowner, shortly before the pandemic put much of the world on pause, and I was determined not to inhabit this house or the rest of my life in a spirit of lack — or as I often put it to my friend Buttercup, “always having the peanut but not the butter.”
I think throwing a housewarming party, even a virtual one, during a #paninipress and a recession is #rude. But I’ve been determined to make the peanut and the butter mix and mingle, so gorgeous old hometown photos like this one? Printed (thanks, Shutterfly!) and framed (thanks, Target!), just for a start. These Nancy Meyers-white walls won’t cozy up this home all by themselves.
I may be combing my (stylish) couch cushions to do it, but I’m grateful that I can slowly make this house into not just a home, but a respite on even the cloudiest of days.