Monday September 4, 2006
My wardrobe in the new house now smells of me. At least, it probably does.
When I got there this morning I piled my stuff up at the foot of the stair and, once I’d got everything sorted, started schlepping hanging clothes up to the bedroom where I hung them on the rail in what is to be my wardrobe for the foreseeable future. Hopefully, by the time I notice how it smells, it’ll be familiar and as it should be. Another step on the way a house becomes a home.
Smells are important in a home. Just now the house smells of nothing more than clean. Which is a lot better than dog, small children, and adults who are less than careful in the general area of the way habits of personal hygiene are reflected in their house. I shall have a lot of things to do to transform the house into a home before Graham joins Dolly and me full-time towards the end of October, and establishing the right smell is by no means the least of them.
Today I was working against the clock. I’d promised to bring lunch back to the caravan and, much as I wanted to dally on the Internet, responding to both comments and emails, I had to switch the computer off and navigate the hazards of the roads, and Sainsbury’s, before getting home. I was a little late. Not too late, but I don’t like to be late at all when it’s a matter of having lunch on the table for Graham at the end of his morning shift.
Hey ho. I dunnit, without too much loss of grace, and by virtue of the very best quality chocolate cookies, almost as good as home-made, I recovered my credibility as provider of a satisfying lunch. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to getting my mixing bowl and my baking sheets back into service and dishing up my chocolate chip cookies to die for. Another step on the way to making the house smell right. [Yes, I’ll post the recipe when we get there.]
And then, the rest of the day, I sat back and relaxed. It was tempting at one point to make another trip to the house but wisdom prevailed and I did nothing more than watch entertaining TV (including Four Weddings and a Funeral) and prepare my solo dinner, taken together with a very presentable chardonnay from the hills of Hungary.
A day that finishes with a decent chicken casserole and a glass or two of a good chardonnay is not a bad day. Not a bad day at all.