Sometimes I wander through my own home, sweet home and can hardly believe I live there. There's a lovely pool out the front window. A big pot of lavender beckons visitors with heavenly scent at the front door. Sweet jasmine and a lounge chair on the patio. A sink under the window in the kitchen, this is important because it gives me something to do while I'm rinsing off dishes. My window looks out on the car port of the complex. So Roxy and I can keep track of our neighbors' comings and goings. I've got a crockpot full of beef stew in there cooking on the counter today. There's a dishwasher in the kitchen and a washer/dryer in the hallway. My bedroom is filled with my great-grandparents' furniture -- and a pillowtop mattress waiting for me and my Kindle at all times of the day and night. (I am a middle-of-the-night reader when I'm really engrossed in a great read.) I guess for me, it's all about the home. That's probably why these articles in the New York Times caught my eye today. One was about a brownstone in New York -- something I have always fantasized about owning. The other is about a Lake Michigan beach house -- another house I have always dreamed about owning. It's good to dream when you have a nice house to come home to.
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