- It is a grey November day but the heater has finally warmed up the kitchen. Looking at the sparkly snowflake decorations I hung in the window a few days earlier, I smile and tell myself Christmas is almost here. I'm making a homemade apple pie; our huge potter bowl, one dozen apples lined up in two rows, a bottle of ameretto, an assortment of spices and a large bag of flour spread across my table. I put away the leaves and pumpkins and put out red and white candles with a pearl necklace wrapped around the display. Nikki put out a red lace table cloth and table runner from the dollar store today and I'm excited to have a christmasy home. I start thinking about going home for the holidays and whether I should bring more of my things, maybe my records, back to Newfoundland. Away from mom and dad's storage and into my home. The more I say it, the more it dawns on me that this is a reality, a reality I was terrified of only a few years ago. I have a two bedroom, two story flat. I make pies and decorate it for the holidays. I have people I love that come home to me every day. I stare out at an old man reading the paper in the park across the street from my house. Katie, the lady who shakes and dances from some drug that she can't get enough of, waltzes past the park. She glares at the intruder who has taken her place and is completely oblivious to her presence. I will finish my pie, take off my apron, gather up my music and head down to the studio to teach. Another blessing; again surreal to me. I will play in choir and I will be picked up by the man I love who will wrap me in his arms and burrow beneath a mountain of quilts while eating fresh homemade apple pie. I am blessed.
nov 14 2012 ∞
nov 14 2012 +