The farmhouse looked so good when I came back to it last Friday. Some of it was just how happy I was to be there, to have a weekend, to be off the road for at least a bit. But most of it was everything that Tom had done since I was there last. The living room looked warm and cozy and the table where we eat made me want to sit down with a bowl of something hot, and everything had been cleaned, even our never-ending seemingly self-refilling dish sink. Everything.
I haven't been so good, myself, at the nesting. Terrible, in fact. I've done some laundry. I put two little bird figurines in a place I liked on the window sill in the living room. Other than that, I just try to do some dishes when I can, and move things out of Tom's way, but I still leave my knitting around and my mail is also everywhere and my bedroom is an absolute mess. It's been hard to find pants. That kind of mess.
When I came home to Kate and Jason's house the other day, they were nesting too. I could see through the big picture window that Kate was putting something on a shelf, standing back to look at it, gesturing to Jason. They both looked out and saw my car and looked surprised but smiled, waved. That was nice. It's been good to go there. Good to see all the little changes they've made since last time I was there. Was that painting of the frigate there in the bathroom before? Where was that bookshelf before? Have I ever seen that poster for Two-Lane Blacktop? You can tell they're happy doing all of it, and that makes home nice.