Home. Sweet Home.

I made a cup of tea this afternoon.

That should not be significant because a normal part of my routine is actually TWO cups of tea a day. Occasionally three.

One at breakfast or before, paired with quiet reading.
One at 2:45 when my alarm goes off, reminding me it’s Tea Time.
And sometimes one before bed.

But the last time I fixed myself a cup of tea in my own home as a matter of routine was around mid-July.

Which means that my normal life has not been normal for longer than an entire month now.

So today, making tea, was so normal and so pleasant and so needed.

I made a list today that included things like writing this Substack post and making tea and loading the dishwasher.

The last month has been full of beautiful and memorable and once in a lifetime and I have many words to share about all the bits and the pieces from late July and August.

Those words will come.

Many have already been written in the annoying glow of my phone with tears in my eyes.

But this weekend is the first weekend in a long series of weekends where I can vacuum my floor and do my laundry and listen to an audio book. Where I can make a tomato sandwich on local sourdough bread and watch a silly episode of a show and plan out next week’s meals. Where I can begin to unpack the linens from the wedding and wash all the glass carafes and maybe take a walk just for the joy of taking a walk.

I’m feeling quite sad and I’ve been crying off and on for the better part of a week and I am so relieved to be settled in my own home full of color and cheer and patterns and happy nostalgia on every shelf to be a comfort and a balm in this season.