'When Bob had returned from Maine, he'd found the apartment below his with it's door open, and he'd stopped to look at the place where Adriana and Preppy Boy had lived out their marriage. The landlord was fixing a faucet and he nodded to Bob, but the glimpse Bob had -- a space empty of curtains, couches, rugs, whatever it is that people make a life around -- struck him with its gone-ness. Dust bunnies had been swept into the center of the living room, and the twilight that showed through the windows was indifferent, stark. The blank walls seemed to say wearily to Bob: Sorry. You thought this was a home. But it was just this, all along'
~ Elizabeth Strout, The Burgess Boys
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A slow, grey Saturday. I've been reading all morning and the words seem to be hitting all of the right places. There's coffee alongside. Ollie's YouTubing in the back room. Liam is showering. Sara is sleeping. Mady is on her way home from a week away at the beach. The dogs are sleeping back to back on the floor close by, breathing heavily. The tired ceiling fan is doing its best to keep the air moving, while the sound of the dryer in the basement reminds me of the clothes I'll need to fold soon. There will be multiple baseball games later today, but for now, the sights and sounds of this place we call home fill me up. Another round of coffee is calling.
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