The Warm and Fuzzies

I awoke this morning to find that I had been reposing under a steel-grey sky that had been weeping gently through the night.  There had been a hailstorm predicted to sweep the state, but in the event it turned out to be a bit of a washout.  As a result, I thought I would add to the cosiness of the house by baking bread, remembering to let it rise twice instead of once, as is my wont.  I don't use a breadmaker ... I like the texture of the dough on my hands, picking off stray pieces of the mixture that have the rather annoying habit of adhering to my fingers.  My preferred topping is blackberry jam, but considering that we don't have any, raspberry will have to suffice.

I must confess, I didn't expect to like it here as much as I do.  I thought it there weren't enough rooms, that it was too small, that it was totally impractical.  In fact, we had one of our worst fights about whether we would even make an application to live here.  However, I'm awfully glad we did.  Regardless of the number of rooms or the size thereof, there is a warmth in this place that I never thought I'd feel here.  I'm constantly surprised that it gives me the warm and fuzzies to be sitting here in the rain, typing away on an old, painted dresser that doesn't belong to us.  We have what we need, and a little bit extra - a roof over our heads, food on the table, CDs and DVDs to entertain us, family and friends scattered all over the globe, a life to live.  More than anything, we have each other.  That's enough.

So, I now present the Cook's tour of Chez Hovel.

 This is the entrance to the flat.  On the other side of the house, the other two occupants share a common entrance.  We plan to get some plants and put one on each step, as well as hanging a windchime from the wrought iron that's near the light (which you can't see in this pic).

This is the kitchen, and there is the now-famous oven that I was unable to light until I spoke to one of the neighbours next door.  He made an excellent suggestion - light it from the rear of the oven, where the gas jets are located.  I was never very good at picking up on the bleeding obvious.

One of the first things I packed when I was getting ready to leave were these photographs.  Thus, we both have a touch of home away from home.

A house wouldn't be a home without a pet of some variety, and there was no way I could leave Siam at my parents' house - the Mater would never have allowed me to.  She doesn't like fish.  Jon puts Siam on the kitchen sink so that he can get a little bit of the view outside.

Now, this is what I call getting up close and personal.  I'm surprised at how much happier Siam appears to be here.  He seems to be much more active, and even swims up to the top of the bowl when we talk to him.

Last, and certainly least ... one of me taken from my best viewpoint - my back - doing what I do best, which is very little at all.

So endeth the tour.  All donations placed in the box near the entrance are gratefully accepted.

tags: home  photography  baking  bread  rain  pets  

links: digg this    del.icio.us    technorati    reddit