As much as I appreciate elegant decor, memorabilia win out in our home. Yes, the marble countertops, muted colors, and contemporary lighting fixtures in my kitchen all satisfy my desire for decorator touches. But I also like to retain the atmosphere of a grandmother's butter dish with delicate roses, antique cut glass bowls, a prayer for "daily bread" in Norwegian on a round wooden plaque, or a ceramic cow cookie jar. All have graced my kitchens for longer than I can remember. Add a few Texas stars we collected in San Antonio, an cross stitched picture of chickens, a lamp shade with roosters, and my kitchen becomes what Jimmy calls "Christine's Kitchen"–an eclectic collection of objects I love. So be it. That's me. I'm "home" and that's what matters.
I am convinced that the birds here believe our buildings with their sprinkler watered grounds were all put here purely for their enjoyment. Walking this morning along my two mile route, I saw a crane perched on the roof of a carport. He mostly ignored me, as did a mockingbird who availed himself of a drink of water from a puddle created by the sprinkler system.
It was cloudy this morning and I had started earlier, so all of us were enjoying the cooler temperatures. Further along, I passed a fallen, dead tree that someone has decorated with bird houses. It is interesting how humans make art out of the most ordinary things. I also wonder about the story behind the tree's demise. Was it the hurricane that came through here a couple of summers ago, or did the tree just reach its natural end and fall? I'll never know for sure unless someday along my walk I meet someone who can share more details about this creation.
