The magic of place. Their, ours.
|Photo from the book ELEPHANT HOUSE or, the Home of Edward Gorey.|
We are comforted by whatever holds us in place. In a favorite movie, LAURA, Clifton Webb's character says without Laura, he would run amok. So would we all, minus piles, bed covers, trinkets, talismans, the arrangement of pens in a specific box, the exact notebook within arm's reach. I am happy to know there is a ruler or, in a pinch, a tape measure in almost every room. You never know when the size of an A7 envelope will be the most important thing on the agenda. There are scissors in every room that I frequent. There is southern light, a luxury we missed for too long, and a view of tree tops and sky. Drawers of paper, ribbons, clear boxes of rubber stamps. My newest favorite thing is the "down alternative" comforter I began using in December. There was too much piled on the bed to enjoy it before that. I am not sure how other people, allegedly grown-ups as I may be, create a space that approximates Heidi's trench. I know the books standing and piled to my left beneath the window have a heartbeat. They give off warmth, pulse and speak. In moments of depletion they seem to rally round. Whether I consult them or not, I know they offer wisdom, perspective, safety, an identifiable version of sanity. They are part of my blanket fort, the quilt draped over the card table on a rainy day, pillows encased in cotton washed a million times, softened and faint of hue, familiar and dependable as a grandmother's hug. This is home.