Word Wednesday…Comfort

com.fort

noun

  1. a state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint
  2. the easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings grief or distress

verb

  1. ease the grief of; console

 

When I get home at the end of the day, the first thing I do is go to my closet, take off my shoes and put my slippers on.  I take out my hoop earrings and hear the clank of the lid of the ceramic box as I return the earrings where I keep them…the earrings off and those slippers on announces…I’m home.

With the taking out my earrings and the slipping off my shoes I slip off the outside world and the day…the to-dos, those that got done and those that didn’t. I’m home and it feels so good.

My seat on the couch is easy to spot…the cushion’s sagged from my daily weight. But sinking into my spot feels like a restoring embrace. And when I peer out the big picture window or rest my feet on the worn leather hassock…I smile inside.

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The aroma of a Yankee candle and the flickering light of its flame, my old dusty bookcases with my favorite books lining the shelves. My flower pot full of pens that sit on the end table with one random notebook or another. The light pouring across the dining room in the late afternoon…

Henry’s nails tapping on the kitchen floor as he makes his way to the back door…the annoying bang of the screen door announcing each’s arrival home…

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Each sight, smell, and touch of home is my comfort.

And it’s not that my world or life outside the door of my house is one of so much pain or constraint…it’s just that most everything about home feels as good as my slippers at the end of the day. Ease and freedom…the place that consoles…comfort. Home.

When buyers shop houses they shop features…bedrooms, baths, lot sizes and floor plans, casual great rooms or formal living areas, a finished basement, a three-car garage. When they find “the one” they know it.

Sometimes the house has all the things on their feature list, but more often it doesn’t. But still, it’s “the one”…

It’s that something that evokes “I could see myself here.”

Figuring out where the couch will go, finding the bedroom closet where the slippers will be kept, imagining the dog and everyone else in the kitchen…

That’s not the articulation of features…it’s the language of comfort.

It’s a knowing that this place, this house is and will be…comfort. Home.

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