Some of the nastiest candy in the world, but it reminds me of being a kid.
Adulthood just doesn’t let up. I keep thinking, “as soon as we finish this…” and inevitably, nothing is ever finished, and if it is, something else steps in line to take up my attention and time and energy. The more we hurry and bustle, the more I treasure downtime. But, I’ve been finding that internet and TV and Twitter don’t feel sufficiently “down” enough. I want to step away from hustle and demands and screens, and find stillness and quiet. I find myself craving really simple comforts- which is nice, when you can’t afford crazy luxuries.
Some of my quiet comforts are…
Clean sheets. Crisp and cool against my skin, still smelling of laundry soap.
Pot of tea. Not a cup. A pot. Which is then poured into a teacup, which rests on a saucer. Heavy on the milk and sugar. There’s something utilitarian about a cup of coffee in the morning. It has a function. It’s just a mode of dependency. But, a whole pot of tea is a matter of formality and ceremony that lends itself to feeling special and luxurious.
Cinnamon toast. Must be white bread, caked with a good quarter inch of crusty cinnamon sugar over melty butter. Like having dessert for breakfast, without any baking or buying.
Seventies soul. I know I didn’t grow up in the 70′s. You know I didn’t grow up in the 70′s. But something about it reminds me of my childhood.
Reading. Perhaps a no-brainer, but just any old reading won’t cut it. There’s a small handful of books that I consider my “comfort” reading, because of the serene, simple places they transport me. My favorite is Emily of New Moon.
Sabrina. I know I said no screens, but if Emily of New Moon is my comfort book, Sabrina is my comfort movie. The music drifting through a Parisian window. The short haircut and fancy dress. The sort of fairytale-ness of it all.
Mid-day break. Though I’m home all day, I’m usually working and busy the same hours a normal person would. I work, work, work, then take a break in the evening. But there are some days when instead, I stop mid-day and take my break, and then pick up working again when Josh comes home. Usually it’s born of necessity (when I need to wait for him to wrap up some project), but it feels so luxurious and even wrong to lay in bed with a book while the hot afternoon sun is still coming through the windows.
The hum of a fan. I don’t know what it is about it. I’ve heard that white noise is soothing, but there’s something specific to that whir of a box fan in the window that’s different- it’s summery and calming and cool.
Bubble bath. Obviously. But it has to be so very hot, that when I climb out, my skin is alarmingly red. So hot that the steam fills the bathroom.
Coffee after dinner. Coffee after dinner isn’t a necessity, like that utilitarian morning cup I mentioned. It means that dinner is over, but the night isn’t. That curfews and bedtimes and wake-up calls have been forgotten for a minute, in favor of staying up to savor what the rest of the night has to offer. It even tastes different than morning coffee.
Those are mine. Give me an afternoon in bed with fresh sheets and a box fan, tea and a book, and I’m in heaven. How bout you?