Friends visiting my home are a good reminder that I should be grateful for what I have. Alright, some of my friends and colleagues are still at the beginning of their thirthies and I don’t know many people who have even in their forties their own home without lots of help from their parents, so there’s still time for those youngsters to find a place and call it a home.
Although the place where I live is far from what my image of coziness is, at least I have my own roof above my head (and all credits paid off!), my own table to eat at and my own chair to sit on. It is good that friends remind me of this from time to time. They are pleased with as little as a warm room, a comfortable armchair, a cup of tea, a slice of an apple strudel and lots of books around them. Some don’t need fancy lights (we still have bare lightbulbs sticking out of the walls) or fashionable couch (we still have only armchairs) or expensive pictures on the walls from famous artists (I wouldn’t want to have one of those even for free because I really don’t understand or like modern art) to feel good in my home.
It is a sleeping beauty, this home of mine, because I know exactly what I want it to look like one day. Hopefully soon; after all I’ve been living in this house more than eight years! I just hope we won’t have another flood once again. This would be just too much even for me.