Dandy Lion #6: creature comforts
this one is mostly about cheese
something personal: a love letter to my parent’s house
Not to brag or anything, but I’ve been staying at my parent’s house this week. I’ve feasted like a queen, did my laundry with their detergent, and slept on a bed with a six-inch memory foam mattress. I’ve been asked the question, “Is there anything else I can get you” thrice by my darling mother, and been plied with a variety of cheeses by my father. Bliss.
Besides the obvious niceness of staying at my parent's house, there are some unique pleasantries in my parent’s abode that deserve their own ode, their own celebration. So I present to you a love letter to my parent’s house.
My parent's house is the kind of house that’s nice before you even pull into the driveway. The neighborhood was built in the 70’s but is well-kept, meaning it’s nice and clean without making you feel rather small and shabby, the way some newer neighborhoods do. They live on a cul-de-sac opening into a large park with a natural area. I’ve seen many a fox on cold winter mornings scream playfully at each other in the snow. Raccoons leave funny little hand prints in the stream bed over which you cross on a bridge. Cottonwoods loom from unexpected heights from the park, and in the fall, like it is now, they turn bright yellow. It’s possible to bike to nearly any part of the city from my parent's house, and almost the entire way can be done on wide bike trails lined with willow trees and gardens.
Inside my parent's house is evidence of lives well lived. More than one friend, when entering for the first time, has said, “your parent’s house is like a museum.” Years of living overseas, and having most of the rest of the family overseas as well means the decor resembles something like the drawing room of a Victorian English gentleman (in all the good ways and none of the bad ones). You could examine the butterflies my dad caught in the Philippines or the shofar from Israel. Perhaps you would flip through a book of Northern Colorado hikes, or a history of Poland. Most of the furniture is craftsman or Korean. Ethiopian headdresses from my grandparents adorn the top shelves.
My parents are artists. Their landscapes of the Rocky Mountains or of Wyoming vistas line the walls. And because they’re friendly artists, their artist friends give them pieces, making their house a museum where you can blow your nose without getting dirty looks.
Sourdough is always in the oven, and games are always ready to be played. And for most of the day sunlight streams through the front windows onto a couch, and you can sit like a cat watching the bikers and walkers go through the cul-de-sac to the park. In the backyard, marigolds and mint grow profusely.
Everyone has a special place in their lives, and it’s not always a parent’s house. What’s one of your favorite places?
something funny: romcomz
We are a picturesque small town and we refuse to be the setting for your romantic comedy
things that made me happy this week
Yellow leaves.
Brie cheese: 10/10 recommend
Getting enough sun (wear sunscreen though, we’re not trying to get skin cancer).
Listening to a full album, in order. My sister and I made a playlist where we add albums for us to listen to, and it’s so fun to listen to music outside of my normal choices.
Luxuriously large hats to wear while I sit outside to work.