I automatically think of my mother when I hear the word “homemade”. Everything from our slippers and blankets to our bread and ice cream were always made with my mothers hands. As a child I expected my mother to take care of me and thus never gave a thought to the amount of work she put into that caring. Now, as an adult I can’t even imagine the time she gave and efforts she made for us. I do not have any children (nor a job at the moment) and I could not imagine making my husband slippers. I dream about trying to make almond milk, but the perfect hipster jug I bought for that endeavor still sits empty on my counter taunting me.
Homemade is a nostalgic word for me. I may never be as good at creating it as my mother was/is. Or maybe I just haven’t hit that stage yet. Who knows.
What I do know is that I would like to make a home. Living in a new apartment every year for the past 6 years, and assuming this year will be no different, makes it difficult to create a homelike environment. Why try when I will be packing up in less than 365 days? I have definitely moved numerous times before I have even finished unpacking from the last move. But, I can’t help and wonder if this attitude is keeping from creating a home in the moment. Even if it is temporary. So what if I move? Throw caution to the wind and pick up that piece of art work which would go fabulous above the couch! Even though we have talked about not taking the couch with us to the next place. Let’s stop thinking about the next place. I have a hard time with that. I am a dreamer always waiting for the next thing. But, maybe I need to be home now. Maybe I need to learn to make a home anywhere, and maybe right now in my little kitchen I need to find the comfort of home and let that be enough.
Today Homemade is a brave word for me.