A room of my own

I stayed home on black Friday.  It wasn't shopper's righteousness,  just pesky sinuses and a vague melancholy making me want to hug the couch all day.  Alone in my house, I knitted, read, napped and watched "Fred Clause" on my computer.  I ate a pear and leftover mashed potatoes from the Thanksgiving meal.  I browsed the bookshelves for something interesting, checked the verb "run" in the dictionary (half a page of entries).

I took two baths - not that I'd worked the early morning shift in the cold mine - I just felt like indulging.

And why not?

Of all the things I am most grateful for, my house is on top of the list.  Virginia Wolfe wrote her famous essay about the need for women to have a room of their own, and here I am, lucky owner of a whole house of my own.  And to think of all the countries in the world where women aren't allowed to own even a book.  

It hadn't occurred to me that I could own a house until the late 1990's when I struck a friendship with a group of women who had dinner at each other's houses.   There was Gertrude the sculptor, Bert the artist, and Deborah the architect,  each living in a house they'd picked for themselves.   The houses were full of books, papers and drawings.  We ate potlucks, drank wine and talked for as long as we wanted to. 

My beloved and I have been discussing the possibility of moving in together.  With both sets of children almost grown and away at college, what better time to invent a new life for ourselves?  We could build an addition to my house.  Or we could sell and buy a new house to fit our extended family. 

Picture all those happy family dinners with our combined children and grandchildren seated cozily around an extra large walnut dining-room set, those post-Thanksgiving afternoon naps in front of an oversized flat-screen.

Perhaps. 

But who would stock the sub-zero refrigerator with yummy foods?  Who would fill the ultra-quiet sonic dishwasher with a million plates and tame the multi-mega loads of laundry into submission?  What family pictures would go on the walls?  And is it true that loaded bookshelves are bad Feng-Shui?

More importantly, would I have a room of my own?  Truly of my own?  With sunlight and a lock on it?

We have a lot to talk about.