I know I am content when I want to stay home. When my heart and mind aren’t running off to airport fantasies and hotel excursions, when I am not buried inside a fiction novel or sleeping excessively, I know I am content. Work has been extraordinarily busy but in a good and fulfilling way although I am feeling like I don’t have enough hours in the day to be administrator. I don’t really want to be administrator. I want to be doctor and the signator for the bank. I don’t want to make decisions about holiday schedules or selecting an employee health insurance plan. But I know I am content when I am equally drawn to stay home and piddle around the house. I want to make an insect box to serve as a habitat for insects in the yard. I want to back cinnamon rolls (or apricot rolls or cherry rolls or fig rolls) stuffed with nuts and topped with thick frosting. I want to sew and quilt and make curtains. I want to work in the yard and seed an area with dill so I will have an abundance of swallowtail butterflies next year. I want to paint my toenails and watch Pride and Prejudice. I want to make no-pectin plum jam. So many little things to do around the house and I would be profoundly content to just piddle around here all day, all weekend.

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