On Sunday, the Husband and I drove up to my hometown in Upstate New York for the Thanksgiving holiday. We're staying in a hotel this year and my parents have moved houses, but this is still my hometown. We don't really have any plans while we're here - other than to eat lots of food - so that leaves a lot of time for reading. Even though I'm reading in a place I've never seen before, there is something so cozy about reading at home.
I love that I can just plop myself down wherever and crack open a book or magazine. There are no outside forces telling me I should be working or cleaning or doing anything else productive. I have no appointments or meeting to get to. I have no plans at all. My calendar is completely blank and I can use this time however I wish. I choose to use it reading. I love that I can just grab a drink and a snack and read the day away.
My parents physical home may change, but it's still home. I can still find a comfortable seat for reading to call my own. I can still snuggle under a blanket. I can still be spoiled by my mom. Wherever home is is still home. And home is for reading.
I love that I can just plop myself down wherever and crack open a book or magazine. There are no outside forces telling me I should be working or cleaning or doing anything else productive. I have no appointments or meeting to get to. I have no plans at all. My calendar is completely blank and I can use this time however I wish. I choose to use it reading. I love that I can just grab a drink and a snack and read the day away.
My parents physical home may change, but it's still home. I can still find a comfortable seat for reading to call my own. I can still snuggle under a blanket. I can still be spoiled by my mom. Wherever home is is still home. And home is for reading.
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