This morning I drove to a dear friend's house. She is also my web designer-and-anything-creative extraordinaire.

One of life's most gentle souls, she sits lightly in the world surrounded by her three sons, her parents and their crazy terrier that I want to steal. Not really. Just a whimsical dream for a brief second as he jumps up to greet me.

Today my friend, once again, took control of my laptop to jiggle and juggle with my website and other techno things I do not comprehend. I made her boys, happy as elves drinking morning dew playing with their WII, scrambled eggs. I'm always interested how others make scrambled eggs. I make them in a pan. Kimmy makes them in a pot with a wooden spoon, so a pot it was. 

Boys fed, dishes rinsed, I really let the boat out and had a tiny cup of coffee. Mainly I wanted the coffee because of the wee cup I was given. A teensy white porcelain Chinese cup painted with grass-green design. I love cups. Coffee not so much. 

As I sat half listening to my friend explain to me what she was doing to my settings and asking me the odd question, I looked around me and took in the eclectic mix of colour and form she surrounds herself with. Greens, reds, purples, aquas, yellow. Cubbyholes filled with teas and the promise of treasure and intrigue. Bowls and jars full of coloured pencils.  Among it all, a snow white orchid. Out of the floor to ceiling window we sat by, I watched a thrush baby, beyond the pool, standing on a concrete statue. Drunk on sunshine it waited, rain-slicker yellow beak half open, for its Mother to fly back and pop a juicy berry or a fat worm or a sun-dried crumb of bread into it.

Everything stopped. Everything  stilled. 

It felt like home.