There is no place like home

It is good to be home again. My fingernails are split, my fingerprints have worn away and my joints ache, but the house is beginning to feel cleaner. It took two days of chemicals and abrasives just to get the black and brown residue out of the bath and tiles – I am mortified at how my dearest beloved has been living. Thank goodness nobody came here while I was gone. Compared to American homes, we live like hillbillies. I always saw it as a challenge – you know, no dishwasher or disposal, a stove that doesn’t light, a refrigerator that doesn’t cool, squeaky hinges and appliances that don’t function properly. My blender is ruined, the rice cooker is rusty, and my Kitchen Aid is dying from neglect. When I think of all the nice things I had or saw in the USA, now I feel kind of ashamed about how we live. Nonetheless, I feel at home. This is what I do - I combat adversity; I innovate and substitute; I repair and make-do. It just occurred to me that we are not elegant sophisticated people.