Being Home on A Rainy Night

I suppose the rain has done something to me...almost like going to a tent revival meeting in the old days and hearing some preacher put you back on the right road. "Simple is best", is the message for me.
Tonight felt special. The cooler temperature. The ground wet and refreshed. The bark on the trees dark with rain. The leaves suddenly look greener. The old farm place looks more homestead like tonight, and that feels good to me.
The aroma of earth, damp with that subtle rotting leave smell that isn't a bad smell at all. Walking out the back door with the screen door banging behind me, everything is perfect.
I gathered eggs in a little red basket rather than my apron tonight. Seemed more romantic, more young girl like instead of old farm wife. Not even sure why that seemed important, but it did .
After coming inside, I lit the candle and put it on the welsh cupboard next to the basket of eggs. Their green and brown shells made it look a bit like an Easter basket.
Eggs put away, it was time to settle down for the night. But first I made some beet salad as Melanie will be over soon and that's one of her favorite treats. Some mayonnaise mixed with some relish, tonight the sweet kind, but I have used dill. Made like a tarter sauce. Add cut up sliced beats, I cut them like shoestring potatoes, mix gently and chill. Sounds strange but its really good, especially if you are a big fan of beets. Its comes out a pretty color too.
I tidied up the kitchen as best I could. There are still paint pails and the many implements of a "do over" in the room. It gives it an untidy look to me. Its just a temporary thing, so no use to fret over it.
In the living room I convince myself that we are having a real honest break from summer. I light the lamp and cozy up with a winter book. Maybe I am trying to trick myself into thinking that it's not August.
The Children's Blizzard is the book I pull from the shelf. A woman sitting next to me on the plane from Boston was reading it and it sounded like a book that would teach me something about the human spirit in the face of tragedy. January 13, 1888, more than one hundred children lay dead on the Dakota-Nebraska prairie. A horrible winter storm that seems forgotten except for the telling of this story by David Laskin. Its a book filled with heartbreak and peoples ability to move on. What a story about the lives of the early settlers in America.
I count my blessings tonight sitting in a comfortable home, filled with love.