I was just trying to figure out how many places I have lived. If I count college apartments, and airline crew crash pads I think I have lived in 27 different places throughout my life. That’s a lot, isn’t it? I’ll bet it’s more than average, but not more than the record.

During this time of vagabonding the world, there has been one constant: my family home, owned by my parents and then my siblings and me for over 54 years. I now stand on the precipice of saying goodbye to this one constant, the process is full steam ahead and the coming month will bring All of the Lasts and Much Processing, filled with Emotions I Cannot Yet Think About.

A few weeks ago I was at a thrift shop and was strongly considered buying a picnic basket I saw on display, though I managed to avoid the twenty dollar temptation (a high thrift store price, I thought, even though the condition was excellent). The basket looked much like a small suitcase that fastened with leather straps. It was fabric-lined and had a set of lovely metal cutlery, real glass stemware, and dishes- white with little blue flowers. Everything fastened securely into place with straps, and underneath was a blue floral tablecloth and set of cloth napkins. Of course the basket with all those items was heavy, and one wouldn’t want to carry it very far on a picnic. But it was incredibly lovely, and though I didn’t need it (I have several picnic baskets, though none as elaborate as this) I still thought about buying it with the idea: why not just use it at home? Open it up and keep on the countertop; use the contents, and store them inside the basket on the counter after washing?

Most of us have been home more this year than perhaps ever in our lives. Have you been enjoying being home? What has been the best of it and the worst? What has made you crazy? What changes have you made to add more pleasure or comfort to your surroundings? How does your home now make you feel? Is it a haven or has it become a prison?