It's such the little things at the end of the day

The girls at the office all went out after work tonite to some drinky outdoorsy social thingy in town. I love these gals dearly and, as they know, I am comfortable — to a fault — when it comes to working a room, but . . . at my age (and thankfully my contentment level with my life and most importantly, me), there is one thing that trumps going out socially: nesting at home.

This is what I love coming home to every day:

1) A 16-year-old daughter who fills me in on every detail of her day (and then is usually off to run her own errands, which does afford me some quiet alone time)
2) A big old snuggly dog who just needs the ball (in his case, it's a volleyball because it suits his size better) to be tossed a few hundred times while I sit in a chair and maybe, if I am so inclined, while I water plants.
3) A house that is usually cluttered with "1 dog, 2 girls" things but yet embraces me with such a big bear hug that I don't ever want to leave.
4) And my big chair in the "ken" (the room off the kitchen that is supposed to be the dining area, but that I've made into a sitting room). The picture shows the table next to my chair. The radio, an old General Electric that I do believe I've had since I was in my twenties, gets turned on to NPR. The glasses go on so that I can read whatever book or magazine needs attention (and the selection has NOTHING to do with work, mind you). And I am happy.