You know about the den. If you don't know about the den, you can learn about it here and here. Let me tell you about the breakfast room.
This morning, it's a veritable monsoon outdoors. It's beautiful and cozy. I love the rain. The breakfast room features a huge window, almost from floor to ceiling, and wider than my arms can go. I know, I know, that isn't saying that much, but still, it's a nice window. The breakfast table sits right up next to the window, coming out longways; The view is breathtaking in the winter when it's snowing, especially from time to time when a quail or some deer wander by. I always sit on the kitchen side of the table, closest to the window, and I read. This morning, I read the New York Times. I like the New York Times. It's gone through some interesting changes in the past year or so, but it's more raw and honest than most papers, and reflects the artsy mind of the city it hails from. I like that. And you don't win that many Pulitzers for nothin.
So anyway, I had The Times at the table, and I was snacking on lots of fruit and a cheese danish. I'm crazy with drinks. I had water, orange juice, tea, and coffee this morning. I just can't decide! And even if I don't want coffee, I love the process of the French Press, so I make it anyway. I wasn't doing a great job getting through the paper. I was staring out into the grey rain, aware of the drops dripping from the overhang, looking through the streaks of water on the glass. The watery window distorted the world, gently pulled it out of focus. It was easy for me to daze and daydream, to think about the world and reflect, to check in with myself. Maybe that's why I like rainy days, because I like to sit and think. Because I like to write.
The breakfast room is a lot less indulgent of a room than the den. Just a farmhouse table with a pine plank top. The chair seats match the distressed wood of the table, and the legs of both are painted white. I painted them myself. I like to have a hand in my things like that, but if you look closely, it's not a good job. I pretend to be crafty sometimes, but I'm not. I've never been good at making things with my hands. I can dance, write, talk... but I can't make physical things. I have some pottery I can show you to prove it. The room is simple, but Tiffany things sit throughout the house. My favorite Tiffany crystal vase stays on the breakfast table, whether there are flowers or not. Today, there are not, but maybe when I go to the store tomorrow I'll get Irises.
Today is a lazy day. I have the whole house to myself. I'll probably stay in this spot most of the day with my favorite throw wrapped around me. I'll get up to get my Stephen King novel, the one I just can't seem to get through, not because I don't like it, but because I never seem to have enough time. I'll finish it today, move on to the next in the series, and then not have enough time for that one. That's ok. That's life.