Making Home

 

(My dream home is a secret garden. Shhhhh–don’t tell.)

 

I am a homebody. No two ways about it. Thank goodness I have a job that is means I get to spend lots of time in the place where I love.

Okay. That was totally a Freudian typo. I meant to type “the place where I live,” but see how it came out? This blog could end right here because you already know the punchline.

It’s become a greeting card cliché: My home is wherever you are. “You” being the beloved, singular or plural. That is true f...