I'm sitting in front of a roaring fire, with a glass of Pinot Noir in one hand - and Princess Petunia by my other, whilst we're snuggled in a blanket watching television as I type this.
(Let me clarify, she is watching television; I am patiently awaiting the show to end so that she and I can have our "American Idol:Hollywood Week" catch up session on DVR. I promise each week not to watch so that she and I can catch up together on Friday nights....so here I sit and wait.)
It's funny how the fire evokes such a feeling of home for me. I never had a fireplace growing up, so I'm not exactly sure why; maybe it's just a concept of what I always felt home should be like? Or maybe, it's because it reminds of me of my aunt's house, which always was like a second home to me when I was little. I used to love to sit in front of her fireplace, especially on Thanksgiving....I even remember one particular time when I fell asleep in front of it one random time when I was having a sleepover.
The snap. crackle and hiss of the fire - which has a smell much more subtle than a bonfire in the yard -- is one of the simplest pleasures in life that make me the happiest.
Along with sitting beside my Princess Petunia, of course....