Today in class I was trying to think about philosophy and theology and design and all the other things I am studying, when home just crept into my thoughts and wouldn’t get out. Before I knew it I was absolutely longing for my old purple blanket with the flowers, and a pillow that has that slept in scent, and a story on my big old radio. Then I started remembering about things that fill the cozy corners in my heart- an old musty book of horse stories and my sandy cat and a window with a pine view and country house where nothing matches but all is clean and organized. I think that in spite of all my artistic worlds of contemporary modernity, slick stainless steel and abstract art and fab furniture, I will always love the country best. And when I am so tired that it hurts, I only want to be home in the winter when the snow is drifting and the wind is blowing, but I am warm inside and sleeping long, long into the morning.