I am the keeper of ordinary things— the soup stirred slowly, the candle burned down to its end, the chair pulled closer when someone needs to stay. I have learned that home does not make itself. It is built in the returning, in the sweeping up, in the trying again, in choosing what belongs here and what will never cross the threshold again. There are easier kinds of magic. But mine has always been this: to take what the world has given me and decide what it will become. To ma