Things I am familiar with

• The taste of English Breakfast tea, with sugar & milk
• My red Saramago cup
• My blooming violets: pink, dark pink, light pink, light purple, red and white, burgundy, violet and white
• My pink laptop
• My grey sweat pants/pjs
• The blue pewter kettle where I warm up water for my tea
• The framed photograph of my tía Olga hanging on the wall of my studio
• My fridge and its slightly disruptive sound, on & off & on & off
• What's left of my brown and blue china from Capula, which my husband and I bought together and I kept after the divorce (He kept the yellow living room sofa)
• My blue PaperMate pen (I can't get black ones lately.)
• The mirror in my bathroom, though not always my reflection on it
• My old car, my almost 30-year-old faithful Antuanito
• My contact lenses, although I don't use them anymore (Sometimes I forget I don't.)
• The sound of the supermarket fans, below my balcony
• The very old jacaranda at the end of the garden, next to the swimming pool
• The smell of incense
• The smell of toast
• The taste of tortilla de papa
• The softness of my cat's fur
• The soothing vibrations when she purs next to me
• The voice of my son
• His unbecoming feet
• My (second) small pink camera
• The books on the bookcases in my studio
• The small white mirror I bought in Lisbon with a verse by Pessoa
• The embroidered cushion sitting on the couch, where my late Ñaña used to nap
• My reading glasses
• The (awful) sound of the leaf blower
• The way the sky smells before releasing rain
• The sound of the voice of Leontyne Price, her name, the way my father worshipped her

a familiar corner at home