The house smells like October

Simmer pot is on, which in this house means autumn has been officially declared. Peel from two oranges, three cinnamon sticks, a palmful of whole cloves, a sprig of rosemary, a few coins of ginger and a handful of cranberries the grandkids didn't eat. Cover with water, lowest flame, top it up every half hour.

It isn't for drinking, it's for the house. I stir it clockwise and think about who's coming for Thanksgiving and what I'd like the kitchen to feel like when they walk in. Warm. Forgiving. A little chaotic.

Only one rule: when you leave the kitchen, the pot gets turned off. I've scorched enough pans in forty years to know the house spirits don't care for burnt cinnamon.