It’s been a long time since I’ve listened to a book in a day. It’s been a long time since I’ve worked in the yard by myself. Check, check. Feels good.
We’re taking care of a friend’s cat in her house while they’re on vacation, and it’s remarkable the number of things in life about which I truly have not the first clue.
There are so many things about my home that I’d like to fix or improve or create or redo. But when it comes down to it, this space is perfectly fine; and perfectly fine is more than enough.
When I’m feeling unsettled or discontent in my home, a quick refresher helps. I fold and stack sweaters with a candle lit or a fancy cup of tea nearby, fun soundtrack playing in the background. Or I’ll move plants or rugs or artwork around, and suddenly the old feels new again.
When I’m feeling restless or out of control with the world, though, I call upon the defiant act of quieting my space. Forever grateful for this wisdom.
Ate our favorite pizza and gelato by the beach today, before boardwalk shops close up for the season tomorrow. So long, sweet summer.
I cut off more than ten feet of houseplant growth today, but I’m not worried. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
There was the perfect blend of late summer sun and early autumn nip in the air today. I checked things off of the to-do list and drank a Bloody Mary in the middle of the afternoon and took time to do small and slow tasks like brushing the dog. We finished the evening with a much-needed date night and I fell in love with my husband all over again, which was also much-needed (for both parties). Some days, I think everything is broken and nobody cares. Other days, I think I cannot believe I get to live this life.
Last week, I told my family that I wished to welcome autumn on August 1. Not Thanksgiving, not Halloween, just autumn. I have my reasons, and nearly all of them involve allowing the land and the weather to lead us. As summer crawls on, we begin to feel a nip in the air most mornings and nights. We start to see the sunset at bedtime, instead of midnight. And the fireweed. The fireweed! In early summer, the fireweed grows as a tall green stalk and begins to bloom from the bottom, a pale pink peeking out to the world. In August, fireweed plants shoot their magenta blossoms all of the way to the top, and then begin to blow them away. And so, I follow the fireweed and declare August 1 the beginning of autumn. I asked for an unpacking of the fall decor box, a halibut stew with crusty bread and red wine, and something fall-ish on TV. My family collectively rolled their eyes, because we are still very much in summer, but they agreed to my wish list.
Today, I sat at a woman’s bedside on our makeshift COVID unit, coaxing and cajoling her into eating small bites of watermelon. I am learning, you see, that this viral variant makes them lose their appetite and their will to stay awake. They only want cold, sweet things and barely open their mouth between fitful, feverish naps. As I sat there, feeding her watermelon, bite-by-bite over the course of thirty minutes, opening my mouth to encourage her to do the same, only to remember I am layers-deep in an N95 and eye protection and she cannot see my mouth at all, I looked up and out. Beyond the negative-pressure hoses that snake from her window, I saw it. The fireweed had officially reached the top of the plants outside. On August 1, of all days.