Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Midsummer's Eve...

The days are hot now.
In a lot of ways, it feels like August, but it's only June.

It's the kind of heat that makes you lay on the living room floor with the fan on, eating a popsicle, and listening to Christmas carols on i-tunes.

Not that I do that.

But sometimes, instead of fighting the heat, all the time, I remind myself to just be embraced by it. To turn my face to the sun, let the waves rise off the pavement and curve around my legs and shoulders and face, and enjoy it. And while I can't do it for very long, it's pretty amazing for a few moments to be on the receiving end of so much light and warmth. Magic.
Magic how, in the summer, even when the sun goes down--other lights just come out to play.

Happy Midsummer, to you and yours.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Love at 7 Years...

Yesterday was our anniversary. I handed my Beloved his card and gift as I poured cereal with the other hand and tried to convince Thing 2 that a popsicle wasn't the best breakfast choice. He remains unconvinced.
For our anniversary date, we hired our favorite sitter so we could ride our bikes to the pool and go swimming. All by ourselves. Fabulous.
We went to dinner afterwards and sat behind a couple who were celebrating their 57th anniversary. They were beautiful.
It made me think of how much I have to look forward to.
Love at 7 years is different than love on day 1.
It might not be as pretty.
But it's better in every other way.
Thank you, Beloved. I was starstruck.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

North Carolina

When people come to visit me here, they always say something to the effect of "North Carolina isn't how I pictured it." When I ask them what they did picture, they can never quite say... but it isn't this.

I had never been to North Carolina before I moved here, either. And it surprised me, too. What did I expect? Well. Honestly? Nascar, smokers, rednecks, trailer parks, fried food, snakes, and humidity. I think that pretty much sums it up.

But now I'm in my sixth year here, and I am happy to say that I continue to be delightfully surprised.
By the darting, disappearing tails of bunnies across my lawn.
By flashes of red and the call of songbirds.
By the soft curve and rise and fall of fields of corn, wheat, okra, soy, and cotton.
By the unending parade of blossoms that begins in March and continues through the summer: Bradford pear, dogwood, azalea, rhododendron, japonica, and crepe myrtle.
By the spiciness that accompanies the return of humidity.
By summer fogs, when I still think that fog should be something that happens in the winter.
By the first cool humidity-free breeze in the fall.

There's something magical about a place that is so unexpected.
You never know what you'll find next.