Some vignettes of life lately:
The morning sunlight streaming into the dining room, filtered greenish through the enormous leaves of the plant cutting I got from Vanessa via the neighborhood swap group.
Going upstairs to get something, standing in front of the bathroom cabinet staring into it blankly for twenty seconds, feeling perplexed that I have no idea what I’m looking for, going back downstairs, remembering what I needed, tromping back upstairs, rinse and repeat FOREVER…
The fantastic drizzly parking lot wholesomeness of the drive-in metal show that’s been our only non-kids outing together this whole pandemic (the tickets having been duly gifted by my dear colleagues, all non-Richmonders and all GWAR appreciators).
The pleasure that hearing an old Virginia accent still gives me—most recently, from the gentleman at the farmer’s market who always asks if I want to buy his “buttah beans” (and this time, “peppah relish”).
Morella and I giggling at this unhinged video about the five oceans during an exhausting, too-late-into-the-night homework jag.
Sitting around a fire pit with the group of friends I affectionately call “the blondes,” and the chilly bike ride home enjoying the Halloween decorations and wishing my bat-print sweater had buttons down the front.
Cora chomping passionately at a Mrs. Yoder’s doughnut with the full force of her sweet little buck teeth.
Professionally, struggling to make myself “count” the many hours of work I do that doesn’t yield any tangible deliverables but is important all the same.
The pumpkin patch at 8am on a Thursday morning, covered in sunrise and dew, all to ourselves and quieter than you can ever possibly imagine.
The decadence of an entire afternoon spent making first tomato jam, then garlicky caesar dressing from scratch (this is after a different decadent afternoon spent talking over the fence with my wise, charming, generous neighbor Elsie, whom I regard as a sort of oracle—the conversation in which the tomato jam recipe was procured).
Matt up on a stepladder hanging his latest masterpieces—hand-drawn and hand-cut window silhouettes that make our house the absolute spookiest around.
Hearing the phrase “Empty wagons make the most noise” via A Way With Words and thinking that I never realized you could feel so seen (and even a little vindicated) by an audio clip.
parasol party 