Finally a slow morning. A full weekend with just a few plans, rather than one packed full with running and going and doing. A chance to wake up easy, bake, listen to music, stay in pajamas for a while, to play with pictures and go back to warmer days.
Even if it takes ten months when it should only take ten minutes, plan it anyway. And if you meant to go in time to see Fall in full color but know you've missed your window, go anyway.
Because I know you'll find something beautiful that you've missed.
And that has missed you. It's been waiting for you to come back.
This time only better, together.
"Wake up," he said. "You've got to see this." So I rolled out of bed and over to the window, where we sat and looked, and looked, wondering for a moment if we were seeing islands in a calm sea, or the mountains from the night before, peeking up through the low clouds that had rolled in overnight.
And we watched the sun come up. Quickly. By mid-morning, the valley, uncovered. "To think," I said, "this happens every morning. If we'd only take the time to see."
I think (i think) it has finally stopped raining.
I'm not sure if it's the rain itself, or the things it prevents me from doing that bothers me the most. But every time it rains and I'm disappointed about what I "can't" do and the sog and wind and wet grows so old so fast, I have to remind myself that I'm dry. Mostly. And that's when I decide that I can wait until it's over, no matter how long it takes.
And next time you see me I just may be out canoeing in our new lake in the field in front of the house.
Keeping in mind that this site should demonstrate a little knitting every once in a while, I give you some not so new hat styles that I'm finally (after many months of hauling them to market) getting around to putting in my shop.
This is just one of many things I forget to do, right up there with forgetting to give the 13 year old cat her allergy medicine before my husband falls asleep (it is after all a 2 person job), forgetting the seemingly endless list of things the kids need to do or take with them to school on a daily basis, return phone calls (seems like it's all about email these days), put enough water in the rice cooker and clean the shower.
They are, in order, the organic knitted hat--cream with blue flower, simple knitted hat--navy with pistachio, simple organic knitted hat--pink and brown. Enjoy!
On the way up from gathering eggs, I feel as though I'm being watched, in a sideways sort of way.
Like, look at me, I want to you but I'm pretending like I don't.
Will you come play?
I'm so cute and you know it.
I'm right here, even though I know you can't see me behind this fence.
Invisible.
But still cute.
And if you're not going to come play, at least let me at those eggs.
What a gorgeous time of year.
I've dragged this rocking chair into my new office every day for the past four days to sit, to wait. Waiting for my daughter to get over her flu, waiting for my husband to come home from four days away fishing, waiting and dreaming and picturing this new office for all it will one day be.
Along with these:
I'm thinking of hanging it on one of the walls and surrounding it with prints/pictures like this one, which I'm pretty sure I'll want to purchase. So with all of this coming together as it is I'm surprising myself. It's really not like me to have this much of a plan at this stage of the game, my decorating in the past being so thrown together as it were.
I only went to the pumpkin patch three times this year, and yes, that may sound like two times too many, but they love it so. Two of the trips were with different classes at school and if we're talking about memories here, then there's no such thing as too many good ones.
And later we carve, and scoop and get messy and the kids plan out their own designs and draw them on the pumpkins. Each night we forget to light them like we say we're going to, there's not much incentive to do so, for no one comes to the house to trick-or-treat, we're not sitting in the right spot, so the lighting and the candles is just for us. I'm happy to light the candles, I know what that feels like still, to get lost in the light and to see what it does to a carved pumpkin, and for me it's a little glimpse of what's to come with Christmas, and the lights, and the tree.
So I'm painting, constantly vaccuuming up sheet rock dust and planning and waiting on furniture and hoping this disassembled living space is ready in part for guests. I know the addition won't be finished, but it's far enough along to have a great Thanksgiving. Someone timed that just right.
