10 Jun 2014
Sometimes I find myself at a bit of a loss with blogging. Usually I plan out at least a week’s worth of posts in advance with post-it notes on my big desk calendar (artfully taped to the back of our office door). But I am so tired these days that it mostly falls by the wayside. I’m only doing four posts a week now, but I often find myself wondering at 10pm why I didn’t take a picture of something at 2pm when there was natural light. And I often think about how the things I’m spending my days on aren’t finished yet and aren’t ready to be posted. Obviously, no one is making me write blog posts, but I enjoy the rhythm of it, and I like checking in with all of you. So I’m especially happy when I remember that a blog post doesn’t have to be a lengthy essay full of profound thoughts or a new quilt/art project/recipe that I’ve successfully tackled. I’m happy when I remember that the kind of life I value is found in small pleasures, little moments that add up to a lot of joy. And then I come back to this little series, a handful of happy things. Like baby pomegranates.
And the discovery that the inside of a palm tree looks a lot like vermicelli.
Or, if cut differently, like fuzzy fur.
Afternoon swims with Eric.
Tiny elegant jacaranda leaves.
And lots and lots of reading. I have been plowing through a handful of novels during lunch and before bed. Reading feels like an essential part of being alive to me. Trips to the library still make me a little giddy: who knows what treasures I’ll discover there?
And this: I was reading a library book in bed the first night that Eric was in Sweden, and I was missing him. I turned a page in the book, and this Valentine fell out. Such a sweet little coincidence. It’s an awful lot of happy for just the past week or so. I love every bit of it.