Angled Autumn Light

In a whirlwind we moved.  We were little tornados whizzing by snatching things up and twirling them around hoping they made it into a box, into a truck, into a house, onto a shelf.  Not caring much if they don't because we have plenty. Always too much.  All the little odds and ends you scrape up when you move.  Things you think you might need some day.  A pile of zip ties, a few hooks that screw into wood, tiny pieces of wood I will paint miniature paintings on someday.  Some things made it here, a lot did not. I notice that every time I put an item in the giveaway box I felt a deep sense of relief. Every dish that breaks is a blessing.  One less thing.

If there's anything to make you feel crazy it is to move. There's the physical toll and the mental exhaustion. To piece together all your belongings and mementos and put them in boxes and try to keep track of it all and then shove it all into your mind. Your tired mind. The little fragments that bring up all the  memories, some good some bad some sad.  Processing items, processing thoughts. Pick up the baby and be present. Ask for help and try to tell people what to do. Which you aren't very good at. Little life learnings along the way.  Why not.  No time for showers, no time for proper eating, sleeping is for babies. Or not. It all felt impossible at the time but you can't admit that. You trudge forward.

And now, somehow, with heaps of help, we've landed. And it feels SO GOOD. To unpack, to sit down for a second. We haven't unpacked most of our boxes in over a year. We are at a place we know we can stay at for a minute (or millions of minutes) and I didn't know how much I would enjoy that feeling.  Our house is smaller now and that is easier to handle.

We live in a neighborhood with next door neighbors. A funny thing we saw this morning was our neighbor, Rex, a gruff guy, out at dawn wrapped up entirely in a blanket.  He was holding his little kitten and sitting on his lawn art, a cement mushroom.

I've been buying a lot of bananas. Keep forgetting we already have some.  Maybe I actually just want to make banana bread.  I usually do. 

I also made granola.  Makes the house smell welcoming and familiar. I ate it by the handful probably spilling a lot because it was too good for careful eating. It's stuff for wild animals. I cannot get over this recipe. There has never been a better granola.  I'm sure of it.  If you do not like granola now you will.  If you do like granola, your love will grow deep.

New shirt sewn with the help of my ma.  Pants I never take off.  Blanket in the grass.

A bourbony, plum concoction with a sprig of thyme. Not my creation only my consumption. Another blanket in the grass. A picnic at August Farm.

I wore a dress and we felt fancy for a minute.  I was challenged to socialize with a babe squirreling around on my hip.  There were some (ok many) abandoned and dead-ended conversations, but it was all so worth it.  For the potato donuts alone. For the dappled light and laughing friends. The wood smoke and heirloom tomatoes.  The apricot fool and the fields of flowers. And then we came home.  Home.  I think by now we are pros at making a house a home.  Quickly things fall into place and routines get made.  Plus it's fall, a popular season for good reason.