“Our moments of inspiration are not lost though we have no particular poem to show for them;
for those experiences have left an indelible impression,
and we are ever and anon reminded of them.”
~ Henry David Thoreau
We had a full weekend–full of productivity and rest, good and hard, family and solitary, beach and rain, a mish-mash of many things, doings, feelings.
I spent Saturday trying to get control of things around home…this time of year, when so much of life is lived outside–in the garden, at the barn–home falls a bit by the wayside. Jackets don’t get hung up; dog hair gets, well, everywhere; and there are always dishes to do. The bills need to get paid eventually, and the dog bathed, and the plants watered. Much to be done.
Husband often works on Saturdays, catering weddings mostly. So I squeeze every minute of solitary time to complete the tasks at hand. (I even managed to watch my brother graduate with his master’s degree via live webcast while I folded laundry!)
I carved out a bit of time to ride in the evening, but the weather had other plans. Before I knew that rain was coming it was thundering and lighting, big drops began falling, then driving from the sky. I made a run for it and got home before getting too wet. Life is like that sometimes–we make our plans but things change all of a sudden and we have to learn to change with it. And sometimes, when it takes a turn for the worse, we get a bit wet.
For three hours it poured and the wind tore through our little “valley” with a vengeance. Rain managed to come in every cracked window in our home, and I alternated my time between sipping a cup of tea, calming the nervous pup, and running around the house with towels to sop it up. Before long, our mudroom was a rushing river–water coming in the front door and heading straight out the back, probably three or four inches. The garage, too, flooded–water came up through the cracks in the concrete. Husband and I scurried around trying to salvage what we could in the garage–wooden furniture waiting to be redone, cardboard boxes waiting for the next move, etc. But sometimes, you just have to let things take their course. So we just sat down in the dry, cozy living room and let the worst of it pass.
Then loaded up the truck, nervous pup and all, and headed to the beach. At 10:00 at night. Husband’s family had rented the beach house. “Our” beach house, or so we like to call it. And we were meeting them for the final night and day of the little “vacation”.
It was fun to be back there, where we lived for the first 7 months of our marriage. To remark on the changes, the updates, the memories. We spent time with family, and watched the little kids squeal with delight over our pup.
Sunday morning was cool, overcast and windy, but we managed a walk on the beach. And really, I think those cool windy days are my favorites, because the beach is deserted, it is ours to explore and love and experience. Come July, we’ll be sharing this beach with thousands of tourists. We don’t usually come in July.
They were dredging, bringing sand back up onto the beach that had washed out to sea over the course of the storms and hurricanes of the past year. The dredging meant there was a plethora of seashells to be examined and the perfect ones searched out. We found sand dollars too, six of them.
Ginger loves the beach, and thoroughly enjoyed her walk. I forget sometimes how much we loved those daily walks on the beach when we lived here. I miss them.
Back “home” we washed off our sandy feet and settled in to breakfast, celebrating a few birthdays and Mother’s Day all in one. Together. It’s a good feeling, to be doing life together–celebrating the milestones and mourning the losses. Together. Because, really, you never know what’s coming–some days are a walk on the beach, others a torrential downpour.
Linking up with Annapolis & Company
I call Husband my Southern boy and he calls me Northern though and through. It’s true. He has lived in Virginia his entire life, while I spent the majority of my life 30 minutes from the Canadian border in New York and in the state of Montana.
This means that while I love summer and especially fall, I have also become accustomed to the cold of winter being accompanied by the beauty of snow. Granted, I don’t do well with cold. But if I’m going to endure it, I at least want a pretty white blanket covering everything from head to toe.
Snow makes all things new, fresh and beautiful. It’s like the world becomes covered in sparkles or diamonds…like God is giving us a clean slate, a fresh day, full of possibilities. I like the possibilities in snow.
I also appreciate snow for another reason: I started skiing when I was only 6 years old and I switched to snowboarding in college (where I was totally spoiled by the availability of powder in Montana compared to the ice they call snow in the mid-Altantic area).
So while my friends in PA, NY, MT, OH, CO, and more places are bemoaning their snow. I will likely be incurably jealous and resentful of Virginia’s gray and dreary winter.
Yet, maybe we’ll get some snow…I can only hope. Last year, I was very bummed out about not having a white Christmas and then tiny little white flakes began to fall Christmas night and by the next day we were “snowed in” by about 6″ of snow that took days to clear from the roads. It was lovely to be tucked inside a warm (okay, not-so-warm) beach house with Husband all day, curled up in blankets and sipping hot cocoa.
So, here’s to snow.