On Friday I turned 33. That's me up there, 30 years ago.
I felt loved and celebrated, and received so many kind words from all the people who mean the most to me. What more could a woman-girl ask for?
I threw myself a little party, because I think you can do that when you're 33. I invited my parents and Granny and brother's family over to dinner, and there were decorations and special drinks (sparkling water with a splash of blueberry pomegranate juice...we fancy) and I made these lemon meltaways for very special, which I highly recommend, though they're entirely too sweet and delicious.
On Saturday, I spent a large portion of the day finishing a book (the third book in the Mitford series, which I had been--oddly--craving lately. Sometimes I just need some good cozy fiction. I love these books) and doing a cookup for the week ahead. I made salmon cakes, baked sweet potatoes, and a double batch of garlic and chicken broccoli soup. Now we will have breakfast this week.
Today we went to Liturgy and I served at coffee hour and came home to spend time getting the September calendar straight--it's a doozy. I start to seize up when I think about all of the things we must do, and I feel like taking a dose of my own "margin" medicine-- but we need to work, yes? and Oliver needs to go to school, yes? and I want Oliver to progress in swimming lessons, yes? and liturgy is important, yes? and the committees we serve on are important, yes? and I should be a friend and sister, yes? and...wait a minute, where did that simple life go again? Is this a busy season, or is this our life now if I am not intentional about it?
Then I took a walk around our path, which is like prayer (or is prayer), and I stood for a full five minutes watching the swallowtails on the thistle, and I fell hard for God's creation again, and I felt like me again, and I breathed the scent of the hot mowed grass of the path, and listened to those late August insects, and came around the bend when the house comes into view, and I gave thanks.
And now I'm inside writing because I wanted to tell you about it, but gosh-- how in the world do I flow from the beauty and brightness of this day into the quiet thrum of my office in the morning, dedicating myself to spreadsheets and 50 emails and checking off to-dos? It feels like my life is in two pieces, and while both of them fulfill something important in me, and I feel I have something good to offer to both, it's a strange dichotomy. I haven't figured out how to make a one piece life out of it, or if I want to.
Finally, here is a quick poorly lit shot of our living room, with the shelf up, because that sort of thing interests some people. I know this sounds strange, but I felt very ungrounded whenever I looked at this wall before the shelf was up. It feels so much more settled now. I know I will change it a thousand times, but that's what a shelf is for.
**25 bonus points if you know what the prints are from. They make me laugh (out loud) when I really look at them. I think that sort of thing is important, laughter.
Onward then, friends. One day at a time. You're never alone. Do your best. Pray for help. Trust Jesus.
That's all I got. I think it's enough.