scenes from a country cottage: a breath and a rest

 

my favorite time of day, besides those five seconds spent on my tiptoes in the kitchen, kissing robert while juggling a purse, bookbag, dog leash and high heels, is mail time. it's not a long walk to our mailbox. not like my parents' driveway, that long, curved asphalt.

it's just a straight walk on a gravel drive. under pin oaks and the sun, setting sooner than i would like, spreading a golden bath on the day. and quite honestly, i never get any mail, save for a few celebrity magazines and some bills (such is the fodder of a young woman i suppose.) 

but it's the walk that counts. those seconds, brief and fleeting though they might be, are solely mine for the taking. for the savoring and devouring. a reprieve between work and home. a soul recharge.

and autumn is busy. it's gorgeous, but its hurried and full of festivals. pumpkin patches. county fairs. i'm afraid i've thought too much about the season as a noun--the way it tastes, smells and feels. i've reduced it to an idea in a storybook, a paragraph on a page.

but i haven't sat. on a white swing in the sunset. with the evening hitting me square on my closed eyes. and thanked the Lord for october. for the change that's in the air. and for the anticipation of something on the horizon, just past the mailbox, and before the hill up ahead. a moment of flat, solid ground before the leap. a breath of cool before the cold.

the way i know it's fall

i'm not sure how i feel about starbucks. sometimes the coffee is too roasted. sometimes the corporate culture is a bit much and i find myself wandering into more local, hometown places.

but today they officially released pumpkin spice lattes.

there is a rainy haze over north carolina this morning, brought in from late summer showers and a hurricane swirling in the atlantic. it's brisk, leggings weather. and as soon as i received my cup, i ripped off the cardboard holder and pressed my hands firm to the heat.

and i declare, a tuesday morning never tasted as good.

on fair rides and romance

 

the way i know i'm getting older is this:

the state fair is coming to town in a few weeks. this pinnacle of autumn that only rolls around during blue jean weather.

and this year, i'm most looking forward to the agricultural exhibits. the state's largest pumpkin. most prized horse. sweetest succotash. moistest chocolate pound cake. that, and the food. the decadence. the frito pie. the lion's club country ham biscuits with tangy mustard. that little stand way in the back with the fried oreos.

i want to peruse the grounds at my leisure. take in the hay bales used as props. the children holding goldfish in a plastic bag.

because as much as i love a good roller coaster, fair rides are a bit much for me. i think it's the speed at which they're created, then torn down. but looking at them from the sidewalk vantage point, children on them always look exhilarated and not a bit concerned about loose bolts, rickety safety straps or sparked fuses. for them, flying through the warm night, above the ground and their mamas, life is good. life is easy and full of options.

and it still is. goodness, i think it is now more than ever.

but as sensibility weaves its way into my excited bones, i'm inclined to stay grounded this year.

that's not to say i don't love a good ferris wheel now and then. nicholas sparks reinvented those bad boys for me. and ever since noah hung off the railing of one to prove his ardor for allie, those giant beasts of the carnival have taken on another meaning. they are romantic.

and at the fair, as in life, romance is worth the risk.

i go where the trees go

there is a little cottage in the mountains. it's a tiny little thing nestled between high arching trees. there are rhododendrons on its sidewalk and rosebushes decorate its split rail fence. the rooms aren't large, but there are flannel sheets, a soft floral couch, perfect showerhead water pressure, and heat that echoes off the floorboards.

i spent the weekend here with robert and my brother. the cottage, owned by robert's parents, is on lake junaluska, near asheville, north carolina. robert's dad is a methodist minister, and the lake community serves as a retreat center for the methodist church. there is peace here. this is a place where street lights stay on all night. bed and breakfasts, with their faint evening glow and dimly lit dining rooms, are scattered along the water's edge. old men talk on rocking chairs on front porches. people walk the "prayer circle" outside the little waterside chapel, praying for someone different with each turn and arc.

this weekend, i took my two favorite boys up here to soak in the glory. highlights of our weekend include:

• walking around the lake at 1 a.m., finally reaching the mountainside cross around 2:00 in the morning.
• seeing the fabulous joanna newsom live at the orange peel in asheville
• eating all the fabulous diner food we could manage (hot dogs, BLTs, homemade vegetable soup)
• seeing the movie unstoppable at the rocky mountain cinema, a little hole in the wall that hasn't changed in about 20 years, with only a few rows of chairs for each screen

and finally, venturing to this book store:

this store was crazy. it was about two miles off the beaten path in the heart of the mountains. it was a total fire hazard, with thousands of books packed into this trailer outside a house. all the books were ridiculously overpriced because we believe the woman doesn't really want to sell them. she just wants to live in them.

the owner, an older woman with short hair and strong country accent, was hard to find at first. then we spotted her. she had created a little cubby inside all the books, where she would poke her little head out. please notice our shocked expressions:

it was all fun and games until we saw the millions of no-stealing signs the woman had posted up. all were handwritten, scribbled on plain white paper. one said "attention thieves: if you steal from me, your blood will flow." this seemed a bit much, so we got scared and left. my brother managed to find a book of wordsworth poetry for less than $5, which he quickly purchased.

overall, the weekend was awesome. packed with tranquility, peace and relaxation. with just the right amount of adventure.

replacing time

there's a little window beside my desk at work. all spring long, i sat and watched as little furball goslings stumbled behind their mamas. then, when summer arrived, i watched those goslings grow up into geese, navigating between the parked cars, scavenging for crumbs of take-out burgers, morning biscuits, or packed sandwiches. it was a beautiful evolution from baby to adult, all in a span of about three months.

but now fall has descended, taking away daylight savings time, and by 4:30 in the afternoon, my little window has turned black. the sun sets so incredibly early now, i can't see the geese. i can't see anything at all. the day feels so short. to me, sunlight equals energy. over the summer, when the sun was suspended in the sky until almost 9:00 p.m., it was as if the evening had endless possibilities. robert and i took countless walks down our road, we had many late night drive-through runs for wendy's frosties. we sat on our swing at watched the sun setting late.

now, we're ready for bed by 9:00, not walking in the fields. our eyelids begin to droop as soon as supper is over. watching glee last night took all the energy i could muster. it's not that i'm overly exhausted or overworked. it just that as sunlight=energy, darkness=sleepy.

so we created a plan. we decided to take that extra hour returned to us and instead of staying up later, we vowed to get up one hour earlier. this morning was our first try. we got up at 6 a.m. and selected a yoga television program on demand. i pulled on my leggings, drug my pilates mat out of the closet, and got ready for a half hour of relaxation, stretching and calm. but then we realized something. we neglected to read the description of the show. it was a jillian michaels yoga program. let me just tell you, this was not yoga, what she did. well, it was yoga, just yoga on about ten cups of coffee. five minutes in, i was already sweating. when she moved from a plank into push-ups, that's when we began to hate our lives just a little.

i looked over at robert, who had retreated to child's pose, his arms stretched out in front of him. we both looked at each other then silently, he turned the television off and we jumped back into bed, with 20 minutes left to sleep. and at that hour of morning, with the sun just creeping up, and a warm, dozing puppy curled up at my toes, 20 minutes was golden.

so we failed this morning. or did we? we tried. we know now that we are at least capable of waking up that early. so we'll do it again tomorrow. we'll try again. and maybe we'll fail again, but at least we'll fail together. but then--then we will grow together too. just like the geese. 

 source

fields of gold

it rained here yesterday. not a downpour, not even a sprinkle. more of a mist-a permeating, cloudy mist that just held itself there-over my office building, my car, my home, threatening to fall at any moment, but never really doing so. when the days are like this, i just want to curl up and sleep. it's like the Lord is telling me--rest, child. there is not much you can do today. just look at it outside. take this opportunity to restore and nourish your body.

and so i did. i made creamy mushroom and onion fettuccine for supper, standing over four warm pots, the steam tickling my face. i took an extra long bath, reading my latest us weekly cover to cover. then, with evening creeping in and monday night football on television, i curled up on my couch with pablo, nestling my face in his fur. we dozed there until robert woke us up and we all three drug our sleepy bodies to bed. and i declare, it was good.

but days like yesterday also remind me of brighter moments-days when it seemed the sky was just bursting with happiness, like all of nature had conspired to shine its beauty at the same time. autumn is gorgeous. this past sunday was such a day. i sat outside and actually watched as leaves came pouring to the ground, catching the sun mid-fall. and i left them there. i don't want to rake them up. i wouldn't mind if my entire yard were covered with amber leaves. it's beautiful and soon it will be gone.