Hi there! And welcome to what I'm affectionately calling Porridge and Pine. Below are some documentations of a day earlier this week, where we ate breakfast in a small lake town a bit West of us. My Pentax skills are a bit rusty, so I must clarify, my husband's beard is much less Rasputin-y in real life.
You see, the morning we spent looking out on this lake was one that had been waiting for us. A few days into the week, our lips were dry, our brains not whirring, our hands barely able to grasp. We were shriveling, and I don't care if you like raisins (I certainly don't), it was unsightly. I tell you this because I can't think of a better reason to force myself to write to you (and to me). I've fallen off the journaling horse for several years now, and I think the weird folds in my brain are suffering today as a result. Each day we wake, there is joy to be next to each other, there is gratitude to have food in our fridge, a ghetto car to drive to work in, a beautiful hodge-podge of people surrounding us in our daily grind. But there are questions. And I think there always will be. But if I force this figurative pen in my very real hand to start inking again, I think there will be less, and perhaps even more gratitude. And thus, you are the lake I am looking out on, eating scones next to. And while you are vast, unfamiliar, and at times beautifully overwhelming, you are a new breath, you are important, and you are, I think in this moment, absolutely necessary.
Thank you for being my lake. This is Porridge and Pine.