That’s what it was this weekend. Even for the most playful and spirited of puppies.
(This is Honey, and she belongs to our friend.)
Not to whine, but it was way, way too much for me, and though we had fun – an art show, some live music, and time spent with friends and pups – I was exhausted, dried out, sweaty, and a little grumpy by Sunday evening. I am just not a hot weather person, y’all. And I hope (perhaps a fool’s hope) that the brief heatwave we had on Saturday and Sunday is not a sign of things to come for this summer. But I have a hunch it’s going to be exactly what we’re in for.
So, in the spirit of my last few posts, here’s a question: What are your favorite ways to stay cool and beat the heat? Because I’m certainly not very good at it, and I need all the help I can get.
I know this is the second question I’ve posted this week, but it’s one I’ve been pondering lately.
Graham and I live in a tiny village. But that village is part of a county split between a busy, suburban east and a quiet, rural west. And that county is part of a state full of large metropolitan areas and even larger swaths of coastline, mountains, and small country towns.
By way of example, this is Virginia:
This is also Virginia:
And so is this:
In our village, we stay involved in civic and volunteer organizations, we support the businesses and the small school operating here, and we try to help our neighbors when they need it. We feel safe, and very happy. And in the next town over, we’ve got a whole second community – we play trivia every Thursday, we’re regulars at several businesses, and it’s pretty rare to walk down the sidewalk on any given day and not see someone we know. We feel connected here – to the people around us, to our local government, to the history that we’re becoming part of – and when we think about what community means to us, that’s it: connection.
Or perhaps it’s something a little deeper than that.
It’s feeling rooted, I think.
And I never thought I’d feel that way after I left my childhood home in southwest Virginia. I think many people worry about that, too, and I feel really lucky that I’ve found this place.
So, that’s community for me, then: people, place, connection, and roots. But I know that my world isn’t the world, and there are all kinds of ways to be part of a community.
Now, backing up.
I’ve been pondering all this of lately because I’ve been kicking around a new project idea, something that would explore where I came from, through the lens of where I am now, and with the wisdom and knowledge that I’ve gained as I’ve grown up (and continue to grow up…it’s a process, y’all). I’m not sure if I’m ready to write it at all, but I know that in order to write it well, I need more perspectives than just mine. I need to understand what people think of when they think of community. In order to really tell the story that I want to tell in a way that resonates, I think I need to know more about the people who will read it, where they come from and how they feel about community, and what their experiences have been in whatever places they’ve chosen to call home.
And so I put it to you, my wonderful readers, from so many different places, and with so many different passions and ideas:
Is there any happier creature in the world than a cat in his favorite sunny spot?
I really don’t think there is, y’all. And yes, this is an older picture, if you feel like you’ve seen it before. He is so very comfy and asleep right now that I just couldn’t bother him with the camera. But trust me, he looks almost exactly the same, just absolutely at peace, dozing in the sunshine.
At any rate, after several days of cool temperatures, clouds, and rain showers, the sun is out and shining today. It’s a nice change for all of us, but I think Gatsby’s enjoying it the most.
I hope it’s a sign of good things to come this week!
Wanted isn’t even really a strong enough word. I needed a horse. I needed a horse like I needed to breathe air, like I needed the blood circulating in my veins and the cells regenerating in my body. It was fundamental to me, a building block at the very core of my being. I would sit awake at night, imagining morning rides through dewy fields, just my horse and me. Wild, together, and utterly free.
My parents had no interest whatsoever in owning a horse, and it broke my almost-a-Horse-Girl heart. Money, to me, was no object when something so very important and vital to my happiness – nay, to my life – was on the line. Alas, these are lessons we learn with age. Money is always an object. And so as a consolation, my mom put me in riding lessons, where I learned the basics of care and maintenance, and the ins and outs of entry-level equestrianship.
This did not fill the void, though I enjoyed the lessons and learned a lot, most of which I have retained, I think, in some dusty, rarely used corner of my brain.
I never got a horse. And eventually, my interest in (read: obsession with) horses waned. I moved on to other hobbies, and for many, many years, I didn’t think much about horses at all.
Then, we moved to Hunt Country. Here, I am surrounded by horses.
Here, I live alongside hobby riders and polo players, foxhunters and trainers, jumpers, grooms, farriers, rescuers, and all manner of people who love their horses. Here, I’ve met one of my very best friends, who is fierce, powerful, and astoundingly unbothered by the various injuries one can sustain when falling from a large, moving animal.
Her fearlessness inspires me on so many levels, but it doesn’t inspire me to own a horse. I find this curious, that I, who so desperately ached to be a Horse Girl all those years ago, should now be so unmoved by the prospect. That now, when it’s entirely accessible to me and imminently possible, I should think about it and decide, “Eh, no thanks.”
I guess we really do become our parents.
I can’t help but wonder, though, just where that little erstwhile Horse Girl went.
I do still love horses. I find them beautiful, strong, and smarter than some people would like to think. To my friends who care for them, they are devoted companions. When I see a horse galloping through the fields or resting under a tree on a warm day, I do still feel a little twinge, the smallest, tiniest tug on my heart. And so I know she’s still in there, somewhere, that almost Horse Girl. I carry her with me. I’m not that girl anymore, but I’m grateful to her, that spunky little wannabe daredevil. She taught me to be brave, patient, and kind, and to crave adventure, and to use my imagination.
She isn’t who I am today, but she helped me get here. And here – writing in my comfy chair on a rainy day, listening to the dog stir in the corner, making up stories from this lovely little corner of Virginia – is pretty darn good.
If you’ve ever watched anything on HGTV, you’ve probably heard the phrase “old house problems.” It comes up over and over: On renovations shows, when homeowners encounter shoddy updates and outdated pipes and wiring. During house hunts, when starry-eyed first-time buyers see anything built before 1990 and worry about how much work it might need (LOL…).
“You buy an old house, you get old house problems.”
I’ve heard it myself, from my dad, when Graham and I first started searching for a house with a story.
My dad used to build houses, and I trust him, and I know that he knows what he’s talking about. But as children do, I considered his advice carefully, ignored it entirely, and did what I wanted.
I think it’s important to point out that any house will have problems. Our first home was built in 2007, and we poured thousands of dollars into fixing stuff that broke, big stuff and small stuff. We replaced a faulty sump pump that flooded our utility room and an HVAC that died not once but twice. We installed a radon mitigation system, we sanded down doors that stuck as the house settled, fixed nail pops, bought a new refrigerator…
My point is, any house, regardless of its age, is going to require some serious maintenance and upkeep. But I’m willing to admit that it takes a special sort of crazy person to commit to the maintenance and upkeep of a home of…advanced age.
I am that crazy person.
So is Graham. I didn’t pull him into the insanity with me. We met there. And here we are today, in our very old house, happy as can be despite our ever-growing list of “old house problems.”
Why am I sharing this now?
Well, a few reasons. The first is that I wrote a post earlier this week that just got me thinking about it. The second is that Graham replaced our kitchen faucet over the weekend, and it took about two hours longer than it should have because everything was crusty with lime buildup and rusted together. The third is that, as we think about fixing small issues like that faucet, we’re also starting to discuss what larger projects we might want to tackle over the course of the spring and summer.
And believe me, it’s super easy to “find” projects in an old home.
We’ve been sort of laisse faire about things so far. We’ve done some interior and exterior painting, but we have a lot more to do.
We’ve fixed issues as they’ve come up, but we haven’t really sat down and developed a strategy for making improvements, adjustments, and repairs. To be fair, we’ve only lived here since 2016, and it’s taken almost that long to really decide and settle on how we want to use spaces, how we want them to look and feel, and what “home” looks like for us here.
But now, it’s time.
Truly, it’s past time.
We bought this house to make it a home, and to be good stewards of a piece of history. I think it’s about time we made good on that commitment.
So, cheers to old house problems! (I’m holding up my coffee cup.) And may we learn to be patient and enjoy the process…
Yesterday, we went to a local flower and garden festival with some friends. Earlier last week, I decided to join a local horticultural society, so the festival came at a good time. Or a bad one.
Let me explain.
I am decidedly NOT a gardener. I don’t really like dirt under my fingernails, or worms, or ticks, or (worst of all) little, harmless garden snakes. I don’t enjoy spending hours in hot sunlight, though I love being outside, and I will get a horrible sunburn in less than ten minutes. I’ve never been able to reliably keep a plant alive, much less help one grow from seed to bloom.
But, I’ve always loved flowers. I love nature. I love the sound of buzzing honeybees and the earthy, sweet fragrance of lavender and roses. I love the way light dapples through green leaves, and the feeling that everything around me is breathing and part of something bigger, something that will last long after I’m gone.
All of that to say, I am NOT a gardener, but I WANT to be.
I am surrounded by amazing gardeners. Graham’s mother is so talented, and her back garden looks like something out of a fairy story. Many of our friends care for boxwoods that are over a century old. We never have to look far for vegetables fresh from someone’s back yard vegetable patch, and they really do taste so much better.
Meanwhile, the state of our garden is mostly…wild. I’m being kind to myself here.
The honest truth is this: I’m intimidated by it, and so I’ve let it grow untamed and unkempt for most of the time we’ve lived in this house.
I’m not proud. In fact, I’m mostly embarrassed, and a little ashamed. But it amazes me that even without any help, any human hands nudging things along, it is still a beautiful space, and flowers still grow, like clockwork, every year.
I spent a lot of time thinking about that yesterday, as we walked by lots of stalls full of little green stems and leaves and colorful blossoms that I could not identify and would not know the first thing about planting. On the one hand, knowing that the earth will do what it does, regardless of my meddling, is something of a relief. On the other, I can’t help but imagine what our garden could be if I just learned to try, to get over my worry and my fear that I’ll do something wrong, and just…garden.
I don’t trust myself, but I do trust nature.
And so, I think that this will be the year. This will be the start. I’m going to learn to plant things, and nurture them, and help them grow. I’m going to be patient with myself, but I’m not going to allow myself to make excuses. I’m going to try. I’m going to go for it, because it’s worth going for, and because I know I can, with a little effort and time. I’m going to do it, even if it’s hard.
I think the weather today got a little…confused. It’s raining. That’s normal for April. It’s also cold. And sleeting. And just a few miles down the road from our house, it’s snowing.
Snow in April isn’t unheard of around here, but it was so nice and warm, just beautiful and sunny and breezy on Saturday, that the cold and damp today just feels a little like whiplash. I suppose that’s Virginia for you – Fool’s Spring, Second Winter, False Spring, Third Winter. Maybe by this time next week, we’ll officially have some actual, lasting springtime.
And I can’t complain. Or, I shouldn’t. I’d planned over the weekend to spend today in, reading and writing, and resting and generally just getting to work and keeping my head down. It was a busy, super fun, and ultimately very tiring weekend, and so I knew I wanted some quiet time today. So really, I suppose, the weather’s just cooperating with me. Because I certainly don’t want to go outside and play in the almost freezing rain!
So, onward, and hopefully soon, Real Spring. In the meantime, happy creating, y’all!
It’s officially spring here in my little corner of Virginia. Today, it’s lovely – warm and partly cloudy, a bit breezy, just wonderful. And, most importantly (to me, anyway): it’s redbud season!
That’s a picture from last year, when I posted about the beautiful little redbud tree in our yard. Right now, the blossoms are just getting started.
I love redbuds so much. I just think they’re gorgeous, and nothing makes me think of home quite like they do. And, super cool, the blossoms grow right on the bark.
I only noticed that a couple of years ago. Isn’t that funny? That you can look at something your whole life and still learn something new about it.
Anyway, I plan to enjoy the redbuds in bloom for as long as I can. Winter might be my favorite, but there’s plenty to love about spring, too.
I grew up with a cat. Well, a few cats. There was Jingle, the Siamese, Tiger, a scrappy gray tabby, Dusty, a sweetheart of an orange tabby, and Salem, a never-quite-tame but never-bad-luck midnight black wild thing. I also had a bird named Bluebird (yes, I came up with that), a hamster named Rosie, and a goldfish named Lucy.
My point is this: I’m a pet person.
I’ve always had a pet. I don’t know what a house without its resident animal sidekick would be like. Quieter, probably. Less prone to furry tumbleweeds. But also, a little more lonely. A little less lively. At least, that’s how I’d feel about it. I’ve loved all my pets, and I’m lucky now to have Annie, our crazy perpetual puppy…
…and Gatsby, our sweet old gentleman.
Gatsby’s a Maine Coon, and he’s been with me since college. He’s a big cuddly lump who purrs loud, adores sleeping in the laundry baskets, and loves to watch the birds. You know, from his comfy perch inside of the house. Or on TV.
Annie’s an Australian Shepherd with a quick mind, boundless energy, and a deep and abiding love for her human. Yes, just the one. And it’s Graham, not me. But we should all find someone who loves us as much as she loves him.
They both get plenty of snuggles, but I’ll give them a little extra today. They’re animals, so they’ll have no idea why. But they’ll love it nonetheless. And they absolutely deserve it. 😊
Poorwa nominated me for the Sunshine Blogger Award. I’ve been nominated once before, and it put such a smile on my face, and now, here we are again. 😊
The Sunshine Blogger Award “is a peer recognition of the inspiring, creative and motivational work done by bloggers. It is given by bloggers to bloggers who inspire positivity and creativity in the blogging community.”
If you have been nominated:
Thank the blogger who nominated you and link back to their blog.
Answer the 11 questions sent by the person who nominated you.
Nominate 11 bloggers to receive the award and write them 11 new questions.
List the rules and display the Sunshine Blogger Award logo in your post and/or your blog.
Here are Poorwa’s questions for me:
What is the weirdest thing you have ever eaten?
Maybe shad roe? Or escargot? I have a pretty adventurous palate, and I don’t really get weirded out by food. That being said, the one thing I refused to try when we were in Iceland was hákarl, the famous fermented shark. I’ve seen how people react when it hits their tongues. No thank you.
What is something true to you that nobody agrees with you on?
Mayonnaise is imminently superior to ketchup.
Do you care about what other people tell you?
I care very deeply about my friends and family, and if they come to me with a problem, or they need advice, or they just need to vent, I’m here, always. I don’t really care so much what people say about me. I hope people like me and respect me, but what other people think of me is ultimately none of my business.
If you could meet anyone in this world today, who would you meet?
Dolly Parton. She is life goals.
What is the greatest risk you have ever taken?
I left a secure career in Human Resources to focus on my writing and other creative work. It hasn’t worked out exactly how I thought it would, but it has certainly worked out, and it is among the best decisions I’ve ever made.
What is your biggest pet peeve?
I can’t stand it when people are rude to servers in restaurants. Be nice or don’t dine out.
Who’s your all-time favorite Disney character?
Oh, this one’s tough! I really like Belle, Mulan, and Tiana. Strong, smart women for the win!
Are you afraid of ghosts?
Nope! I find ghosts and haunted places fascinating. Disconcerted, maybe? But not scared.
If you were given the chance to steal something, what would it be?
The Book of Kells. I love illuminated manuscripts! But I couldn’t store it and maintain it safely, and it would deteriorate, so I probably couldn’t bring myself to do it, even if I had the chance.
If you could use only one social media platform for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Probably either Facebook, since that’s how I keep up with a lot of people in this very busy world, or Instagram, since I really love photography and man, there are some great photographers on Instagram.
What do you usually do during weekends?
It depends. If we decide to stay in, I like to read, maybe watch a movie, cook something tasty and just hang out with Graham. If we go out, I like to explore the countryside and find neat antique shops and good craft beer and cider.
Super fun! I nominate:
Anyone who wants to participate!
I am so inspired by this amazing community of creators, so if you find yourself intrigued by my questions, feel free to answer them!
And my questions for you:
If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?
Cheeseburgers or hot dogs? (And why?)
The beach or the mountains? (And why?)
Do you collect anything? If so, what?
What’s your favorite family tradition?
What do you look for in a friend?
What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?
Who inspires you?
What’s your favorite song? (And why?)
How do you wind down at the end of the day?
Why do you write (or paint, take photos, etc. Just generally, if you create, why do you do it)?
A Virginia Writer's Diary 