This weekend was wet, soggy and chillier than I would have preferred, but was, nevertheless, the perfect backdrop to a much needed home based few days. Our house is in need of some love, attention, and probably a few dollars, although those are in short supply and will therefore, have to wait. For now, coats of paint applied by my ever faithful mother have done the trick.
Although the kitchen stayed in state of near disaster most of the weekend, this morning the house is quiet and relatively picked up. Vegetables are fermenting on the countertop. The door leading to the basement, white and gleaming. I will do my best to ignore the piles and piles of laundry hiding upstairs. Those can wait. Those can always wait.
I managed to steal away a few moments to pluck at Purity. Jonathan Franzen novels always pull me in, all the while irritating the hell out of me. I found a few more moments to watch Milla's short film, The Commute, which although (I assume) distinctively PNW, it also reminded me lots of Ocracoke.
Before my shift on Sunday, we walked down to the beach to witness waves and high tide. Hanging trees. Newly fallen logs. A rerouted creek. The ever-changing shore remains my forever favorite.