I don’t quite know how I went from feeling really skinny and summery this week to feeling like I was again preparing for hibernation, but it may have had something to do with going gradually from two salads a day to two scoops of ice cream a night. No matter, it’s been fun to get out of the house with you, and I’ll eat four scoops a day if it means getting out of the house with you during the deep midwinter.
Our new french press is amazing and it makes me want to open a coffee shop with you. I’ll change my mind by next week so there’s no need to look into real estate today. My favorite thing this week? Getting up early to write while you made coffee for me, and then catching you listening to your own podcast. I’m so proud of all the work you’ve done- thanks for inspiring me to work hard and do something great. I know I haven’t actually done anything yet, but the brain is churning. That’s all I can promise you for now.
Do we celebrate Valentine’s Day? I don’t know. I tried to find a fun craft to make you but they all look like they belong to a 3 year old or in the trash. It takes just the right balance of fun and whimsy to make a Valentine worthwhile, and I don’t think I’ve captured it yet. I’ve got 24 hours left, so I’ll see what I can do with my bits of fabric and wax paper. I wanted to go to the paper store and buy a large set of Japanese masking tapes, but I figured the expense wouldn’t have been approved and I would have to work it off by selling my poor people crafts. Watching an ’80’s movie with you at the weird old theatre will be the best Valentine’s night I could ever think of. You and me and Andre.
I’m sorry the dryer broke and now our living room looks like I got mad and started throwing clothes at you, but maybe someday we’ll get a house with a backyard and be able to have a really long clothes line and a vegetable garden. I love our little apartment, but I miss the outdoors so much sometimes. I loved sneaking out and getting coffee with you last week during the snow days, and sitting outside with you even though no one else would brave the cold. When I lived in Oklahoma, any acreage seemed too little. Even at my parents’ house, their twelve acres are a little too close to society, too close to the highway, the horizon impeded with the smallest things that steal all the thunder of nature’s glory. But here, where we don’t visit backyards for months, even the tiniest glimpse of nature seems to feed my very soul. The old house next to us at the coffee shop could have been surrounded by a hundred acres of forest and plains, and I would scarcely have known the difference.
You’re the only place I’ll ever call home.