slow down, you move too fast.
Some girls shop their way back to sanity.
Rich girls travel, or do a spa weekends.
I read books, bake, take naps, work in my garden. spend time with my peeps. snuggle with my puppies. I dream about the ocean.
But yesterday I found myself with a rare and priceless gift, the likes of which I haven't seen in a very long time, a day to myself. And I had already had a fun time the day before shopping and lunching with my girls. I'd already spent one light-headed day scrubbing the house earlier in the week. and another weeding the
My home alone day came to me, as most good things do, by way of fluke, unplanned and impromptu, which was probably for the best.
I didn't know what to do first. I wanted to do everything (and by everything, I mean nothing). I just didn't know if I had it in me. The truth is, I did. I spent part of the day lazing around barefoot and not combing my hair. I took a nap in the afternoon and ate chips and salsa after dark. I splurged and bought the coolest gazing ball just because I was in that frame of mind.
The truth behind the truth was, I was acting like I was on some kind of snazzy vacation. because I could. and I knew it might be a while before I got the chance again. Big changes always await me on the flip-side of summer. still I hadn't showered all morning and dinner plans were sketchy.
I ended up doing what any sensible girl would do, I took 43 pictures of my garden. and yes, it seemed a little splurgey, but what kind of person could walk away from a garden shot? Certainly not me. I adore my flowers. They make me smile every single day tucked into their little beds.
Unfortunately/fortunately, that little escapade took me all of twelve minutes because I played my favorite rogue ultra-amateur photographer game, don't touch that dial, which means that whatever the camera happens to be set at I'm stuck with. We are in full bloom around here and I simply cannot get enough of it. Of all of the months, June is definitely my one of favorites, and not just because it finds me practicing yoga on the deck.
In a matter of a few months we will cross the bridge from the bliss of a memory-making summer to the reality of changing seasons. and it's called time. ah time, it's true, you move too fast. please, slow down. In my case, this means madly stashing more memories, the specialized kind, in the summer I have left and preparing to shift back into real life mode soon.
The garden is shifting already, from the prim, pursed lips of the matriarch peonies who believe in their heart of hearts that we all owe them the world (we do, shhh) to the fiery rose champions with their skirts crooked and splayed, flaming red.
The socialite hydrangea are also arriving on the scene, so charming and graceful, backs straight, petals lined up like a church lady choir.
The angsty, messy teenager daises don't even bother playing it cool. Their faces open wide to the sky, their linked-up arms reach out to grab whatever they can. They're sun struck. Front row ticket holders. They don't give a rip if we're impressed (I am). They know they signal full on summer. They don't mind at all that it means they're almost goners.The socialites sure are pretty, but I'm figuring out that I'm more of a trashy teenager. Or at least I aspire to be.
Summer's kinda here, baby. I have a fresh pair of $3 flip-flops to prove it.
Things came more alive today and my heart was quiet, because I know that just as this season takes its turn, shuts its door, the world it moves in does the same, and none of us is exempt. I would have guessed that finally coming to grips with a life that never stops changing would have left me bereft and unsettled. Truth is, I find it tremendously comforting today. It means that all that is required of me is to live this day well. Tomorrow may be a different scene, a different sky. It will be new challenges, new heart cracks, new chances to run outside during my free hour to clip a budding rose like a branch of tangible hope and carry it with me inside.
I desperately want to hold on to this free-fall feeling. I want to wear it until it fits like a second skin.
I will live this day well, and I can do it again tomorrow and then again and again, even when things are different and the falling leaves make a carpet for whatever comes next.
I can be certain about the promises that will never change. So today, right now, I'm okay throwing my hands in the air, shucking the rules, and playing my music way too loud. Are you with me?
cherry hand pies
2/3 cup dried cherries
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon butter
2 teaspoons pure almond extract (or vanilla extract)
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 packages refrigerated pie dough
1 egg white
1 tablespoon water
- Mix the sugar and cornstarch together, and add all of the cherry pie filling ingredients to a sauce pan.
- Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring frequently.
- When the mixture thickens, turn the burner off and allow to cool to room temperature, stirring occasionally.
- Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
- Pull the refrigerated pie dough out and let it sit on the countertop for about 10 minutes to warm up and become more pliable. Unroll it and cut it using a heart-shaped cookie cutter or any desired shape.
- Place a bottom shape on a parchment-lined baking sheet, and top it with a couple of room temperature spoonfuls of the cherry pie filling, making sure to leave room around the edges for sealing.
- Lay another heart on top, and use a fork to crimp the pies shut on all sides.
- After all of the hand pies are sealed, place them in the refrigerator to chill for about 30 minutes.
- After 30 minutes have passed, pull the hand pies out and cut an X-shaped slit in the top of each one.
- Make an egg wash mixture by whisking together one egg white and one tablespoon of water. Brush each cherry hand pie with the egg wash mixture and sprinkle with coarse sugar.
- Bake at 400-degrees for approximately 18 minutes or until golden brown and bubbling.