I love my house, especially in the Summertime. It might be nostalgia due to the long and agonizing process of buying our home (a short-sale) and the subsequent jubilation when we finally got to move-in June 1st. (We put our list price offer on the house Feb. 22nd) It might be that everything in the Pacific Northwest is better in the Summertime. It might be the fact that sometimes my house reminds me of my Grandmother's house, sometimes it even smells like my Grandmother's house but it does so the strongest when the sun is shinning. It might just be that it's quiet and peaceful and the neighbors are all friendly. Whatever it is I love evenings like this, I want to wrap them up in a piece of tissue and tuck them away in a special box of trinkets to dig out and look back on later when I need a smile.
I am sitting here in my comfy chair, my black shirt covered in slug trails from my baby Daughter's runny-nosed snuggles, rocking her sleeping, peaceful warm little body deep into slumber while I watch the edge of the horizon turn shades of gold and peach out of the far end of the picture window in my living room set to the serenade of the final birds of the day. I see my neighbors going on their nightly walks. The same neighbors almost every night, there is a rhythm and cadence to their presence outside my window that I find so comforting. They are like a warm blanket. The father and his toddling son walking and blowing bubbles, the elderly woman and her daughter and their large black dog, even the over-weight man who smokes while he strolls. (the irony of his healthy strolls being coupled with smoking always makes me giggle on the inside) Maybe it's the placement of that large picture window on the main floor so that I look out and feel like I am a part of the action. Whatever the reason may be summer evenings are just so serene on my street. I love them, and I am warmed just knowing that there are more on the way.
