When Life Was So Simple

Well. Goodness. Where to start? 

I would like to make an effort at writing--thoughts and musings and finding words to get them down. 

I wrote this the other day (and it felt like doing that):

Remember when we were so young? It was just us two and an apartment all our own, and all of life was like Christmas morning waiting to be unwrapped. I made my first lasagna (heavily overdoing the cheese in all my domestic excitement) and filled our cupboards with baking supplies and Lucky Charms. If we opened our bedroom window, cigarette smoke and late-night conversation floated in from the balcony full of single boys next door. (Once one of them came over, a can of soup in hand, and asked, embarrassed, for a can opener.) And every Wednesday the garbage truck woke me fifteen minutes before my alarm. One time you knocked on our apartment door (it was #17 I remember—facing Harrison Blvd), and when I opened it there sat the coffee table with steel-pipe legs you’d been working on in your dad’s shop, along with a huge house plant. (What happened to that plant I wonder? Every time we go to Home Depot I walk their row of plants—disappointed that I can’t find the same one.) I took my first pregnancy test there, and you bolted shut a 5-gallon bucket then cut a hole in the top to save all your pizza delivery tips for baby things. ($900 when we finally opened it.) And when we’d emptied that apartment of our few belongings and scrubbed it all down and were just about to leave, we paused and, since there was nothing left to sit on, laid together on the floor in a stretch of moonlight. You kissed me. And then we walked out and locked the door. Not even knowing how brave we were.

I wrote that one morning after feeding animals and checking on house progress at the farm. The morning was so lovely that I decided to indulge in sitting on a lawn chair close to one of our cottonwoods to write for a moment. It felt lovely. But there are so many things needing done in a day--and so many things I want to keep recorded that most often--nearly always--the things I get down are just quick attempts to catch up on life's happenings and/or load photos with commentary. Which isn't nothing of course. I'm glad for all I have recorded here on this blog and elsewhere for my family. I just wish I had the time to do all of it with the effort it takes to really paint things properly. Alas. I do not. And so, I begin another spate of catching up posts. ...