The fan's pulleys are tinkling as it whirs along at full speed, keeping the room cozy and temperate and well-ventilated. Though the coffee pot has finished its brewing cycle, it still steams and pops and splutters every once in a while, as if to remind me that it is on and there is more coffee to be had if I so desire it. Tahoe's languid, rhythmic breathing from her red-sheet-wrapped bed on the floor between one of the couches and the coffee table soothes me, grounds me, and seems to offer up the simple suggestion: just breathe. Everything is going to be all right. Sunlight streams in through a wall made almost entirely of windows, bathing the room in cheerfulness. it both feels and looks like the color yellow - pale, pastel yellow. Two dog bowls sit in the corner of the dining room to my right, dominating my peripheral vision. They sit as a symbol, reminding me that Tahoe has really settled in with us, settled in to her new home here in Greenville, North Carolina. She eats on a schedule, goes outside for both necessity and walks in equal measure, and she will gently remind us if her water bowl has accidentally gone dry. From the floor above, I can hear the washing machine spinning at full blast. It holds our cleaning rags and old towels used to wipe Tahoe's muddy feet after our rainy jaunts of late. That's why it's spinning so fast and working so hard - there is a lot to be cleaned in that load. The sound of it is equal parts productivity and promise; its noise means I've already gotten a leg up on the chores I hope to accomplish today, while Justin tackles his first day of work. The promise lies in the crisp, clean linens which will emerge after their time in the huge, drummed dryer. They are but a small cog in the production of a functioning, well-run household, but what is a whole without the many parts that make it up? Two beverages sit on the perfect, darkly-stained, wooden, hand-me-down table in front of me. I pause every few minutes to sip cinnamon-infused coffee from my red and celadon floral coffee mug with an "L" on it - a gift from Kara from Anthropologie. The other drink is a full 28 ounces of cold, filtered water, housed in a plastic bottle bearing the logo of Justin's new place of work. The water beckons to me, promising good health, hydration, and happiness. It reminds me of my vow to myself to be as healthy as I possibly can. My mind wanders to the possible smoothie I'll have for lunch, at the gem of a shop that Justin and I discovered together in our first week in this new town of ours. It wanders further, visiting all the different tasks I'll write on my to-do list once these Morning Pages are complete in three more lines. I stop, I look around our new home. In this tiny moment, I am happy.
Monday, August 4, 2014
9:56 a.m. to 10:16 a.m.