It’s just past 10 am on a Tuesday and I am almost at the bottom of my first cup of coffee.
I had my last day at my job on Friday, but life hasn’t slowed down. Though my husband and I got married at the courthouse already, we are also having a church wedding very soon. Planning a “simple wedding” has been a part-time job for the both of us. I couldn’t be prouder we’ve managed to do it (with ample use of a Trello board), but we are also insanely tired and glad the planning part is nearly done. Hopefully it appears effortless to our guests!
More than any of the celebrations though, I’m just thrilled to start a new life with him. We are not spring chickens anymore, but hopefully we have enough wisdom and maturity to make the years together a bit easier. (And as the best, most dashing man on this earth, he was well worth waiting for. ❤ )
I haven’t been reading a whole lot as you might imagine, but I am still making my leisurely way through Storm by George R Stewart. This novel is full of what now feels like American nostalgia—the cool confidence and fortitude you associate with the better aspects of the 40s, when the CCC was building bridges in the national parks and people still tuned into the radio to hear the weather. To be sure, much of the novel reads like a weather forecast, but not in a bad way. I appreciate how Stewart ties together different vignettes of people’s lives and how the storm “Maria” impacts them. While the book’s main human characters are weather men in an urban office, Stewart does not shirk from showing us grimmer scenes, such as the existential suffering of a sailor or a farmer. The book feels very even-handed and matter-of-fact thus far.
My breakfast hour draws to its end and I must get up and do some chores. The world is a frightening place today, but just to have breakfast and eat it in quiet means I have a safe and privileged life. Who knows for how long? I have seen some people online say it feels wrong to enjoy anything right now, and I absolutely understand it. I was so distraught this weekend, and have been for months. But I also know my grandpa—who grew up during WW2 and was drafted as a conscientious objector—would want me to be happy and smile in the simple joys of life. It’s good to make pure memories to carry with you forever, no matter what happens in the future.
Classics Considered 
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