A Love Letter

November 28th, 2010 § 52

Dear Wesley House,

O how I love you so!

I love that you are your own organism—impossible to contain and difficult to capture.

I love that it took me months to figure out which of your eleven couches was most ideal for napping.

I love your cobblestone walkway and your mega-huge tire swing (…even when Andrew pushes me into the bushes).

I love that you can figure out the personality of my housemates just by peaking at their pantry shelves.

I love that I wake up in the morning to see Bishops peak from my bedroom window.

I love that I eat my cereal out of your mismatched bowls with your mismatched spoons. And I love that I can tell who emptied the dishwasher by how the silverware’s been sorted.

I love that I routinely hear Martin blowing his nose from a floor below,¬†Andrew playing “We are Siamese If You Please” for the third time over on his pan pipes, and Lauren laughing her crazy head-thrown-back-mouth-open-wide laugh over some new viral YouTube video.

I love that you are inconvenient and awkward and strange.

Wesley House, I love that you are familiar. And full of natural light.

I love that at your dinner table I sit elbow-to-elbow with fifteen of the most quirky and extraordinary human beings I have ever come across. I love that I get to call these fifteen human beings housemates. And friends.

I love that you teach me and challenge me and rip my heart open in a million unexpected ways.

Dearest Wesley House.

You bless me so.



November 22nd, 2010 § 41

I’m tired.

Not didn’t-get-enough-sleep-last-night tired.

Real, bona fide exhaustion.

Hence, my recent blog-o-sphere celibacy.

But here’s to hoping Thanksgiving break will bring both rejuvenation and the vigor this crazy brain needs in order to slow and quiet and untangle itself.

Patched and Tattered

November 8th, 2010 § 0

Today the sky reminds me of little boy socks.

A dingy, well-loved white.

Today I find myself grateful for dingy things, the things in life that are dog-eared and delicately worn.

Today I am grateful for the dust that sits quietly on my picture frames and perfume bottles.

Today I am grateful for a rusted mailbox and tattered couch cushions.

Today I am grateful for asparagus and literacy and old lady friends.

Today I am grateful for evidence that I am not where I was.

And for the promise that I will not be where I now am.

Where am I?

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