the violet hour.

I have taken an inordinate amount of time to update this blog. I believe the last time I wrote was in April, and so much has changed and is still changing. My life right now has a beautiful rhythm mixed with some intense moments. But it’s late summer, my house smelled like baked apples all afternoon, the sun shines in spite of the fog, and we are wondrously adaptable creatures. 

There are beautiful moments in my life and I have been challenged lately to start keeping track of these moments. Things that make me happy, ways in which I take joy in life, the reflective pauses in the midst of small sweetnesses. 


The strains of Debussy’s Clair de Lune floats around the cricket’s and cicada’s concerto from the trees outside. My room makes me feel like Anne Shirley. “Love conquers all” decal above my door is a beautiful reminder every time I walk out (also, I kerned the letters well when I put it up.) The tiny orchard outside my window gives off a sweet fragrance in the heat of the day. The September Issue of Vogue came in the mail today, and with it came free perfume samples. Campfires with lovely people are so calming. Trip planning is exhilarating.


So much more. My life is so blessed. 

But I’ve been thinking lately about why it matters that I recognize that I’m blessed. I think it’s because I can get easily caught into the trap of discontent and forget that I am rich with friends and family and beautiful things around me. My life is made up of beauty, regardless of how it appears. The things in my life are beautiful because I say they are. Isn’t that what God did every time he created something? He made it, looked it over, and called it “good.” The world is horribly screwed up, but it is also beautiful because he said so. I have a say in how I view my environment, in how it interacts with me.

And I say, “it is good!” 


Mango Musings

Right now I am sitting on my kitchen floor with the fan blowing on me as I snack on two lovely ripe mangos. I am so content to be right here, it’s ridiculous. 🙂

Mangos have always been my favorite fruit. Actually, as a baby, mango was my first solid food. There were many great summers spent at my grandmother’s house running though sprinklers and chewing a mango seed.

To me, mango is love. It represents safety, beauty, warmth, and laughter; everything that I hope to one day pass on to my children.

When I take a bite of a sweet juicy mango, I am immediately transported to my grandmother’s kitchen. If I could name one place in my childhood where I felt the safest, most loved, it would be right there, standing next to the stove watching her fry up the bacalaitos and sorullitos.

It makes me sad that these things will never happen again. But it makes me infinitely more happy knowing that they happened. I suppose this will happen more often in my life than I want to admit, but I am glad that God keeps growing mangos, so that every once in a while I can eat and remember.

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