megfowler.com

Busy week, it was.

Tired, I was.

Better now, I am.

Yoda, I’ve become.

SERIOUSLY NOW, I’m doing better with this fresh week, though the next few weeks of my life show no signs of slowing down to accommodate staring dreamily at falling leaves or sipping on cocoa or tossing on a pashmina (see our pashwall above) or anything else one might do to welcome fall. Which is almost here, you know. Fall. Autumn. The Third Season. Which startles me, since I’m not quite done with summer. COME BACK HERE. YOU’RE NOT EVEN DRY YET!

So perhaps it’s good that we’ll be having more August-y than September-y weather — sunshine, blue skies, fluffy clouds that don’t have angry, gray brows — again this weekend. I can lie outside and pretend the months aren’t cycling by like the Tour de France.

(And hurrah for the last harvest of this year’s freckle crop! It’s true that they are sweeter at the end of the season, just like grapes.)

I haven’t done much here to commemorate my creeping insanity or love of things and stuff in general, so it seemed a good time to just prattle out some odd thoughts and clear the cobwebs from my noggin.

I love…

Moonrises
An extra shot in my latte
Warm blackberries from the bushes
Adele
This American Life
My iPod Touch, which gives me hours of commusement (a new word I invented that combines commuting and amusement. You’re welcome!)
Lemon tarts
Little fake diamond studs
Salt and vinegar chips
New purse smell
Pedicures
Tiny birds that hang around outside cafes, scuffling for crumbs
Good scissors
Emergen-C powder
Jolly voice mails
Mixtapes

I miss…

When I didn’t seem too short because everyone was short as well, save for that one kid, Trevor, who looked like a telephone pole with a baseball cap.

My first taste of almond steamed milk.

When all my friends’ kids were babies and I was Auntie Meg more often.

When the above ground pool at my Auntie’s seemed big.

When one could carry off a beret without looking like a hipster, a French cartoon character, or Che.

When deadlines meant papers on Irish Lit or Italian Domestic Policy or Where The Whales Have Gone.

When I could jump my whole height on a trampoline.

When fresh bagels were around the corner.

When I used to doodle and stare out the window when I should have been doing algebra.

When the pop-skin grapes were in season.

When my grandma would cook bacon at 5 am on vacation and rouse my brother and I from sleep far too early for my mom’s liking.

I’m going to keep…

Making lists.

Making mix tapes.

Loving stuff.

Making myself lovely dinners, even if they are just for one.

Remembering to wear sunglasses to stave off the certain wrinkles that are ahead.

Squooshing my hair into a bun when my hair just won’t cooperate.

Enthusiastically recommending things.

Shaking the trees.

Trying to convince myself of the value of practical footwear in the long run.

Dreaming of road trips.

And you?