Part of moving to a new place in the crux of summer is honing the belief that summer is a transcendent period of time that slips into lost moments of bliss and what was. There aren’t many days where I long to be in my home hanging and painting. I wish it to just be done! Someone needs to hang these pictures–, but summer is calling. There aren’t many days where the 90-degree fails in comparison to organizing that walk-in closet I once dreamed about.
Yet there are many days where I find myself bargaining with the fact that things are actually happening. Life is to be lived, and whatever can get done will. And whatever will be done, already has been. That’s the beauty in creating a home–it needs not to be rushed for lack of time; in fact, as few things do in New York, it feels slow and careful, constantly in creation despite the fast spinning around me.
So I spent the better part of last week painting the kids’ room white. A silky linen white to be specific. Before I painted it, it was this gorgeous Behr blue that stopped me in my tracks; but for River and Oak, it just didn’t fit. It was a large task, but one I could mentally and physically manage drawn out over a week of pool dates, movies in the park, picnics, and other pieces of summertime magic. I have paint under my nails, and last night, when the clock turned , I did touch-ups standing on a wonky wooden chair and listening to Sade. Today, I will try to manage the laundry that’s piled up and over my bed; and maybe, in-between it all, find solace that my junk drawer has been redistributed and I have finally filled the small linen drawer with reusable napkins and found coins.