Collecting Places, My Friends, & Thrifting Books
We wake to the sound of what can only be sleet hitting our bedroom windows. For a moment, we’re confused. Surely it can’t be sleeting on May 23rd. We check the porch, check the forecast and radar on our phones, and shake our heads. It’s definitely sleet, but thankfully passing quickly.
Ten Mays in, we’re old friends with the fickle spring weather in Maine. But this is our first May living in the mountains, the first time we’ve seen sleet this close to summer. We laugh for a moment. Then he heads downstairs to build a fire in our wood stove while I shuffle off to the kitchen to start the coffee. This time next week, we’ll likely be so hot we’re sleeping with the windows open and sweating by midday. For today, we watch the sleet turn to rain and cozy up inside.
A little later, I’ll unpack the last of our moving boxes and finish packing away things that have been in storage for almost a year. I’ll unwrap my mom’s antique dining table and start making plans to refinish it and turn it into our dining table. Just seeing it there in my basement reminds me of so many family meals with her and my dad, so many big family gatherings when the table belonged to my great-grandmother, a lacey tablecloth on top, iridescent drinking glasses sweating with sweet tea on ice, fine china piled high with Thanksgiving casseroles.
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Writing this reminds me of another morning 18 years ago. . . . We wake to the sound of what can only be monkeys — it can’t really be monkeys, can it? Australia does not, cannot, have monkeys in the suburbs of Sydney, can it? We look at each other and shake our heads before opening the window. Cockatoos, giant, white cockatoos with peach beards, do, in fact, live in Sydney suburban neighborhoods. And they sound a lot like monkeys to our American ears. It’s not exactly how we thought we’d wake up on our first morning living in Australia, but we’ll take it. We have a lot to figure out. It feels overwhelming, but honestly, we’re just grateful to be here. No one we know has ever done anything like this, but here we are doing it . . .
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That story reminds me of another morning about 21 years ago. . . I wake to the feeling of what can only be a mouse scurrying up my arm. I scream. I shake. I cry. Surely it’s just my imagination, but the crying doesn’t stop. I lie awake, dreading sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see a bedroom floor covered in mouse droppings, then covered in mice. We shouldn’t be living in this god-forsaken house in the middle of nowhere with holes in the floor and who knows what in the pipes. It’s cold. I’m pregnant with my first baby. And the propane heater keeps smelling like rotten eggs and making me gag. We’ve been married less than a year, but we know better than to blame each other. We promise each other we’ll get out of this place We promise we’ll choose a better home next time. . . Two months later, we do. Six months after that, we find out the owners have torn down the old house. We wonder if it was all just a bad dream. It wasn’t.
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I have so many more stories like these to share (more on that later). But for now, I’m back in my mountain home in Maine. I start a message to my book club friends, sharing five little things bringing me joy this week (with all the links) ⤵
Something good to read. . .
I started reading the new Fredrik Backman novel this week on audio, and I’m loving it. It’s called My Friends, and although it’s very different from his first bestselling novel A Man Called Ove, it’s just as delightful. Also, the audio version is narrated by Marin Ireland — one of my very favorites. So good.
Something fun. . .
I live in a family full of junk enthusiasts. On rainy Saturdays, we love to rummage around old antique shops just to see what’s there. Last weekend, in an old barn of all places, I found a spotless copy of The Color Purple for $2 and a gigantic full catalog of the works of Vincent Van Gogh (also spotless) for $35. Antique shops are my new favorite place to buy books on the cheap.
Something easy like Sunday morning. . .
Last fall, I fell in love with overnight oats, and lately, they’ve become my weekday morning survival staple. Honestly, I’m lazy when it comes to anything kitchen-related. So, I use this simplified recipe: 1/2 cup oats, 1/2 cup almond milk, 1/2 cup frozen blueberries, 1 tbsp peanut butter, and a splash of maple syrup. I prepare four at a time in tiny mason jars on Sunday mornings, and I eat one every morning with green banana slices. Easy on Sunday mornings and yummy all week long.
Something exciting. . .
This week in Suleika Jaouad’s The Book of Alchemy, I came across a beautiful essay by Stephanie Danler called “Collecting Places,” and ever since, memories of past homes and places visited (like the ones at the start of this message) have been pouring out of my heart and into my journal. I haven’t felt this kind of zing about a writing project for a long while. And I have to admit, Collecting Places sounds like a fitting title for a book about a lady who travels for decades and ultimately finds that contentment was never something to be found at all ~ it lives on the inside. We’ll see what happens :)
Something beautiful. . .
Last weekend, while visiting our local yarn shop in downtown Norway, Maine (it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen - link here), I happened to notice a small shop with sewing machines in the window on the way back to our car. Since one of the artists in my house (not me) has been considering buying their first sewing machine, we popped in to ask the owner if she had any advice. Forty minutes later, we walked out with a new friend named Barbara who had just enchanted us with her warmth, knowledge, and friendliness. This kind of thing is why I love small businesses and small business owners. I hope we always have beautiful downtowns with beautiful souls working in beautiful little shops. Long live small businesses!
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I hope you’re thriving this week, my friend. And if you ever need someone to share your memories with, I’m here.
All my love,
Celeste
I’m leaving this funny photo here again this week because it makes me look like I’m giving you a big hug, which is 100% what I’m going for in these messages, so it’s fitting. 💛