righteous!

That’s the only exclamation that will do after a morning of gardening with the birds and swimming in the morning sunshine. Righteous!

Summer days like this are my delight and my joy, and they bring me closest to my clearly stated goal of living like an 11 year old, and (related to being a child but not really) questioning everything I see. I have the leisure to explore my environment, because I am not behind barriers of wall or trapped inside a lot of clothing, and because I am not chased in by freezing or aching, but instead am cradled by air that feels like breathing on my skin, soft, warm, part of me.

My complaining about how hard the five months of winter sucks goat may or may not be evened out by my uncomplicated joy and delight in the other seven months of the year. In my mind, I love more than I loathe, which = win. Your math may vary.

I am excited to see Mark and Marcia DeCoster soon! I wonder if they have had this Kyle Cassidy shot printed and framed yet, or if they will use it as a calling card, in white linen, or a Christmas card, or make their own bottling of dandelion wine, and make this the label.

I had one of those amazing moments yesterday, in which my little world was turned upside down by me finding something new inside my beloved St. Charles metal kitchen cabinets. I have practically climbed into these cabinets and made out with them, I love them so much. I have lovingly cleaned every crack of them, every corner, I’ve shined every chrome handle with such affection. I thought I knew them inside and out, upside and down. AND YET.

My vision began by coming into the kitchen wearing shoes, which I never do. I don’t like shoes in the house. I leave them at the door. But for whatever reason, I walked into the kitchen in my silver Berks, which added a half inch to my height, and I felt as if the universe had shifted a half inch in every direction.

My perspective was vastly different (at least in my world of nuance, the word vast applies) and as a consequence my mind opened, and I realized that my magnetic towel bar could go UPSIDE DOWN on the bottom of the upper run of cabinets, so that I could hang things from the underside without committing to an invasive install. Excitement filled my skin (do you know what I mean, it’s like a tingle that rushes over the outside of your body) at the belated brilliance of this concept, and I ran to find the magnetic bar, rejected four times for its unsuitability on the bottom run.

I found the bar, and hurried back to the kitchen with great anticipation.

Above, my usual view, with the towel bar added.

When I leaned down, looking up to place the magnets, I saw a stunning thing. I HAVE UNDERCABINET LIGHTING. Two beautiful diagonal lights, each with their own integral switch. WTF? Where did they come from?

They are obviously original, another luxury option chosen from the St. Charles line, like the swing-out towel bar and the old school Lazy Susans (sorry Susan, I know you hate that) and the pull-out cutting boards. And I never saw them. Ever. Even when I had my head under there, which has been at least five times. Even though I have thought many times that I should install undercabinet lighting, and contemplated where it might go (exactly where it is or has been along.)

Did the shift in perspective tilt me into an alternate universe, one in which my house sports undercabinet lighting in its upper run? Or was it right there in front of me the whole time, after four years of making love to my cabinets?

I was so shocked by the whole thing that I ran in little circles around my kitchen (which isn’t very big) yelling “OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG!”

Look!

All I know is that I want to stay in this universe, the one in which my St. Charles cabinets have factory-installed undercabinet lighting.

If you are trying to get a closer look at the drawing on the cabinet, it is one of our favorite pieces of Evan’s child-poetry. Here it is:

Evan, despite his scientific bent, comes out with things like this that slay us. I may never see a better poem about sled dogs, however long I live. I will certainly never write one.

This one was an exercise in using the week’s spelling assignment, taking a little sack of words and arranging a subset of them into something beautiful.