on ordinary blessings

Summer came and went so fast this year. I can hardly believe we're halfway through September! Anyone else? 

One day, the sights and aromas of summer are fully settled in the air . . . and the next, you're peering at yellow school buses driving down the street, making chili and cornbread and planning a trip to the apple orchard. Time is a funny, slippery thing.  

If you've been around these parts before, you know autumn months are a kind of homecoming for me. I love this stretch of the year so very much. Such gladness is wrapped up in the days of September to December (let's lump in Christmas too because how-could-I-not). My giddiness last week when sipping my first pumpkin spice chai of the season was unmatched. I love the days of thick woolen sweaters, soups and stews simmering on the stove, stoops bedecked with chrysanthemums and gourds. My ears are full of Sufjan Stevens and Bon Iver, my watchlist is topped by all things Nora Ephron (and also Dead Poets Society, Mona Lisa Smile and Gilmore Girls for good measure), and I'm aspiring to make the best apple pie yet this season. And don't even get me started on the trees. Soon, they will begin gilding until entire streets are ablaze with crimson, rust and marigold. Year after year, the scene leaves me spellbound. 

I don't want to get ahead of myself, though. We're on the cusp of fall, but still taking advantage of summer's coda. 

What a sweet season it has been. 

Sun-kissed skin, pink and gold sunset strokes aloft, fireworks on the beach, ice cream runs. We stayed at a cottage in the Eastern Townships with my family, savoring full days on the lake. We enjoyed a belated anniversary celebration at Manoir Hovey, one of the hotels from our honeymoon and perhaps our favourite place on earth. We meandered through a lavender field, drank iced coffee and spent many an afternoon at Paul's parents' pool. We got texts from friends along the lines of, "Games night?" and "Let's meet at the beach!" which are, no doubt, the best texts to receive. 

We worked hard and celebrated milestones at work. We enjoyed our little nephews and brand new niece whenever they made their way north from Washington. We went camping with dear friends--listened to nature's song, dipped our feet in ice cold water, talked late into the night by a crackling fire. We made a lemon and lavender cake for my birthday, and it tasted like deep summer. We celebrated the day with a cinq à sept in the park with our village of close friends, a date at Say Mercy for pasta and the orchestra--and I felt so loved. 

We drove down to Portland and filled a weekend with books, coffee, roses, and food trucks. We shared a box of donuts on Cannon Beach, in awe of Haystack Rock standing tall in the Pacific's jumping waves. We walked on trails rimmed with tart blackberries, found out the flower I liked is called "lacecap hydrangea" and took in deep breaths of air spiced with wildflowers. We grew accustomed to the seasonal smells of peaches, buttered corn and barbecue, balsamic vinegar and honeyed salmon. 

We went to Lighthouse Park for a walk and to Dunbar Theatre for a late night movie. We watched Severance and Mrs. Maisel and read a whole lot, too. We hosted my sister for Labour Day Weekend, spent a pair of day in Victoria, ducked into antique shops and bookstores, joined forces on many crossword puzzles. We enjoyed this second summer in number 203, thanked God for our air conditioning unit, and filled this wee home with dear friends. 

There are these words by Joan Didion, in her book Blue Nights, that are so achingly beautiful to me and I've been pondering them awhile now. She writes, "Do notice: We still counted happiness and health and love and luck and beautiful children as 'ordinary blessings.'" 

At first glance, this summer may seem quite ordinary. No major life milestones, no big travels--mostly just workdays, occasional weekend getaways and enjoying our city in the dog days of the year. 

But if not for these ordinary blessings, what is there? 

Through a life marked by unbelievable highs and yet great loss and regrets, Joan Didion came to the forceful realization that the simple marrow of our days is extraordinary. Day by day, I am learning this too. 

The passing of the seasons, the work we do, the days spent in our home, the people I love, this life I share with my Paul. . . these are no ordinary blessings.