Some people only know me through this blog (thanks for reading!). I wonder sometimes if you picture me opening my windows in the morning with a white mug of tea in one hand and a paintbrush dipped in yellow in the other. The dangerous thing about blogging is I can make myself look how I want. Sometimes I worry about my image being more {optimistic} {glamorous} {polished} than I really am. I wonder if you met me, would you be disappointed?

I blog about things that make my spirits jitterbug and twirl, and in general, don’t want you to read about the constant questions that thistle up my mind without answers. I do think a lot, and I do overanalyze a lot, and I do over-react a lot. I do write a lot of tumult, and then delete it.

I’ve noticed in the blogosphere people want to be real, and so are more open in the name of honesty and truth. Sometimes I wonder if I should follow suit, and let my readers in on more struggles. An answer came to me yesterday when Walker read me a line that cleared the cumulus clouds.

He brought out his computer yesterday and read some of our very You’ve Got Mailesque emails from two years ago. I loved his emails with thick philosophy words like “heuristic”. I loved our musings on nothing important, learning his voice and his quirks. I loved the anticipation of getting back to my dorm and waiting to see his name in my inbox. But, the line that he read to me yesterday made me especially smile. The day he wrote it, I had been down to the beach to write, but the rain had started sprinkling my notebook, so I couldn’t write, which I told him. His reply was,

Perhaps it's better to let the rain fall and write in the sun.

And ever since he said that, when I recall it, I think how true it is. Not only does it apply to waiting for, instead of forcing, the beams of the muse to strike (when no words are coming), but today it applies to content. There is rain falling on parts of my life, and it isn't always pleasant, but it is growing me. But I want to write, generally, from the parts of my life that have already been rained and are now misted with sun, because I know those parts. Writing in truth doesn't mean putting everything out there, but presenting what you do put out there in light of reality.

And all this is to say that today I have some moments of complete loveliness to share. I don’t pretend they are the whole story of our life, because today I have had moments of anxiety, discouragement, sadness, and frankly, the sky was pushing down heavily on me, and I was glum.

But right now, I will rejoice. I will write in the sun, in hope.

Here are some sprinkles of joy, of late.

The past two days I've been rinsing cream off spoons and scrubbing dirt off parsnips, sudsing in warm soap, zesting cold lemons, and lifting trays of puffy rolls from the oven. We had some dinner guests, and there was beef and mashed potatoes and green beans and (round two of) panna cotta, and a sunshiney rutabaga

And yesterday, walking to the hardware store, the flowers had made an odyssey up, and were reveling in the whole new sun-realm. As you can see, they're all talking about it!

As I walked home yesterday afternoon, and gulls rode the sky about the streets, I was thankful for time here, in a town resonant with baby birds and mama birds and friend birds that are making an enormous dent in the quiet.

Perhaps it's better to let the rain fall, and write in the sun.