Destination Walking.

Each year as summer rolls around I am reminded of one of the greater things this season has to offer: destination walks.  The term means exactly what you would guess, going on a walk in order to get somewhere, or to accomplish something.  Simple as that.

This year, I was first greeted with this seasonal luxury when my partner in crime, Lucy, and I were particularly pleased with ourselves for deciding to take advantage of the Baskin Robins located in a shopping center directly in front of my sister and her husband's home (shout out to Caroline and Kyle). 

We hopped in my car and drove over to their house eagerly awaiting our frozen treat. Side note: if you are a member of the Williams family ice cream is automatically in your top 5 favorite foods, and it is essential for you to eat it a minimum of once a day. Seriously.

Upon arrival, we gathered up all of the other participating family members and started was was for me, the inaugural walk of the season.

While our walk was short, it was filled with funny stories and laughter.  We approached our final destination only to be harshly let down by a sign posted on the door stating, "Closed this Tuesday night for remodeling", a.k.a. they were just getting new floor tiles. Such a let down!

Thankfully, this was a well equipped shopping center, complete with a Publix.  Way to be there when we needed you (and ice cream), Publix.

In all of this I was reminded of how much I appreciate destination walking in the summer.  Don't get me wrong, they can be terrible if you go around 1 or 2 in the midst of the blazing afternoon sun, but when scheduled post-dinner they are always such a treat!  

There's something so special about the temperature of the air that greets my skin as I walk out the door, the conversations had, and the peacefulness of a bustling world winding down after a hot day.  So, this summer I'm making it my goal to walk to all of my reasonably distanced destinations at the right time of day, of course, and truly enjoy the rewarding fellowship, sweet treats, and appreciation for the outdoors that were artfully crafted by my Heavenly Father's hand.

An Ode to Rainy Days.

Many of the days here in Milledgeville have taken place under cloudy skies lately. I fall asleep to the rhythm of raindrops hitting the patio outside my window and awake to the sound of tires rolling across wet pavement on Clark Street, in front of my house. The blue morning light floods my bedroom, reflecting off the cold wood floors, justifying my desire to stay just a couple more minutes in my warm bed.

Rainy days are an invitation to coziness.

Rumbles of thunder beckon me to wool socks, stretchy pants, and serinity. Burrowing under a pile of fleece and down, I am able to re-focus. I can let my mind wander, read the book I've been saying I'll get to soon, scribble musings in my journal, listen to the crackle of the candle on the table next to me, and even allow myself time of creative productivity in a non-studio setting. All thanks to the rain, which thwarts the temptation to wear myself out with frantic productivity.

Saturday was one of the best rainy days I have had in quite some time. It was perfect for a few reasons:

1) As of the day before, I had finished my final exams.

2) It included lots of people I love.

3) It involved warm food and good music.

...

After a slow morning complete with oats, hot tea, and the combination of reading and journaling, my dear roommate, Tiana, put a movie on in the living room. I opened the sliding double doors that partition my bedroom from the living room and hung my hammock in the doorway.

Little by little, one or two neighbors at a time would drift in from the cool and rainy outside, hang their raincoat on the nail by the front door, step out of rain-soaked shoes, and take shelter on the sofas, under fleece blankets, or in the hammock-perch. Before I knew it there were nearly fifteen of us enjoying the unseasonably bleak day together.

I painted with watercolors and, following my grandmother's example, invited others to do the same. A couple boys brought Monopoly, and a brave few souls posted up around my small red coffee table, committing to the task of starting and finishing a full game that inevitably took all afternoon.
Others piled up on my pillowy double bed and exchanged stories and jokes. All the while, the coffee-maker toiled tirelessly in the kitchen. Boone, the two-year-old golden retriever, sought to spend time with every visitor at some point, too.

Come dusk, we valiantly faced the dreary gloom for the sake of finding dinner, after which we returned to the candle-lit refuge we had grown so comfortable in over the course of the day; returned to fleece blankets, conversations, picking out melodies on the keyboard and strumming chords on the guitar.

Gradually, both music and conversations dwindled, and as sporadically as they came, people made their way back home.

The sounds of laughter, discourse, singing and rustling of blankets all subsided, submitting to the melody which accompanied us all along - the rhythm of raindrops hitting the patio outside my window and tires rolling across wet pavement on Clark Street.

An end was drawn to the day of rainy bliss, and my heart was full.