We went to the lake over the weekend.
Saturday morning I woke up with the sun, and through our bedroom window I could see the sky just starting to blush. I unfurled myself out of the little cocoon I had slept in – we left the window cracked open all night and it was chilly – then found my slippers. I threw my favorite granny-sweater on over my pajamas and then shuffled into the kitchen to start the coffee pot (an old-school, marigold-yellow, buffet style coffee maker). Then retraced my steps back to the bedroom and curled up next to Tripp for a few more minutes…the smell of coffee finally luring me out of a cozy snuggle.
I walked back into the living room, making a pit-stop at the front room to let the dogs out. They stretched and groaned and yawned and wagged. Then I went to the kitchen, found my favorite coffee mug, splashed some milk into it, then filled it up with the steamy, earthy, bold brew. I gently blew into the top of the mug and took my first sip, then let out a giant exhale. Coffee always tastes better at the lake.
I carefully shuffled towards the backdoor. By this time Tripp’s mom was up and I said a sleepy ‘morning’ as I walked by. I grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch as I made my way out the back door to the deck. I then sat on the top step, putting my coffee down only for a minute so that I could tuck the blanket around my legs. Then the dogs found me and we exchanged a few morning pleasantries.
I sat there for ten or fifteen minutes taking in the sky and the lake and fog rolling across from the Cookson bluffs on the west to the cove on the east. It was a glorious morning.
I went back inside to grab a second cup, the resumed my position both on the deck and in the book I was reading. The sun was coming up over the hills to the east, peeking through the woods and the black-jack oak trees.
There was little time to linger on the back deck though. We had gone to the lake with the purpose of finishing up the painting in the cabin. For the past year or so, Tripp and his brothers have been working to get the cabin cleaned up and fixed up to sell. There was only one room left to paint so we got busy that morning. Assuming our typical painting roles – Tripp busting out the big stuff with the roller, me taping off and cutting in, and Tripp’s mom with moral support and the ‘legs’ for little things we needed in the process – we had the room painted in a few hours. A quick break for lunch, we finished touching up, rearranging, and putting the room back together.
Later that evening, while Tripp was going back and forth between the football game on TV and the steaks on the grill, I was in the kitchen putting the finished touches on a caesar salad. Standing at the sink, the setting sun had found a crack in-between the trees and the other cabins down the way. Glorious, golden light was pouring in the window over the kitchen sink. Blinding me as it bounced off the window sill, but in the very best way possible.
As I stood there at the sink Saturday, I paused to take it all in…the light, the day, a job well-done. And I said a silent prayer of gratitude – for both the bitter and sweet. The sadness of saying goodbye and letting go set against the magnificent beauty of a perfect autumn day. As always, the light being a reminder of God’s goodness and faithfulness. Bookends to a beautiful Saturday.