Confession: Sometimes I go backwards in time and tuck away these journal posts in their respective months as if I wrote them as I lived and thought them, but it’s all a sham. Today is Monday, 17 April, and here I am blogging about the end of March.
Side note: This is bad news for Mark, who has been chasing me earnestly in hopes of learning all about my brain but thinks he’s all caught up with me cause I haven’t updated these pages since mid-March. Whoops. Moving target, indeed.
So today I’ve been scouring my photos for March 26, because I think that’s the day that I wanted to write a thank you letter to J&Q, my lovely housemates. But the second half of March 2017 is just a massive blank in the visual memory bank of my life cause my camera broke in mid-March and I was unmoored from all my memory-making until early April, when I acquired my new, tentative camera.
All that to say, I love J & Q very much and I love living with them in their cozy little house, with their crazy little Dog — even though I don’t have a photo-memory to point back to as evidence of why (though I’m relatively certain that it was because this was the weekend that Isaac was visiting us, for the joairis wedding, and J & Q hosted not only Isaac but also Mark).
I am thankful for their generosity and open-heart, open-door policy. I love coming home to impromptu cookouts with sundry guests huddled around the dining room table, love that they’ll host my friends as their own, love watching the Great Brit Baking Show by proxy cause I happen to catch it as they’re chilling on the couch. I love living in a real-live home with real-live furniture and real-live cutlery with adult people who are praying and growing and teaching me about community through their married life.
I try to tell them this by washing the dishes in their sink and offering to walk Rogue the Dogue sometimes, but I fear it’ll never be enough.