sincerely, me

.blog post idea via Carlotta.

Dear Ohio Summer Rendezvous, I am excited for this weekend. I am itching with delight to see the little cabin mom, dad, and my younger sisters are staying in this year--much more interesting and charming than a hotel room, in my humble opinion. I am excited to see Pleasant Hill again, quiet with sunlight dripping through the dome of trees, quiet with the quivering bow string of anticipation about to sever any moment when the first attendee arrives. That strange, beautiful feeling of "I'm back after a whole year" when you return to a place you really love--it's almost like coming home, only it's one big party, a weekend full of new people and old, talent shows and dancing, hot, delicious food and singing by the bonfire late into the night. Enter the homeschool alumni get together my family hosts annually. 

Dear Civil War ballgown, you are like a tangible part of a dream. I can't believe I'm going to be wearing this dress in only four days. Thankfully I have a couple of skilled, willing people in this house (aka, mom and Michaela) who helped me make it--so much, I'm afraid--that I feel like my own hands hardly did any individual work in making it a real garment. But I'm trying to remember it was my first huge sewing experience ever, and that I honestly needed help, and could never have finished the project without them. Anne Shirley would passionately approve of the puffed sleeves. Belle from Beauty and the Beast would approve of the color. Scarlett O'Hara would approve of wearing it whilst running down the lawn of Tara, and Christine Daae would approve of melting into it's queenly golden folds in a melodramatic bow atop the Paris Opera House stage. The dress is that outstanding, people.

Dear good idea that came to my head too late--why didn't you come earlier? Now I have to until next year to make you a reality... and until then, you remain a mere idea, a mere plan. But hey, it's your fault for being tardy.

Dear Nick, you're awesome, and I love smooching and snuggling you and glad your mistress Michaela shares you with us. Even though you whine in the middle of the night in your kennel, and start yelping early in the morning when the alarm goes off--leaving me with the frequently-difficult tastk of falling back asleep. But I can forgive you, because you're awfully cute, which makes up for a lot of stuff.

Dear Polo Ralph Lauren, you have some gorgeous clothing, and I can't believe I've deprived myself all these years by not shopping with you--which I honestly would do on a daily basis if I were a millionair. I want to own every single one of your dresses. The ones that are flattering and fit true to size? Yeah, all of them.

Dear Alyssa and Seth, you beautiful fictional twins that my soul has connected with instantly--you make me smile just thinking of you. Well, almost. But I promise you that you shan't die off due to my lack of interest, such as Jace Cahill did with his refusing to cooperate properly with my imagination. I'm going to keep you alive as long as possible and put you in your own novel someday. I promise.

Dear late summer dusks, you are sublime with your faintly-infused-pink skies and low, full, harvest moon and scent of woodsmoke. Please conquer colder weather for just a few more weeks.

Dear dad/baby pictures, the most adoring atom of my being thrives among you. You are a powerful showcase of purity and manly emotions in this upside down world. Thanks to pinterest, I can stare at this one, this one, and this one on a daily basis. Someday I will take pictures like this on my own camera--of my own man with our own babies. Oh, my heart. Be still.

Dear song called My Heart Will Go On, you are my favorite ever. No kidding.

Sincerely, me.

-anna