I am sitting in a most beautiful house, the sun room to be exact. In this particular sun room, theres a plush blue couch, on which I am cross legged, a wonderful cream colored shag rug, and half of the walls are made of tall sliding glass doors. They look out over a choppy bay, speckled with old wooden peers, the closest of them extending from this house. The large, open house is completely silent, with the exception of Andrews breathing from the couch where he sleeps.
Today, I find myself in Destin, Fl. It’s 7:45 a.m. and no one is awake yet.
Since we moved to Augusta, there was no chance of going home for Thanksgiving. After what was a whirlwind of trying to take off and switch shifts, flip shifts and grip shifts, I had a whole weekend off. Before I knew it, Andrew and I were boarding a plane in Atlanta at 10:30 pm. Now, here we are, celebrating Thanksgiving with his incredible family who have so sweetly invited me along.
I probably would have sat here all morning, watching pelicans dive in and out of the bay for breakfast, had Mr. Paul not just gotten up. He opened his door across the house from me, took one look over to the awake kid, and let out a “…wow!” His surprise was followed by an inquiry as to whether or not I wanted coffee (silly question.) And so I am off to enjoy a mocha with Mr. Paul. I love these days.