I am working on the post -- I promise. But the kids are done with school tomorrow, and we've just endured two days of crazy hot heat. Our high yesterday was 102. According to my favorite meteorologist, the Twin Cities have "only hit or surpassed 100 degrees 10 times since 1980." So yesterday? Yeah. Pretty much the world was ending. The only way we could survive was by swimming constantly.
All that to say -- I haven't had much free time. (That should be the subtitle of my blog. "I write in my free time. Bwhahahahaha!")
But I did have to pop in and show you this:
That, my friends, is my backyard. (Only less fuzzy. Sorry for the resolution. It's like my camera has allergies lately.) And those purple blobs on the hedge surrounding the pool? Those would be lilacs.
Lilacs. By the hundreds. In my yard. In my yard. I can hardly get over it.
If I could send you a whiff of the air blowing in my window right now (because Minnesota has come to her senses and is retiring to a respectable low of 55 tonight), you would think you're smelling the very essence of heaven.
I have always been loopy for lilacs, but it wasn't until I left Minnesota that I developed a near-hunger for them. When we were living in San Diego, lilacs represented all that I loved about the Midwest: the beautiful summers, the lush forests, the cool nights, the changing seasons. I pined for them.
(Knowing this, Corey got me lilacs for our anniversary one year. I still wonder how much he had to pay to get a vase of notoriously wilt-ready lilacs to Southern California. But it doesn't really matter. It was one of the sweetest anniversary gifts ever.)
All that to say: When we first looked at our house last winter, and the owner told us casually,
"I'm pretty sure that hedge in the backyard is made up of lilac bushes," Corey rolled his eyes at me. "You just sold her," he said.
'Twas true. And here I am, breathing in the sheer grace of God. It smells like lilacs.
