Back at my parent’s home in Minnesota, there’s a 3-season porch littered with furniture. There’s mismatching couches and a coffee table covered in books. The books are piled in uneven stacks that flood over to the floor and the couches are covered in blankets.
My favorite one is the longest couch. I can lay head to toe without my feet dangling over the edge. The blanket that covers this couch was crocheted by my grandmother. It’s a rainbow and keeps me warm on rainy days.
The porch windows are left open and the breeze flows freely through. At the end of the day, the breeze russels the trees and cools the porch. The scent of neighborhood bonfires sifts through and adds a deep wooded smell.
My cat lives at my parents house. Her fur is black and white. The colors divide sharply on her neck, creating the look of a handkerchief. She often comes out to the porch and lies on my feet as I read books on the couch covered in a rainbow afghan.
These are perfect moments to me. The furniture mismatches, the area is a mess, and sometimes the cool breeze chills straight to the bones, but this is a different kind of perfect. One centered on appreciation of the imperfect.
Sure, the house could be clean and the couches could match. But that would take away from the personality of it all. I love the chilly air and the cat that sometimes decides to claw at my feet. That is my perfect moment. Laced with good and bad.
What is your perfect moment? Where do you go when your mind wanders and needs a break? Hope you’re all having a wonderful day eight of BLOGtober!