I have been feeling under the weather all day and decided a little fresh air and photography would do the trick.
California is great, but when it comes to seasons, we often fall flat. A California autumn consists of 95 degrees and hazy skies.
Wooden bench made by my handyman "I can do anything" dad, with burlap pillows made by my wonderful and creative mother.
After several months, our vines are finally latching on and taking flight.
Days like these make me sad that I'll be gone from this house in less than a month. My parents don't want a big house all to themselves, since my brother and I are both moving out in December to go to college. I'm going to miss the little things about it, like the dried banana painted over on my bedroom walls from a crazy night with my old friends, or the way you have to pull in on the door and down on your key just to unlock the house. This is the longest I've ever lived anywhere, and part of me feels like I'm losing a home. They say home is where the heart is, but "there is something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold," as Nick Dunne quotes in Gone Girl. And in a sense, I can relate to what he's saying. When I think about this house, and everything that has happened in it, the laughter, the tears, the fights, the love, I can only feel cold. Call it a coping mechanism, if you will. My dad likes to tell us, "the only people who like change are wet babies" and I think that's true. Human beings have a hard time dealing with change. We are selfish, and want everything to stay the same. Just like how a father feels when he hands his daughter off at the end of the aisle, or when the family dog finally passes away, we want everything to stay young, happy, together, and well, the same. But everything happens for a reason, and this will be a new journey for my family and I, creating more memories to add to our collection. Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and take a leap of faith.
So let's jump.
Until next time,
