A Quiet Preference
- Mar 22
- 1 min read
We spent the weekend in Salt Lake for our anniversary.
It was good. Also… not really.
We paid too much for a dinner Bob could have made better at home. (He didn’t say that. I did. He just nodded.)
We saw a movie in a big theater, which still feels like an event when you don’t do it often.
Cash got a proper haircut and now looks like he’s wearing tight pants, in the most adorable way.
And then we came home.
This keeps happening. We go to the city, do the things, and then feel oddly relieved to leave. Not in a dramatic, “we’re done with civilization” way. Just a quiet preference.
The week leading up to the weekend was mostly about making.
Soap batches for me. Vegetable planter boxes for Bob. Nothing flashy. Just the steady kind of work that leaves something behind when you’re done.
We also saw our first potguts of the season. (Fat Herald and Squirrelly Joe, as Bob refers to them.) A small but official announcement: spring is here.
Even if it doesn’t quite feel like it.
It’s been warm. Too warm. Dry in a way that makes you a little suspicious of what summer might bring.
Still, things are shifting. You can feel it, even if it’s subtle.
That’s how most things happen around here.
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