winter dreaming

J and I have begun to talk about our post wedding plans. We've talked about how lovely it would be to tour Scandinavia or wander through China. We've imagined winding our way along endless beaches in the Caribbean, and we've daydreamed about finally seeing the Hermitage. Okay, so that last one isn't really J's dream, but it's been mine for as long as I can remember. But alas, when we think about what we can responsibly spend on such a trip, we end up realizing that this summer just isn't a time when we'll have any windfall to rely on, and besides, with our keeping up two separate households, a lux vacation just isn't likely in the cards. About this I was initially annoyed, but then I started daydreaming about one of my favorite spots in this world. Anyone remember?



My mom and her husband own this place in the furthest reaches of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Sometimes at night, when I'm hopelessly trying to fall asleep, I imagine lying in the hammock that you see above. I try to listen to Lake Superior lap its hungry waves on the rocks, and I try to imagine the sweet tang of freshly picked blueberries. I think about lying with sweet arlo on the nearby beach, its heat melting the muscles in my back, and I remember how the first time I went there, I felt my brain clear itself of the miseries of grad school.



Last night, I imagined J and I there. A couple summers ago, my mom and her husband build a detached living room that looks over the red clay cliffs. I have this little dream about convincing them to put a big bed out in the living room, that way J and I could wake each morning, feel the immensity of Superior's endless blue, and ask each other if we should begin our honeymoon with thimble berry picking or a bit of yoga on the screen porch. It may not be Kathmandu or even Kuala Lumpur, but I think it will feel like paradise.