This weekend, though, lovelies.
I’m not sure I have words to explain the heart-bursting joy that consumed me as I drove down a curvy highway beneath a bright blue, cloud painted sky with three of the people I consider dearest beside me.
The entire drive to my little Haven by the Sea was filled with rambling about stories, singing, and snacking. We were loud, roaring with laughter and excitement. And once in that Haven?
Driving into it, my voice trembled and grew louder and louder, a combination of anticipation and nerves as I told stories about nearly every building and road and sidewalk brick that we passed.
Oh, dear heart, I have never wanted to share Palacios with anyone. I have always been afraid to. Afraid that they wouldn’t appreciate it, the peace and gentle splendor of the smallest of towns.
I was afraid for no reason. If I was going to take anyone there, I chose the right people.
I chose the people who would understand that I love this place, if not why. I chose people who would run under the glaring sun, explore the Old Main Street Bookstore, take pictures in the pavilion, journal on the loft, and read out of old manuscripts. People who answer spontaneous questions with honesty and vulnerability, who cram themselves at the top of the stairs to chat late in the night, even though there are perfectly good chairs and couches downstairs.
Remember my post from a few weeks ago, about Lindsey’s new book, Swing?
The signing was yesterday.
It was wonderful. I helped Lindsey, Paula, and Mrs. Ruth set up, putting food on trays and filling up the water pitchers. I took the money and gave out change and made sure everyone signed the email subscription list.
Lindsey sold out of books. My Core Four enjoyed themselves, meandering the house and snacking on the food provided, but avoiding the wine because, you know, we’re all underage.
It was a really good time in a really good place.