Do you all mind if I indulge myself a little here? I’ve been dreaming about the perfect day for a while now. I mean, I think about it almost every day, piecing it together component by component. I’m certain I’ve experienced this perfect day in all its individual pieces, but I’m not so sure I’ve come upon as one whole perfect day. You know?
My thesis advisor in college had an odd office that was probably more of a closet, but like all rooms in Anderson Hall on the Maryville College campus, it had beautiful windows–reaching from below the knee way past your head up to where the wall meets the ceiling, stretching up to touch every single ray of sun they could. But that’s not why I loved them. I loved her office because it was perfect for rainy days. Because it was on the third floor, she had a perfect view out past the trees onto roads and smoke stacks. And when it rained, the windows melted. The glass was already warped from decades of weather and use, but the rain truly makes them come alive.
My advisor knew how much I loved rainy days, and she always used to wish me the best on those grey and gloomy days that everyone else seemed to loathe.
My perfect day is rainy. And cool. Cool enough to open the windows while it rains, put on a comfy sweater, and watch the drops catch in the screen. There would be quite a fancy breakfast on my perfect day, it would be eaten by the open window as the smell of rain and autumn grass mixes with the smell of breakfast, my favorite meal. The sound of rain would work as background percussion to the sounds of classical guitar, Bill Mize, playing throughout my house.
Let me tell you about my house, or where I want to be on my perfect day. I want to be in a place with tall ceilings and windows just like my advisor’s office. On my perfect day, the windows would let the grey in along with the few gleams of light peeking through the fat clouds. There would be big comfy furniture that sinks and cradles you while you sit in it, all cream-colored and with fuzzy fat-knit throw blankets.
I want to sit in those pieces of furniture fluff and read while I sip a warm, sweet beverage out of a thick, round, flowery mug and have my (now toothless) Mitten Head curl up beside me while the rain slowly makes its way down the windows, serving as my backdrop to a wonderful day. I can hear rain on the windows, Mitten Head purring in her sleep, Bill Mize picking away at his guitar strings softly in the background. And it smells like fresh rain and sugary desserty coffee (which in my prefect day I can drink!), and cinnamon, and grass.
And about midday in my perfect day, Sean will come home from work and we’ll eat a glorious lunch. And then we’ll notice how it’s not raining anymore, but still cool and dewy. So we’ll go for a long, green, luscious hike. There will be mud and the leave will look even greener because of the rain, and the flowers will open for a drink, and animals will come visit us because they’re thirsty, and in my perfect day I’m very Pocahontas-like,
After our hike we’ll make our way home on wooded back roads where no one else is driving with the windows down and the breeze circling around us.
We’ll come home to a fresh house, and it’ll start raining again. Perfect timing. We’ll make dinner and listen to NPR’s All Things Considered in a fantastic kitchen. It will be homemade gourmet, and we’ll surprise ourselves with how delicious the meal is. And of course we’ll treat ourselves to dessert.
The air will chill and we’ll spend the rest of the evening reading on the squishy couch with Mitten Head sleeping between us.
Perfect. Day. I cannot wait for fall and the chance that my perfect day will soon be approaching.
For now, I’ll just dream of it while listening to Bill Mize and petting a purring Mitten Head.