Friday Fizz and the Fragrance of a Fresh Start

Hello, friends. The sun is just starting to dip low enough to cast long, golden shadows across the porch, and Mark just pulled the truck into the driveway. It is 5:20 pm on the dot, like a heartbeat you can set your watch to. I am sitting here at the kitchen table with my robin-egg-blue journal, the house finally quiet after a whirlwind of a Friday, and I wanted to take a moment to breathe with you all.

Today felt like one of those transition days. You know the ones, ladies? Where the air starts to hint at autumn even though it is only mid-August, and you can feel the seasons shifting in your own bones. With no shift at Miller’s Hardware today, I had the morning to myself after dropping Emma off at horse camp and getting Noah settled with his prehistoric figurines. There is something so grounding about the smell of sawdust that clings to my clothes after a Tuesday or Thursday at the shop, but today, the house smelled purely of 'Cedar & Sage'—a new candle scent I’m testing for the Etsy shop.

I spent a good two hours in the kitchen pouring wax. It is my meditative space. As I watched the soy flakes melt into a clear, shimmering pool, I thought a lot about the 'Midweek Melts' I wrote about a couple of days ago. There is a specific kind of patience required for this side hustle. You can’t rush the cool-down, or the tops will crack. It reminded me so much of my training for the Harvest 5K. If I push too hard on a Monday, I’m too sore to move by Wednesday. Growth is a slow pour, isn't it?

Speaking of the 5K, I laced up my sneakers right around 10:00 am. Joanne was out in her pink bathrobe again, though she’d swapped her deadheading shears for a watering can today. She gave me a little wave and yelled, 'Run like the wind, Lucy!' I didn't exactly feel like the wind—more like a steady breeze—but I clocked two and a half miles today. That is a half-mile jump from Tuesday’s trail run. My lungs felt clear, and my legs felt strong. It’s amazing how my self-worth has started to tie itself to the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement.

I used to look in the mirror and only see the soft spots that two pregnancies left behind. But today, as I finished that last stretch back to the blue house, I looked at my reflection in the glass storm door and felt... desirable. Not because I’ve reached some magic number on a scale, but because I am capable. I am a woman who shows up for herself. I think Mark notices it, too. When he hugged me this morning before leaving at 5:30 am, he held on just a second longer than usual. Nine years in, and those extra seconds still make my heart flutter.

Financial growth is coming in small waves too. I checked the Etsy dashboard while the kids were having lunch—Noah insisted on wearing his velociraptor pajamas even though it was eighty degrees—and I saw three new orders for 'Lucy’s Little Light.' It’s not a fortune yet, but it’s mine. Every sale feels like a tiny victory for the girl who used to be afraid to balance her own checkbook. Between the bookkeeping at Mr. Miller’s and these candles, I’m starting to see a future where we can finally put that extra bit away for Emma’s riding lessons next spring.

Megan stopped by briefly around 2:00 pm with a 'reject' box of lemon bars from Sweet Magnolia. She looked exhausted, poor thing, but she’s excited for our pickleball match tomorrow. We sat on the back steps for ten minutes, sharing a bar and watching Biscuit chase a squirrel that had no intention of being caught. We talked about the importance of these small increments. She’s expanding her bakery menu, and I’m expanding my mileage. It’s nice to have a friend who understands that 'making it' isn't a destination, but a daily practice.

Diane called while I was folding laundry this afternoon. She’s already planning the menu for when she visits next month, and she spent twenty minutes telling me about a new hydrangea she planted. It’s funny how I used to find her long Sunday calls a bit much, but now I find myself looking forward to the mundane updates. It’s all part of the fabric, isn’t it? The flowers, the kids, the sawdust, and the wax.

Now, the dinner bell is practically ringing. I have a chicken cooling on the counter, and I can hear Noah roaring in the living room while Emma shows Mark a new drawing of a stallion she made today. The house is full, my heart is relatively calm, and I am grateful for the two and a half miles that cleared my head before the evening rush. We are doing it, ladies. One step, one candle, one day at a time.

I hope you found a moment for yourself today, even if it was just five minutes in a quiet corner. You are worth the effort, and you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. I’m going to go join my family now and enjoy the sunset from the porch.

I love you. — Lucy