Pickleball Petunias And The Promise Of A Saturday Swing

The morning air was surprisingly crisp for early July, a welcome change from the humidity that has been clinging to Cedar Falls lately. I was out the door early today, leaving Mark on the floor with Noah, who was insisting that a Triceratops could definitely outrun a construction truck. It’s these small, quiet hand-offs that make our Saturdays work; Mark gives me that hour on the court with Megan, and in return, I come home with enough mental clarity to tackle the laundry mountain that seems to grow while we sleep.

Megan was already at the courts, spinning her paddle and looking suspiciously energetic for 8:15 AM. We played three games, and ladies, I finally feel like my coordination is catching up to my ambition. It’s funny how pickleball mirrors everything else I’m working on—the 5K training, the candle pouring, even the bookkeeping at Mr. Miller’s. It’s all about the rhythm. You can’t rush the point, or you’ll hit the net. You have to wait for the right bounce. I felt strong today, not just in my legs, but in my skin. There’s a specific kind of confidence that comes from knowing your body can move exactly how you ask it to.

After our match, Megan handed me a fresh lemon-poppyseed muffin from Sweet Magnolia—still warm from the oven, of course—and we sat on the bench for a minute. She was asking about the 'Lucy’s Little Light' orders, and I was proud to tell her that I’ve sold through almost half of the 'Summer Orchard' batch I poured on Wednesday. It’s a small financial victory, but every cent that goes into that separate savings account feels like a brick in a house I’m building for my future self. It’s not just about the money; it’s about the proof that I can create something people actually want.

When I pulled back onto Sycamore Street, Joanne was already out in her pink bathrobe, looking like a bright flamingo against her white porch. She was deadheading her petunias with such focus that she didn't see me at first. We chatted over the fence for a bit, and she told me she’s been seeing me out on my morning runs. 'You're looking lean, Lucy,' she said in that blunt, retired-teacher way of hers. Normally, I’d deflect or make a joke about how sweaty I get, but today I just smiled and said thank you. I do feel lean. I feel capable.

The 5K training is at the point where the miles aren't daunting anymore; they're just part of the day. I hit three miles yesterday, and my lungs didn't burn once. I’m thinking about the Harvest 5K in October and for the first time, I’m not just focused on finishing. I’m wondering if I can actually push my pace. It’s a strange, wonderful thing to realize you aren't just 'getting through' a workout—you’re participating in your own strengthening.

Back inside the little blue house, things were beautifully chaotic. Biscuit had somehow found a stray sock and was doing a victory lap around the kitchen island. Mark was finishing his second cup of coffee, and when he looked up at me, there was that specific look in his eyes—the one that reminds me that even after nine years, he still sees the girl he married, even if she has a few more laugh lines and a messy ponytail. He pointed his mug at me and told me I looked like I had a 'post-game glow.'

It’s easy to feel like the mundane parts of life—the math worksheets, the sawdust smell at the shop, the constant restocking of wax—can swallow you whole. But then there are moments like this afternoon. While Noah napped and Emma was busy sketching a series of elaborate horse portraits on the back of some scrap paper from Miller's, I took out my robin-egg-blue journal. I realized that a life well-lived isn't about the big, flashy milestones. It’s about the steady pulse of these small, ordinary Saturdays.

I took a long shower and really took my time—something I rarely do. I used the expensive salt scrub I usually save for 'special occasions' and realized that a Saturday where I feel healthy and loved is a special enough occasion. Looking in the mirror as I got dressed, I didn't see a woman who was 'trying' to get back in shape. I saw a woman who is already there, living it every single day. My worth isn't tied to the scale or the Etsy dashboard, but seeing those things move in the right direction certainly feels like a lovely bonus.

I’m sitting here now at the kitchen table, the sun is starting to dip, and the house is quiet for the moment. Mark is taking the kids out to the yard to throw a ball for Biscuit, and I can hear their laughter through the screen door. Diane will be calling tomorrow after church, and I can’t wait to tell her how much progress I’ve made this week. There’s a peace in knowing exactly where I belong and exactly where I’m going.

As I finish this, I’m looking at the clock. It’s nearly time to start dinner—nothing fancy, just some grilled chicken and the salad greens I picked up from the market. We’ll sit together, talk about dinosaurs and horses, and maybe Mark will tell me about the job site he's starting on Monday. Life is good, friends. It’s quiet, and it’s steady, and it’s mine. I hope you found a little pocket of strength for yourselves today, too. I love you. — Lucy