Ninth

Dear July,
A long time ago, Alex told me about a waffle maker his family owned and promised one day to make me waffles. I can’t remember if this was just after we’d started dating or just before – both periods were characterised by distance and late night Facebook chats, my computer screen glowing in the darkness. I remember being taken by the idea of making waffles together. Making your own waffles seemed whimsical and enchanting.
Last weekend, I bought a waffle maker for $15. I was buying an electric blanket at Target –after putting off owning one for three cold years because I worry about dying in an inferno. I picked up the waffle maker, carried it to the price check and decided that $15 was a good price for a waffle maker.
Today was Alex’s birthday. I made him waffles. A big stack of them with cream and strawberries and maple flavoured syrup. We ate them in bed, a small stack of presents sitting on his feet. It was very ordinary. Maybe it’s boring to think quiet and warm and ordinary is better than whimsical and enchanting. But the fact that we’ve been eating breakfasts in bed long enough for waffles to feel ordinary makes me very happy.  

Alex x

I’m posting a blog for every day in July. Letters to July was inspired by Emily Diana Ruth.

Further reading

December – home

I spent the first minutes of 2018 on the beach. I’ve never actually spent New Year