The Market
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I've had these thoughts swirling around in my head for what feels like forever, waiting for the perfect moment to spill onto the page. My laptop screen has been a silent witness to my procrastination, its blank canvas mocking me every time I sit down to write. There were moments—so many moments—that I wanted to capture. Like the impromptu pool parties under the bright blue sky or the cozy nights spent cuddling with my family on our oversized bed while snacking. These little slices of life felt magical, and I longed to share them. But sometimes, living fully in those moments takes precedence over writing about them. That’s how it goes.
Today, though, I finally found a rare lull. The little one is out with her dad, and my youngest is napping peacefully. It’s one of those fleeting opportunities to steal some time for myself—and my keyboard.
One thing I absolutely love about summer is the lazy Saturdays. We wake up slowly, sprawled across the bed like pretzels, the sunlight streaming in lazily through the windows. Eventually, we drag ourselves out of bed and head downtown to the bustling farmer's market. Breakfast becomes a fresh doughnut as we wander through the stalls, taking turns picking out the juiciest strawberries and the crispest cucumbers. The air is alive with the music of a live jazz band, their melodies weaving through the crowd. And my rule? We don't leave without having perfectly grilled corn on the cob, eaten like a massive popsicle, dripping with buttery goodness.
Last Saturday wasn’t exactly lazy—it was packed with errands and obligations—but we still managed to squeeze in a quick trip to the market. Even in the chaos, it felt like coming home.
[Here’s a picture of the market, though I wish I could transport you there instead!]
And because I always sign off with my name, here’s my little note to say thanks for reading.
Until next time,
[Your Name]
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