You can see it here, through the dining room doorway, with the paint samples we tested out for the dining room. Orange turned out to be a TERRIBLE idea, and the samples are now under several layers of paint, the topmost being a peachy vanilla that reminds me of our honeymoon in Charleston. It has a way of keeping light in the corners, unlike the previous color, which had a most drab effect on our moods. Our living room is now a Charleston-esque color as well. We selected a light blue-green that lends the space an airy, classy feel. Sometimes I look around and realize our palette might be construed as pastel. But these colors do something more complex than the word pastel can convey. They have a harmonious, intricate relationship with the light in the house. They transition from the first rays of sun in the morning to the bright elegance of the afternoon to the softness of the evening in such a knowing way that makes me wonder if the colors have an intelligence of their own. And these colors like to dance with other colors, like the bright reds and oranges on our mantel.
So many things have changed since I wrote last. We are living in Durham now, in love with our little house and new city. Kevin and I got married in Durham Central Park, surrounded by our amazing families and friends. I’ve been working as a permanent employee for 3 months now. The benefits seem so alien to me. I’ve got health insurance cards in my wallet and a giant life insurance policy arrived in the mail today. Talk about a morbid piece of mail. But some things have stayed very much the same. I still need this space to focus on my domestic life. Things have become somewhat of a blur in the process of moving & getting married, and that is partially due to my not taking the time to write. It’s awesome that I’ve got all this life in my life. But I’ll just be left with some variation of blur if I don’t take some time to write, to process, to share.
What I want to share today is the slow plunge. It’s a technique of Kevin’s. On mornings when we make coffee at home (which means, we somehow are able to deny the siren call of Joe Van Gogh’s, one of the best coffee shops that ever existed) we tend to make French press. It has more mouthfeel, probably due to the fact that there’s no paper filter to absorb the oil coating the beans. We aren’t sure if it actually enhances the flavor, but there are claims that pressing the coffee slowly avoids bruising the grounds and gives the coffee a more mellow character. So we practice the slow plunge. I spend maybe 8-10 seconds to press the coffee instead of 3. That’s doable.
Doing things slowly is a generally little scary for me. I really like doing things quickly, being productive, getting caught up in momentum, feeling that I am working towards mastery. Slowing things down leaves room for questions, doubt, and the possibility of losing direction. It’s no wonder I love the term slow plunge. “Plunge” totally hits upon the element of fear and yet the addition of “slow” makes it sound a bit ludicrous, laughable, like the danger is easily avoided. I’m keeping this in mind as I slow things way down to mend the ligaments in my back. The fact that my back has been hurting so much is a sign that I need to shift my momentum anyway. So I’m taking the plunge, slowing things down, and writing to stem the blur.
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