There's this thing we do when we're at my parents' house--somewhere between the hours of 11:30 and 3:00, people gather around the island in the kitchen and take food out of the fridge. It's not always planned and sometimes you have to get a little creative, but there's always enough food to go around and it's always delicious.

There are leftovers from dinner. Some Paleo version of chicken Marsala or meatballs or a breakfast casserole from the day before. Huge salads topped with sliced turkey, tomatoes, avocado, and homemade vinaigrette we shake up right there in a mason jar. There are often salami or proscuitto sandwiches on toasty gluten-free bread that go under the broiler before being loaded with mayo, mustard, peperoncini, and lettuce. And there's always a pot of tea.

My mom flies around toasting and cutting and plating, while my dad comes over from the computer and my brother comes up from his room downstairs and whichever friends are over wash tomatoes and help themselves to Diet Cokes from the fridge--everyone is always so welcome at our house and it's the best. Sometimes we don't even sit--just all stand around eating and talking until we're full. There are always little moments that strike me as precious whenever I'm home, and this is one of them.

Lately, Rob and I have been talking about the possibility of moving back to the East coast. Nothing is definite and details haven't even begun to be ironed out, but to be able to get in the car and drive to have lunch with my family and friends is such a wonderful thought after almost a year of being so far away.

This post is in response to the following prompt: "Write about a lunch you loved." (From Old Friend from Far Away, page 209). If you've written a response of your own, please share it below in the comments!

P.S. Visit this post for future prompts.

The third thing is right now.

I've written about the past--those days--more often than perhaps I need to, but it's because it keeps changing. There's always something new to add to the list of things that were, because of today. Now.

The Croque John Paul at Modern Times, and that coffee they make in big French presses all day; the Farmer's Market in St. Paul that still seems so far away but will be here again on warm Saturday mornings before we know it. A Friday evening or a Saturday morning at Spyhouse, with almond milk lattes or the most delicious iced coffee I've ever had. And of course, a Bloody Mary and a burger at The Happy Gnome, where our favorite server comments on how we're early one weekend when we show up on Friday instead of our usual Saturday.

The faux-fur blanket we sleep beneath every night, and our couch set up next to that bookshelf I love so much. The two corners of our apartment that are already filling up with wedding gifts stacked upon each other. The flowers I've been picking up at either Rainbow or Trader Joe's every week, and how perfect they look on our coffee table with a book and a cup of tea in the afternoon.

Those walks around Lake Normandale, and the morning runs I take around our neighborhood when it's nice out (or when it's raining). The sound of my tea kettle whistling away in the kitchen for me to make my coffee while I sit at my computer.

We've managed to make a home here together, even so far from everyone we know and love. It feels really good, these experiences that are not yet memories. And it's all right now.

This post is in response to the following prompt: "What is the third thing? There is you and there is writing. But you can't write about writing...You and writing must gaze out at a third thing...What is there in this world?" (From Old Friend from Far Away, page 42). If you've written a response of your own, please share it below in the comments!

P.S. Visit this post for future prompts.

It all started with, well, I guess I can't really remember what started it. Maybe it was high school, and my friends, and the early meetings at the coffee shop for caramel lattes before class. Or the cross country practices where we set off toward downtown to do the Market Run, sneaking by the front desk of Hotel Roanoke and asking for those warm chocolate chip cookies they give to guests when they check in.

It could have been college, with the books and the parties and the professors who taught me so much more than they may ever know. Living with my girlfriends, figuring it out, getting my heart broken, putting it back together, and first crossing paths with my soon-to-be husband on that ridiculous October night. Longwood and Hampden-Sydney and big brunches with the friends that became family every Sunday morning in a dining hall somewhere.

And then, of course, was grad school--moving to Charlottesville and the coffee shop where I worked and my master's thesis and so many Disney princesses. The first place Rob and I really shared a home, even if we were both living the lives of students. Our friends Patrick and Chad lived across the parking lot from us and Shawna and I ran together and had coffee and met for lunch every week.

At this point, I even look back what seemed like challenges as good times. Rob lived four hours away in DC for a time while I was in Roanoke, and we had some of the best weekends. Getting to know new friends and exploring a new city; having him come home for the weekend and just lying in bed together on Sunday mornings (sometimes with Rocky, when he'd let me put him between us and then actually stay there--he hated being on anyone's bed but his own).

When Rob first moved to Minnesota, I stayed in Virginia for a number of reasons, but one of the biggest was so I could spend more time with my dog. It was hard enough leaving him in August, but now I treasure the extra six months we spent together before I did finally move. We went on walks and I gave him treats and in the middle of the night he would walk down the hall from my parents' bedroom where he slept and fall asleep next to my bed until morning. He made me laugh and I sang to him in weird voices and took him to dog fairs and the Saint Patrick's Day parade where we had to stop every few feet to let some little child approach and pet him. They're good memories, even when I miss him so much that it hurts.

I have written about this countless times, and thought about it even more. It's nostalgia, and I love it even when it makes me cry. Looking back and writing about the past has always made me feel lucky to have such a wealth of treasured memories within. Everything back there looks golden and dewy from here.

And it has taught me to periodically take a step back, look at my present, and truly be thankful for it. Because time will continue to pass over golden years and (I've said it before and I'll say it again) those were the days, but so are these.

This post is in response to the following prompt: "What is your anchor, what you trust and know and can come home to over and over in your writing?" (From Old Friend from Far Away, page 238). If you've written a response of your own, please share it below in the comments!

P.S. Visit this post for next week's prompt.