It was so hot here yesterday. I wore a black shirt and the world's tightest skirt to work and I was dying. My hair was crazy and I was sweaty and it just wasn't pretty. As soon as I got home I put on a stretchy dress and pulled all of my hair as far away from my body as possible.

Then Rob and I walked downtown for dinner to meet my parents, brother, his girlfriend and my friend Emma.

This outfit is perfect because basically, it was free. Well not really. But close.

Necklace: Target

Dress: Old Navy

Belt: Goodwill

Wallet: Hobo

Now let's play "Where's Megan?" It's like Where's Waldo, but bluer.

Sunday morning, rain is falling.

Steal some covers, share some skin.

Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable,

You twist to fit the mold that I am in.

--Maroon 5 

Last May, almost a year ago, Rob and I moved into an apartment. My graduation weekend had passed and friends had gone and we packed our cars to the brim with remnants of my life in college. That next week, we slowly unpacked boxes and found places for our things. It was summer, and neither of us had started our jobs yet; we had both just finished up semesters of work and we had nothing to do.

I delighted in waking up in the mornings and tiptoeing, barefoot, across the cool lacquered cement floor to the kitchen to make coffee and eggs. I'd throw on sports bras and tennis shoes and sneak out to run through the muggy morning. I felt completely free in the early mornings of this new place of mine, with my boyfriend sleeping so gently in the other room.

I remember the first time it rained at my new home.

I could hear it on the roof, and it was such an inviting noise that I couldn't seem to get out the door fast enough. My running shoes were on, and I hit the pavement eagerly and headed toward my favorite course. Running in the rain is beautiful because almost no one wants to do it with you, and you can't bring an iPod or a phone, so you're truly alone out there. You can't tell if you're sweating or just being washed clean.

I came back inside and Rob was awake. I took a bath because we didn't have a shower curtain yet. We got ready and walked the six or seven blocks downtown to our local coffee shop to have a relaxing breakfast and mugs of Mill Mountain Blend. We sat in the window and watched the warm rain come down, savoring the luxury of having nothing to do all day but walk home, holding hands, and venture out in search of shower curtains and bath mats.

I'm ready for more of that.

My grandmother used to live in our backyard in California, in a little house of her own. There were rose bushes outside.

She had a little yellow canary that I loved taking out of its cage and holding. I could feel his little heart beating rapidly, his soft feathers ruffled between my fingers. When it flew away from my five year-old hands and out her front door, I fashioned a trap out of an old cardboard box that was held up by a stick attached to a string that I held onto, lying on my stomach in the grass. Bird feed was scattered around and under the box, and I thought it was just a matter of time before he or another bird came by for a snack, and then I'd pull the string and the box would trap my grandmother's new pet for me. That didn't work.

When we moved from Redwood City to Roanoke, she came with us and we turned our finished basement into an apartment for her. There was nothing better than coming home from school and hanging out with my grandma downstairs. I really loved having her so close.

She came from Argentina and had broken English, but she taught me the magic of arroz con leche for breakfast, saltine crackers with butter and sugar as an after-school snack, and that if you pressed too hard with your pencil, you'd never be able to erase it completely.

We had ten nice years together. Sometimes I miss her more than I can remember her, but I know that one day we'll be seeing each other again.