There are dog prints on the floors I just mopped yesterday, like little dusty trails.

I have laundry that needs to be done, and my bathroom needs to be cleaned, though I had the foresight to have Ben clean the toilet before the photographer came by the other day to spend some time with us.

The blankets my dog rustles around in when she sleeps need to be washed. A dead plant, peppers that I was trying to overwinter, still sits under one of my windowsills, the leaves that haven’t fallen crisp, though still green.

My desk has a coffee cup that should be in the dishwasher. A bag of clothes set for recycling is still open, waiting for me to clean out my closet.

But all the dishes from dinner are in the dishwasher and I’ll run it and empty it tomorrow. My sheets are clean and back on my bed, soft and fresh.

The boots and shoes, snowy and slushy with salt stuck in the soles, are sitting by the door on a rug instead of strewn about the floor. The dog’s water bowl is on a towel so the drops that always fall from her muzzle don’t (OK, sometimes they do) hit the wooden floor.

Life is almost always muddled. Nothing is clean and clear and crisp.

I used to hate that so much.

But now, I can (most often) just let life be what it’s going to be.

Be what it’s going to be.

Be. be.

The Light Links

100 layer sfogliatella: The most difficult Italian dessert

Timelapse sunrise in Hamilton, New Zealand

Lemon tiramisu cups