A Day at the Lake

August 20, 2025 MabelLeave a comment

Hello Strangers,

Isn’t that a nice picture? Look how bright the clouds are, and how shimmery the water is. I’m very proud of that one actually.

Henry (my partner and friend I’ve mentioned in past entries) and I went on a long drive and spent the day at the lake. For several months now, I’ve made some rather gruesome jokes about drowning, which he does not appreciate. The thing about it is though, there’s a certain mystique, a certain kind of romance around water and its temperament. Murder mysteries, ghost stories, and ladies of the lake. Not to mention, drowning in art is a lot different than drowning in reality. All kinds of symbolism and even hope in literature that simply is not present in real life accounts; in reality, drowning is just another way to die. Sometimes horrible, sometimes mundane, an unfortunate but not uncommon part of life. In art, it can symbolize anything from feelings of floating and sinking, stagnation, and depression, but also magic, freedom, otherworldliness, peace, and clarity.

As I mentioned though, it’s different in art than in reality and the simple truth is that despite all my jokes, I am actually terrified of drowning. I have been since I was a little girl.

And that’s why it was truly lovely to go to a quiet spot on the lake, pull out some sandwiches, chips and drinks for a nice lunch, and then wade out slowly onto the rocks. The algae was beautiful and absolutely disgusting as our feet kicked it up in the water, Henry grabbing rocks with his toes and “gifting” them to me to throw onto shore. I asked him where the edge of the cliff was under the water and he bobbed over to a spot and said “right about here.”

For the next several hours between bouts of exploring and playing games together, I swam out, rolled onto my back, swam awkwardly and slowly, and went further out than I’ve ever managed to before.

The top layer (about the first two feet) of water were warm. Almost like a bath, very warm. And when I would stop to tread water, looking at the navy blue surface and glassy sheen, I thought back to all those murder mysteries and legends. And the water was so cold. Three feet down it must have dropped 15 degrees or more. It was so refreshing. Motorboats sped past and nearby, families and friends floated lazily with beers in hand.

It was so nice to do something. Something very small, but I’ve never felt the temperature of water change like that. And I’ve never seen a lake from its middle. And no one has ever collected rocks for me with their feet. And I rarely enjoy the sun so much, but I definitely did that day. And sandwiches are rarely that good. And drives back are usually not so sleepy. Evenings not usually so content.

There was nothing earth shattering about that day, but it was nice to feel the reality of being in the water, in addition to thinking about the stories of it. I’m still afraid of drowning though. But that’s fine.

Anyways, all my love,

—Mabel

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A Little Relief

July 17, 2025July 17, 2025 MabelLeave a comment

There is a girl who every time she sees my cabin, breaks down crying. She grabs her chest, grips her breasts, falling to her knees and weeps. She loves it here. She’s a woman actually, not a girl, but she feels small and insignificant like although she is technically alive, one day she stopped progressing. Like maybe she didn’t deserve to age like the rest of them so she stopped. Truth be told, I have never actually invited her in.

I built this house for her. I said I built it for others, but it was for her. I assumed she knew that but.

She has never been inside.

I think she loves it because she aches for home. She feels the swirling patterns of the wind in the front yard and she sees the brown leaves it picks up in its arms, and she hears a song by Iron and Wine and she thinks of the man she will send that song to when he’s away and she will tell him he is her home. And earthside, he is. He is the same as the song by Iron and Wine, and the wind and dead leaves, and the blurry idea she has of this cabin as she stands outside it weeping.

I think she weeps because she feels relief and relief feels like grief. She weeps like a woman that is safe. She pays no mind to the fact that she is not invited in. She thinks not of wolves or strange men in the forest. She weeps as though she has lost everything, or that there is no such thing as loss, maybe.

She is not often in my front yard. She does not often haunt my window like the dead. More often, she is driving around an unexplored neighborhood at night with gas she does not have. She sobs about how beautiful the porch lights are. And twinkle lights and garden lights and streetlights. They give her a little relief.

More often, she is buying a cup of ice cream with strawberries and chocolate fudge for seven dollars even though that is a painful price for a cup of ice cream and she should save her money. It gives her a little relief.

More often, she is taking a phone call from her best friend, or maybe her oldest friend, or her love.

More often, she is checking the weather app to see if it says “rain” or “thunderstorm warning” even though she has a shift to work and can’t go outside.

More often she is making a cup of coffee that will hurt her stomach. It offers a little relief, in theory.

Sometimes, without being able to explain why, a person goes dumb with pain and mourning.

If splitting yourself into two people and watching one weep at your window allows you to act with some self-compassion, then split them. Because I have been thinking about a little relief lately. Reliefs that are borrowed. Reliefs that are bought on credit. That run out. That shouldn’t be used.

Two years ago I wrote this same post, basically, except it was about banana splits. I wrote it because there were dead dogs littering the roads in a town I refuse to claim as mine. And there were dogs starving in public parks and people would throw things at them instead of helping. Puppies left to drown in drainage ditches with their broken-down puppy-mill-mothers. And our neighbors shot their Blue Heeler because he chewed the cords on their boat. And they left him for dead in a blizzard. And because I spent five days a week at a struggling animal shelter. And because someone I lived with watched animals screaming and being tortured online with a mixture of rage and grief for them and wouldn’t turn the videos off even when I begged because there was nowhere I could go to escape it. Any of it. But I wrote to you about a banana split because I didn’t want to be alive and I didn’t want to say that and I didn’t want to write about ugliness.

You take your little relief. You go ahead and watch Moomin Valley or play Minecraft or read a silly book or buy yourself a seven-dollar coffee because we will come out of these times if we don’t succumb to them. Things can get better later.

You know, that man that the woman loves, he caught her a dying firefly. It died in his hands before he dropped it into hers.

The dead firefly glowed for a few more hours.

Take your little relief.

—Mabel

Small Dream Saturday

Small Dream Saturday: Entry 12

April 29, 2023 MabelLeave a comment

Hello my Strangers.

Today was a rough day, more physically than emotionally. After saying goodbye to my foster puppy around three this morning (he’s fine, he’s on an animal transport, I literally had to say goodbye) I got up at seven-thirty to get ready to help with a pet microchipping event that lasted until about two. I got a pulsing headache that made my face droop on one side and made me nauseous. To top it off, I feel I was helpful but I was a bit overdressed, it was cold, and in the lulls when many other volunteers were also sitting, I nodded off for a bit. I didn’t do anything terribly wrong, but the optics probably weren’t great…That’s life, I guess. I’ll have to do better next time.

When I got home I took medication and had a nap, and when I woke it was early evening. Sun beams like those that filter through the trees across the stream every morning now entered my window through the curtains at the front of the house, and for a moment, I raised my hand up and touched sunlight. Light bounced off my fingertips and glowed through my skin and I stood there basking in what to me seems like an impossibility. Who are we that we should touch sunlight, or moonbeams, as I had the chance to do a few weeks ago in the still air of my kitchen?

I was thinking of my dream for this Saturday and was reminded of an idea for a house at the edge of the world. In my mind, this house is deep in the wilderness and simultaneously right on cusp of town. The world is ending and dark, but the old woman who lives inside is still full of life and opening up her home to any who come near.

That isn’t the case for me just yet, but I would like to have a budget for outdoor lights when I’m grown. Small lights that won’t cause much light pollution, and a house tucked so far away it won’t affect anyone else’s view of the stars. I’d like sconces for the porch, and a low hanging layer of twinkle lights, ground lights in the garden…Those kinds of things. I’d like to make all kinds of strange things that brighten my own home and world.

I’m thinking of the lights, and getting deja vu. I hope I haven’t already written this post and forgotten it.

All love to you,

–Mabel

cottagecore

A Breath of Life

April 18, 2023April 18, 2023 Mabel2 Comments

Hello Strangers,

Sometimes, a person finds themself in a place they don’t want to be. There could be any number of reasons why they ended up there, but it is a deeply uncomfortable thing. And it will shape them. Maybe it was a job, a sin, a hiding spot, maybe any one or all of those things of those things and an opportunity. But whatever the reason, they wake up in the morning and look at the edges of their world, and they feel trapped.

That’s happened to me many mornings in the place I am now, and usually, I’m able to look past it. I’ll find beauty in the sunlight and trees, or the stream behind my house, or even the insects that buzz around my feet when I walk through the wildflowers on my way to the compost heap. I bake, or write, or paint, or pray, or in a moment of exhaustion and defeat, collapse in a heap to watch a beloved tv show. But last week new details emerged about an animal cruelty case that we’d been following, (my family knows the animal) and I couldn’t just ‘get past it’ like I usually do. This had to do with people we know. And it’s just one case, there are thousands like it in this area. I wanted so desperately to run away but a stone sank in the pit of my stomach when I realized just how far I’d have to run to truly get away from this.

Sunday came around, and we didn’t go to church. And I felt guilty, but on this particular occasion I was relieved; my heart wasn’t right. My father suggested going to the mountains where there’s national forest and parklands. There’s this travel stop on the way that has the best sandwiches; ham and bologna clubs with fresh veggies, pickles and mayo…Ice cold. I’d been craving those sandwiches for a month. It was the perfect distraction. I only wish we could have stayed longer, because it was a gift from God.

The roads began to wind, and the country was different from what we usually see. Brighter and cleaner. One of the park sites had a long stone stairway which led to shelves on a beach. The water was teal and rushes of white water burst forward in swells. And it was cool out, but it smelled like spring. I felt like I was able to breathe.

Earlier that week, I’d stumbled across Psalm 19, the first half of which is dedicated to describing how nature itself praises God. I’d wanted to write a post on the benefits of being in nature that week and I was inspired by a speech my little sister wrote. But every time I tried to write it, I got blocked. Nothing came out right and I was frustrated. Then that horrible thing happened, and I just felt angry and defeated. That defeat that so often comes with this place. But all along, God had the perfect moment lined up to show me His hand in the situation, and to provide relief and joy. And in that moment, on that day, there was absolutely no denying that that had been His plan. I’ve felt distant from Him, and like He was distant from me. But here was a gift I didn’t deserve, given to me when I was steeped in darkness, and which lifted so much weight and sorrow off of my shoulders. That’s who God is, and that’s how nature refreshes the soul. Because He made it.

I came home and the world was still dark. The problems were still there. And I still feel like I’m looking at the borders of my whole world. But I’ve got a light I often forget about, and as for the edges of the world? That’s just a feeling, and it will pass as all feelings do. Thank God for the reminder that I have things to do. That we have things to do. This life is not hopeless; you get a breath of fresh air and get moving.

1 The heavens tell of the glory of God;
And their expanse declares the work of His hands.
2 Day to day pours forth speech,
And night to night reveals knowledge.
3 There is no speech, nor are there words;
Their voice is not heard.
4 Their line has gone out into all the earth,
And their words to the end of the world.
In them He has placed a tent for the sun,
5 Which is like a groom coming out of his chamber;
It rejoices like a strong person to run his course.
6 Its rising is from one end of the heavens,
And its circuit to the other end of them;
And there is nothing hidden from its heat. – Psalm 19:1-6

This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD. – Ezekiel 37:5-6

And thank You, Lord, for all You’ve done.

All love,

–Mabel