Monica: Michael cracked the whip this morning and I set my nose to the grindstone packing up the kitchen. I hate packing the kitchen—all those dishes and glasses that have to be wrapped in newspaper, all those pots and pans that don't nest into each other just so. The boxes have to be small so they don't get too heavy but then things don't fit easily into them. After wrestling with the kitchen for most of the day, we treated ourselves to what has become a Wednesday ritual: an hour in the hot tub at Sweetwater Spa.
Evelyn: I have an appreciation for the warm light of sunset on the white picket fence that surrounds the Spring Hill campus. Never mind the shopping carts and flock of smokers, or the cranky leasing landlord who snarls at where we park, or the fact that I sometimes miss "THIS" light because of the office without windows that keeps me disoriented. When I get it just right, I am cradled by the warmth of this little picket fence reflecting the dimming yellow of dusk, and feel remarkable gratitude for the people I work with.
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