“I stayed in the blue and white room whenever I visited my grandparents (called that thanks to the blue and white plaid comforter that laid across the room's white wicker bed.)
From the window you could see all the way across the St. Johns River, and in the mornings if you forgot to pull down the shade you'd be blinded as the rising sun transformed the blue green waters into millions of shimmering mirrors.
Every morning I'd walk into the kitchen to find a plate of fresh orange slices and my grandmother cooking at the stove. Like clockwork, my grandfather would open their bedroom door the moment breakfast was ready and take his seat at the kitchen island. Surrounded by plates of bacon, eggs, and toast, he'd slowly read his way through the morning paper while making small talk about current events and our plans for the day.
My grandmother sat perched on the stool closest to the kitchen. Just like the hummingbirds she fed outside the window, she was constantly in motion- taking bites of breakfast between skimming the financial section and refilling coffee mugs. Even when she'd finally sit down, she couldn't help but nudge the platters of food towards us in silent encouragement to eat more.
Those mornings were always unhurried- gentle beginnings for relaxed days filled with boat rides, lighthouse visits, and afternoon drives.”
-Courtney Khail