Thursday, September 17, 2015


I would divide this day into thirds, of very unequal proportions. The first waking hours are with Ed, at the farmhouse, then of course, the bulk of the working day belongs to Snowdrop, in her home and finally, the last third is with Ed again, though not necessarily at home.

If I look at time in this way, I notice that the parts that are fluid and intact are with Snowdrop. We follow routines. We move (most often seamlessly) from one set of activities to the next, she eats, we walk, she sleeps, I drink tea, we play some more and then her parents return and it's time for me to go home.

The other parts of my waking hours have only two anchors in them: breakfast and dinner. Everything else is unpredictable and though it all may appear on Ocean as rather flat, for me, these highly flexible hours are anything but bland.

Take this morning: there wasn't much of one today, but it tilted toward the leisurely though serious side. We lingered for a while over breakfast of course...

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(To the commenter who asked about the door to the porch, well, to the naked eye it looks rather like a standard patio door. To us it's a thing of great magnificence, possibly because it was a monstrously difficult installation. As some of you may remember, they send us a door that was too large and rather than wait for a new one, we chipped away at the house to make that behemoth fit. In the photo below you have a view from the kitchen, looking out. To me, that door brings the porch right into the house and that's just grand!)

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So we eat and reflect on this and that, covering some of the usual -- chickens, house repairs, Tormach, travel. And for now, we come to the unfortunate conclusion that, given our stubbornness about destinations, we're likely to split travel and chicken care between the two of us in the coming year.

On the upside, I have to admit that we do spend a large amount of time together at the farmette, so it's not as if we need travel as a way to reconnect in some intimate fashion. But, it would be lovely to put on the table an idea that sparked enthusiasm in Ed's face and of course, he wishes the same -- that I would show some real enthusiasm for his proposals.

The last set of hours today offers the bulk of our shared time and it follows immediately  after Snowdrop care: Ed and I set out together for the local farmers market, the library, Home Depot, and finally -- dinner out, at Braserrie V, where we sit at the bar and have what we always have -- a shared Belgian salad and moules frites. (Even if you're no fan of mussels, you surely would enjoy the Belgian fires. You can't get me to eat fries unless they're over and beyond the ordinary. These are over and beyond the ordinary.)

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Most likely there are plenty of couples who envision something grander for a "date night out." But dinners out are so rare for us that it feels like we've traveled half the globe simply by going out in the evening to eat. Our second anchor has shifted after all, from its typical resting place at the farmhouse and that's significant! As Ed blurted out, when I asked if we should do something special afterwards (and I meant something as simple as renting a movie from the library) -- dinner out is enough! And honestly, I know exactly what he meant. (He did admit that this sounded somewhat unromantic and so he backpedaled and we got a movie at the library and we tried to watch it and of course it wasn't very good so we retreated to our evening standard -- a set of hours on the couch where we alternate between commenting on the state of life, dozing, reading, writing and eating squares of dark chocolate.)

Out of order here on Ocean, but so very orderly for me, for her as well -- are my hours with Snowdrop.

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If I keep repeating myself that she is "so spirited!" it's because it's true. Another commenter predicted that she'd be walking in two or three weeks and maybe that will happen -- I don't remember how these things work: do babies stand and sway forever waiting for that magic impulse to take steps forward ? That doesn't seem like Snowdrop -- she plunges with such force and vigor into her next challenge that I can't imagine she'll ever just stand. The next stage for her is always just a stepping stone to the one after that.

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I don't take her out for a long walk. We keep it down to a mere ten minute stroll (rather than the usual hour or more). There are storms brewing and you know my feelings about storms. But the abbreviated walk means Snowdrop has no "down time" today. She is just one small hurricane of energy and charm!

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It's late. Ed's snoring on the couch, I'm finishing up a post. Except for the claps of thunder and the pounding rain on the roof top, I'd say we're in for a fairly standard night. And that's a good thing.