Thursday, April 20, 2017

Thursday

I do not understand how 55F (just shy of 13C) could feel so cold. It's not an unusual temperature for mid-April. It's rather average. This kind of weather just two months ago would felt like like a heat wave. But I can't shake the feeling that it's chilly.

I swap it with tomorrow: let me grocery shop this morning instead of Friday. And tomorrow -- well, I have to believe that I'll be more excited about working outside again.

But first, breakfast. A working breakfast of sorts, as I'm trying to put together a meal plan for next week and Ed is playing with some new gizmo that was just delivered for his machining project.


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Outside -- well, everything is wet. We had significant rain last night and the daffodils are drooping.


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There is a beauty to their wet petals of course and I have to admit that this is a far gentler weather downturn than in years past, when there would be wet snow shower that would bring down even the strongest of the daffodils.


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Scotch, I'm sure is pleased. The chickens don't like excessive sunshine (did I mention that the skies are gray?) and the wet earth gives them plenty of scratching opportunities.


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Well fine, but what will I tell Snowdrop when I pick her up from school? Too cold for a walk?

She wants to hear no such nonsense. Of course a walk is in order! She searches anxiously for the stroller...


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Well fine. We're hardy stock. We can take a gust of cool wind. A brisk walk it is! With a pause at the playground. And then a very welcome pause at the wonderfully warm coffee shop. Once again, she turns down the high chair.


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And finally we come home -- my home. The farmhouse. She knows every corner of it of course. She has her beloved play areas! But she knows it is a visit here. Home is elsewhere.


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She plays with her babies.


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Today, for the first time, she proclaims that she is mommy to them.


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I need to take my baby to the playground -- she tells me.


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Forget it, Snowdrop. It's your nap time.

When she wakes up, I take her to her home. Mommy's there. They settle in to read.



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But Snowdrop wants to know about stuff. Like -- what's this book about?


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I think back to books my daughters read when they were little. About animals. About children of war. About families. How much of what you listen to as a child shapes who you are? Is it significant that I never myself had a passion for rockets?

I go home and cook up a salad nicoise for supper. Tomorrow I'll not cook anything at all.

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