Thursday, August 10, 2017

transition, or -- best laid plans

I wake up knowing I should keep my medical appointment this morning. I should I should I should.

I do, but of course it proves to be a time suck and since I am healthy (that's a best guess... I am 64 after all!), perhaps I could have skipped it just this once.

No no, neglect the garden, take care of your health!

(Leaving a garden unattended for now...)

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My early morning drive is past the crane fields. I am alone and though the birds do still seem majestic, I can't share that swell of emotion as I pause to watch. Better to witness them with a small child!

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Two and a half hours later (I told you it was a time suck), I am back, on the porch, having my one quiet moment with Ed, over breakfast.

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Do I have time for the flowers? I do not. Still, maybe just the lily field by the porch...

It looks much more light and airy, doesn't it? And yet I pick off 100 blooms!

I stop work at 100. The rest of the garden -- meh. It will hold. Until... well, I don't know when. Next year!

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The young family and I had a complicated but workable strategy as to how we could do it all, fit it in, make smooth the transition as they move from one home to the next. But as I begin to gather together the necessary components of play with Snowdrop (don't forget the swimsuit this time!), I get that phone call from her mom: the school called, the child is sick.


Parents pick her up and bring her over. Mom snuggles babe for a while and dad goes to sheep shed to coax two out of the three cats out of their hiding places.

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Parents leave. They have movers loading a truck!

Babe tries to rally. She eats her fruit and has enough energy to tell me she needs to cook. She reaches for my pots.

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I suggest she use her own...

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But really, perhaps it's best if you napped, Snowdrop!

She does. Oh, does she need that nap!

Afterwards -- well, you know how kids are: one minute they seem to be recovering, fine, up and running...

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... next minute they feel sick again.

Bedtime. A story, read in a modern way (on a phone)....

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And then many more, read conventionally.

Such an evening! Did I worry that the farmhouse would be September 1st-like quiet, too quiet?

Not a chance.