August 1st

Most definitely, I'm living with the aphorism today "be careful what you wish for." Of course, farmers are happy. People who love deeply green lawns are happy. Gardeners who grow roses and discover that their plants are in a wet area due to a poor grading and compacted soil are not happy. It rained. And it rained. And it rained. And it's still raining this afternoon. I measured 3.5 inches (or 9 cms)  of rain (so far) in a heretofore empty bucket. The roses by the fence are squishy. Empty holes along the fence are completely overflowing with water. If I leave the planted roses in their place, they will die within a week.

I stayed up late imagining where I might transplant them, but today's inspection showed that some of that movement would be impractical. In doing frantic research on the internet, I also learned something about roses -- something I did not know. (It is always the case that if you embark on a new gardening plan, you are going to make some mistakes, even if you have been growing things, as I have, for close to 50 years.) Apparently there are three plants at the top of a list of ones that you should not place anywhere near roses: Tomatoes (I'm safe there), lilacs (oh oh...) and hollyhock (double oh oh). It's a question of nutrients and root competition. True, I did not choose the larger lilacs, but still, I'm taking this newly found wisdom  into consideration now as I draw up a new plan of what to put where. The hollyhock? It's a biannual anyway. I may have to shorten it's lifespan by a year and pull it out. I'll create more room for a moved rose. But just doing that wont do. I need to reimagine some of the beds and I need to do it quickly. 

*.    *.    *

I got up later today because of course Millie is not there to check on me. I noticed something: without a dog, I'm slow with everything in the morning. Slow to get up (not sleeping, but not rising either). Slow to fix breakfast. Slow to get on with the day. You could say that slow is good. What is retirement for if not for slowing down? But if you add to it the rain outside, you have yourself a very weird day, where you spend far too much time thinking and reading random stories on the internet. In other words, without a dog, I am a slacker who does not get things done.

Breakfast? On the reading chair, with only Millie's play pup for company.

 

*.    *.    *

We are celebrating my daughter's birthday today. It's always fabulous to do this (fabulous daughters call for fabulous celebrations), though I have to say, it's really disconcerting to have a kid who is 45 years old. Really disconcerting! 

 

(with her family and with sparklers which somewhat terrified the kids, who have seen sparks burn holes in surfaces where they land)

 

 

(time to bring out the tablecloth!)

 

 

Oh how I hope that her next 45 years are joyous, healthy of course, and full of love!

*.    *.    * 

Tonight, Snowdrop plays two characters in the Twelfth Night -- Antonio the sea captain, and Mary, a gentlewoman servant. The two characters make many appearances throughout and I marvel at the fact that Snowdrop has a total of seven costume changes to get through.

It's a wonderful and entertaining play and for me it brings back vivid images and feelings. from the summer of 1993, when both my daughters were in Twelfth Night -- same Shakespeare group, same Artistic Director in fact. The older one (who was then freshly 12) played Olivia, the younger one (then 8) played Feste. Lines came back to me throughout the evening ("some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them") and I was thinking how strangely exact a memory can be for some things, but not for others.

 

 

This is the ninth play for Snowdrop with this group and I marvel at how much poise this little girl has now on stage -- as if she were born to deliver the lines of Shakespeare (and occasionally Shaw).

(Sparrow used to be part of this group and so he feels at once odd to be on the outside now, at the same time that he is quite familiar with many of the plays; Sandpiper remarkably sat quietly for the duration. That's a three hour plus play!)

 

 

*.    *.    *

Millie, I am told, is having a wildly good time with her doodle friend. I'm glad. Tomorrow she returns to my quiet home. She'll need the rest! I will be so happy to see her!

with so much love... 

  

without question

Without question, the most significant aspect to this day is that it's raining. Was there even another July day this year with rain? July 2nd it stormed. I think that about sums it up.

The forecasters said the rain would come at noon. This means if I'm to plant, I better do it in the first half of the day. Millie and I were up at 6 and eating breakfast by 7.

 

Oh, puppy! You really are the most special little dog!

Because I have a very full day tomorrow, I'm letting Julie (from Happy Dogz, her previous babysitter) take her for the weekend. Were I to hand her over tomorrow, it would have to be early and I would have to drive out all the way to where Julie lives. But today, Julie can take her home straight from Happy Dogz, along with another doodle who is staying over for the weekend. Millie should be thrilled with having a playmate!

Me, I'm less thrilled at having her away from home. Yes, she goes to daycare three days a week, so I've surely been at Steffi's House (rushing to get things done) without her. But the knowledge that she is not coming home tonight weighs heavy on me. We do everything together, especially in the evenings, nights and mornings. Suddenly I feel the emptiness of a missing dog and it does not feel good!

Still, I have little time to think about it. I need to do my outdoor work because the drizzle is starting earlier than predicted. Ed comes over just to help with one especially tough hole and then I work the soils and put in two more roses and one mockorange.

You could say that the honeymoon -- where you think everything about your garden is absolutely brilliant and indeed perfect -- is fading. I'm starting to recognize the trouble spots. Yes, there's the rocky soil, but I thought I'd addressed that by digging out sizable holes to improve a large area around the root base. It appears that this will be insufficient. All along the fence line (where I planted half a dozen roses and two lilacs), the water from the rain is not draining properly. The holes still waiting for plants are filled with standing water from just a very light rain. This is terrible news for the roses. They hate waterlogged soil. (So do lilacs for that matter.)

I'm not sure why some areas of the parcel (but not others) are especially vulnerable to this, but I hate to think that my efforts to create a small rose garden will fail. (There's another spot by the garage that appears to have the same problem but there at least it's only a one rose issue.)

Ed points out that we've watched them level these parcels, compacting gravel and stone to make a buildable surface. So it's not even clay soil beneath some of the sod. It's however many inches (or feet for that matter) of construction matter. Stuff you put underneath roads and highways and apparently houses and their gardens. 

I may have to do some plant moving. 

 

(roses in places where water does not pool) 

 

 

Ed reminds me that for these graded parcels (I'm on a slight incline), having a solid base is important. The house wont topple even if some of my roses may suffer. 

By noon I'm done with digging and moving rocks. I still have six roses and two non-roses coming (some later today), but everything else is in. I come inside, bring out my sheep blanket, miss my little pup, and fall asleep. Yes, I am that tired.

 

In the evening Ed comes over. I make a light supper, we watch our show. I miss my dog, but Ed is an okay substitute for her. Or at least he takes my mind off the fact that she is not here! 

 

 

 

Tomorrow is August. How could that be?!

with so much love... 

Millie decides

It's a well documented fact that doodle dogs have a firm grip on the reins at home. They direct where the horse is going. If you think you are in control, let me gently suggest that you are delusional. 

Initially I thought it was a matter of training: doodle owners are dog-spoiled (their pups are loving and joyful) and they also tend to be preoccupied with their own lives, their jobs, their kids, so they don't attend to rigorous pup training. But then I took Millie to pup agility class. All dogs her age looked to follow the proper protocol. Their owners spoke to them, they listened. Not Millie. She was thrilled to be there so that she could chase pups and do high leaps in the air, exuberant, joyful. No treat in the world would rip her away from spirited play. I thought perhaps she had been with me too short a time. But she has now been with me for almost four months and she continues to delight in selective listening. 

Being a sweet pup who tags along happily after me at home, this doesn't lead me to despair.  I continue to insist on her sits and downs (it's a game for her and she likes games), and she comes running when I want her near me, not because she wants to obey my command, but because being near me makes her feel happy and secure. I can leave the gate open on the porch and she wont run off, because she prefers "next to mama" to just about anything else. But a run to my call does not happen because she feels compelled to follow my directives.

I'm learning to listen more to her conversation. A low rumble in her throat that sounds awfully much like a light growl is a typical reaction to things that are unknown to her. One might be tempted to get her to stop, since most people find even a quiet gurgle coming even from a small dog to be disconcerting, but getting her to stop is, I think, the wrong approach. Respond to the anxiety, not the offered pup language for it. If I cuddle her, her growly rumble becomes a low moan, dying in her throat. An explanation of sorts. Once reassured, she turns on her friendly switch, with a bark and a wag for emphasis. Do I like her chatty bark? That would be like asking if you like the fact that your child is passionate about learning to play the trumpet.

This morning, we had our lovely start to the day on the porch.

Two of the roses that came the other day are to be planted in the fenced yard (roses are not toxic to dogs), so I take my pup outside and set up the rose planting station: a bucket for soil debris, a bucket for mixing dirt with compost and fertilizer (opinions vary on whether to apply it at the outset; I'm going with the "yes" crowd), a bag of mulch (though still not the mint compost which has yet to arrive), a shovel, a pair of long gloves. In the early morning, it's shady back there, and Millie loves to simply luxuriously rest in the cool grasses. Being my pup, she is picking up a real flower love.

When she gets hyped for play, I toss her the ball.

All this works well and in one hour, I get the two roses in. But I do notice something: Millie is treating the fenced yard as her own play area. She loves going there, she loves pulling our her blankie from her little shade tent, she loves releasing her zoomies there. What she does not do is use this fenced yard as a bathroom. I thought it would be fabulous  to just open the door come winter and let her out to do her stuff. That's not going to happen. After playing there for an hour and a half, I have to take her for a walk to her favorite grassy strip where she routinely does her stuff. (She was quite distressed when we first moved to Steffi's House. She liked the house just fine, but the unfamiliar grass strips outside unnerved her. I almost wanted to take her back to Sally's block so she could relieve herself quickly, but I thought that might be too confusing, so we persevered and now she's fine here.)

Since the outdoor work is piling on (and I planted just two roses yesterday), I take Millie for a half day at doggie daycare. Playing with her friends is a better option than leaving her for a few hours inside. She would pout and protest the latter and she would let me know that I have messed with her equilibrium if I were to close the door on her crate and leave her there. Too, I have errands to run. A cake to pick up for the weekend. Compost to dump, soil to buy. The usual. 

I put in just two roses in the afternoon (but that makes for a total of four for the day!). I hit a rough patch with one of the holes -- yes it's dug out, to a degree, but I see nothing but stones at the base of it. I need to go further down and get them out. Hard work.

It takes a while and I definitely have a sore shoulder from slamming that shovel into the rocks. Still, it's progress!

I pick up Millie earlier today and I let her stay on the porch while I water all the front flowers. (She is okay with that!) I lost two plants to dry soil, despite the fact that I've been watering every few days. It's that hot and that dry here. I'm NOT going to lose more!

A day in the garden. A day with my pup calling the shots. A day of rocks and roses. All smooth you think? Yes, except for my dropping my dinner dish this evening, spilling everything on the floor. Would you eat a meal that landed at your feet a minute ago? No? You and I are different then!

Tomorrow is the last day of July. Typically I start to lose interest in gardening in August. Not this year! I'm still running at full steam out there!

with so much love... 

 

only two

I have the whole glorious day before me! Beautiful weather (though insanely dry this month), heavenly boost to the morning with my breakfast ritual...

A hug for Millie for surviving two weeks in her onesies...

 

 

 

And a trip to Happy Dogz, with Millie, leaping and raring to go play with her pup friends (I'm told she has many).

And now I have five roses that should go in. The holes are mostly dug out for them. Exciting!

But is it? For one thing, do I really have a whole day before me? I never have a whole day before me. If I looked forward to working with those roses, I must have been blocking the fact that I had a dental appointment at 9 (part two of this tooth saga and it will continue, because I come from a time and place where teeth were never given the stuff they needed to look American straight, white, and shiny. That appointment took forever! And I needed to do the weekly grocery run, because if not now, when Millie is in doggie daycare, then when?

Unpacking, putting away. So... maybe half a day before me? Not even. Working with roses is not like working with other perennials. You don't shake them out of a pot and slide them into place. And my roses are bare twigged but large. I learned to work with them wearing these.

And the holes need adjustment, and the soil needs to be mixed with the compost, and carrying soil back and forth and trimming broken twigs and finally placing them just so and then filling those very large holes, and finally watering them, very very slowly, for at least 15 minutes and yes, I see those drooping flowers nearby -- I really need to water those as well or I will lose them!

Two roses in. Say what? Its 3 o'clock already? Off I go quickly, so quickly, to dump compost, pick up dirt, dump cardboard, pick up corn and finally -- pick up Snowdrop. 

Well, I can look at it this way: two down and only twelve roses to go (not all are here yet). Well, and one lilac and one mock orange. So I guess the number remains stuck at fourteen. Make that fifteen. I ended up with another mockorange today. Maybe I'll work on putting them in on one of those days that seems so open on the calendar (but in reality, is really quite full), and maybe not even then because there's watering, which just sucks up any time I may have left over for gardening. 

We pick up Millie, I take Snowdrop home, Millie says hi to the boys, we go home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I take stock outside, and find that the soil is dry again two inches deep on plants that were just soaked yesterday, I have to wonder -- what did people in Giverny do this year, when temperatures repeatedly crossed 100F/38C? What did they do?? 

Flower growing is becoming a challenge. I am up for it, but only because I am retired and occasionally I do have a couple of hours to plant... two roses. Only two, but two it is.

with so much love... 

emotions

Someday, we will have evolved to unravel what's behind the full range of emotions that we experience throughout our lives. We are nowhere near that point now. On a personal level, I can say that each year brings with it yet another layer of insight, but I'm sure there's a lot more going on about which I haven't a clue. On the one hand -- who cares. There are deeper mysteries of the universe that are a lot more interesting and deciphering those may provide benefits to billions (to say nothing of allowing life as we know it to continue). On the other hand, we, the specks of sand that we are in this vast dessert that is humankind, have a meager few years to make something of our lives and emotions play a vital role in shaping our behavior.

When I was a very young adult still living in Poland, I thought that the American obsession with seeing shrinks and analyzing the psyche were all an indulgence that only people in a rich country would want to do a deep dive into. People in Poland stood in lines for toilet paper. People in America worried about emotional attachments. Sure, there were people who were seriously abusive and mentally unstable. The rest of us should spend time being constructive members of our communities and our families.

These days I'm much less inclined to brush under the carpet all the traumas, disappointments, infatuations that we coasted through in our childhoods and really throughout all our lives. Sometimes understanding brings with it a relief and a path forward. Perhaps thinking too much about our emotions is a waste, given our sparse understanding of it all, but then, how do we evolve if we do not think about that which we do not understand?

I read an article this morning in the NYTimes (this one) about the emerging theories behind limerence.  I'd never heard of the word before. I also read the comments (readers pick) that followed. Apparently, this was one of the most gifted articles from the paper that day (or this month?). People accused the author of engaging in pop psychology, noting that too many would gather around the watercooler admitting to their own experiences with limerence, not really understanding what lead them to that state (of obsession about another human being), too hastily perhaps releasing themselves from responsibility for behaviors that had at its roots a deeper foundation of anxiety, or abandonment, or distress. My reaction was -- well so what? At least they're probing for explanations. Maybe a few decades from now we'll all be grateful for all that pop psychology that propelled us to try to put labels to our wide range of emotions.

As far as my own life is concerned -- well, I certainly have been in love, I've had innumerable crushes on people, and then there were episodes of something I did not fully understand (and I still do not fully understand). And now here I am, finding a new way to look at them: limerance. (Read the article if you want an explanation of the idea. I'd do a poor job of summarizing it here in just a sentence.) Who knew...

All this tumbled around in my head during a beautiful morning breakfast on the porch. Humidity is gone, temps are reasonable,  flowers are gorgeous, puppy is sweet.

After that, I coaxed Millie into her crate and went out to dig some holes for roses that are about to arrive. Not for long though. For one thing, two of the places I'd picked were so solid and dry that I could not make a dent. I needed Ed and the pick-axe for those guys. (He came, he wacked. Thank you Ed!) For another -- my pup started crying pretty quickly. I think she'd be better off left out of the crate, looking out the window perhaps. But she has her impishness still coming through and one destroyed couch cushion is enough for me to think twice about leaving her unconfined.

As luck would have it, the holes that really need work are in her yard. I let her out and set to work there.

(she flies through the air, with the greatest of ease...)

 

 

So how many roses do I still have to plant? Well, 12, in addition to another lilac and a mock orange, out of which two were added late last night. It's the end of the season for growers and they all want to get rid of this year's stock. The sales are fantastic. And the selections are still substantial. Climbing or shrubs, all hardy to my zone, all disease resistant and repeat bloomers throughout the season. It's hard to delete the ads without glancing through them. What? Free shipping and 50% off? Only a few left? Okay, just one more. Then comes the task of figuring out placement. And of course, digging out the needed hole. I must have carried out a hundred buckets of clay and rock today! But talk about that sweeping feeling of contentment! It comes when you dumped your last bucket, washed up, grabbed a sparkling water and sat down. I'm flooded with relief, satisfaction, and yes, contentment. I got this part of it done. I earned my moments on the couch.

 

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop from her Young Shakespeare Players program. A dress rehearsal that went on for too long meant that there really wasn't time for her to come over for Millie play or reading. I did get to see her in her Twelfth Night costume ...

And then I drop her off where she is to be picked up by her dad, who was taking Sandpiper to his t-ball practice. Complicated arrangements! What did people do before cell phones and watches that jiggled when a message came through? 

 

Evening: five plants arrived on my doorstep. It took a long time to unpack them and here's something that I have learned in working with roses this year: those canes will draw blood if you do not wear long rose gloves while handling them! I'll plant tomorrow. And I wont be tempted to add more. I wont! At some point, my planting season really should end. Sit in the garden, enjoy what's there. Isn't that the point after all?

with so much love... 

  

two soft-spoken men

I wait for Evgenii. My phone says he arrived at 8:03. It is now 9:15 and he is not here. Did he creep up from the back? Millie would have barked. And Millie is definitely at peace, on the front porch waiting with me.

I'm about to give up. It's going to be a scorcher -- 97F/36C. If that is the temperature of our bodies (on the low side to be sure), why do we feel so hot outside? 

I'm about to give up on Evgenii, when I see a car pull up and a young man -- can't be more than 25 -- gets out, nimbly, quickly. You must be Evgenii... you're late. He gives the slightest nod, but says nothing. He's standing there with a shoulder bag and a tablet. Finally he says -- I follow you. In those few words, I here the Russian accent. I want to ask him -- why are you so young? Why did you leave Russia? But I can tell my questions would not be welcome. Evgenii is a man of few words. And when he speaks, you can hardly hear him.

Millie, on the other hand, is barking inside, furious that I did not set her loose on this newcomer. She does not recognize enemy nation states. She would have made friends! I ask him -- can I go in now? Again, a quick nod.

I snuggle with Millie. It's okay puppy, it's okay. 

I'm wondering if Evgenii ever killed anyone. War is war. You do as you're told, no? Hold on, do I detect the return of my childhood distrust of neighbors to the east and west of Poland? As for Evgenii, he's clearly a skilled computer guy. Would he be at the Ukrainian front were he still in Russia? I think so. But he is here, and he is using his skills to service the internet cable that we'd dug out yesterday. And he does service it, and he comes back to my front door, says -- "done," and then he leaves. No eye contact, no nod to the mesmerized by him Millie. 

Evgenii would make a good spy. Or assassin. Or, have I been reading to many crime novels? 

 

Millie's latest game? Undoing the velcro to the snuggle pup and taking out the little beating heart that's inside. She used to sleep with that pup. Now? Just a dismemberment challenge.

 

 

 

It's time for my pup to return to doggie daycare. Oh, is she happy to be let loose again! Julie writes me that she is super excited to see everyone, and especially her! I do a little tattling: before you say what a good girl she is, know that she opened up the zipper on my reading chair cushion and chewed up the insides. I have a feeling Julie just laughed. Millie makes people laugh. 

 

Dump compostables at the farmette, pick up a few lilies for my pitcher at home.

 

 

 

I come back and water the plants in the back. I'm not even sure all of them need to be watered. What they need is for it not to be 97F/36C outside.

 

In the afternoon I have an appointment with the endodontist. His first name is Andrew -- nothing Russian about the name nor the person. I remember him well from my previous visit: it was in the thick of Covid. I was sure he or his assistant would pass on the virus to me. Nonetheless, I had to check on a tooth. In the end he said it could wait. I was relieved, but at the same time, I found the visit to be so, I dont know -- meaningful maybe? Probably because we never went out, never saw anyone and especially not strangers, close up. Andrew (I do not call him that to his face) had worked for a children's fund that provided dental services in places that have a dire need for such care. He'd worked in Mozambique, India, Haiti. I could have listened and asked questions for a long time, but of course, that wasn't the purpose of my visit to the clinic. But now here I am again, having survived Covid, having moved three times, taken care of three dogs, having planted now coming close to 250 plants. 

There are people who have traveled far, maybe even worked in very impoverished countries and who would not hesitate to share their insights, to answer your questions. Andrew is not like that. He's a quiet guy who now takes care of his kids and a bunch of rescue dogs and really, though I was in that chair for 90 minutes, that is all I know about him. A quiet, thoughtful guy, who laughed when I said "we meet again, no more epidemic, but same president."

I have to say, dentistry has gone far away from the postwar Poland business model of "no pain, no gain."  Sitting comfortably, with N2O streaming up my nostrils, I thought -- this is a heck of a lot more comfortable than carrying buckets of stones, ripping up sod, or even watering plants in 97F/36C weather.

 

Millie comes home, for once tired and I'm sure well exercised. I missed you, little one! She responds with a lick and a smile. What, you don't think dogs can smile? You're so wrong on that.

with so much love... 

 

luxury

Would you like to play a game? Okay. List five things that you would enjoy tremendously, that you consider to be utterly luxurious, that you perhaps have done occasionally but maybe never at all. Got it? Now look at your list. Are you sure of it? Did it change over time?

Merriam-Webster  defines luxury this way: 1. a condition of abundance or great ease and comfort; 2. something adding to pleasure or comfort but not absolutely necessary; 3. an indulgence in something that provides pleasure, satisfaction or ease.

But isn't luxury like happiness? You often don't recognize it when it's there. You imagine it to be something that is fleeting and perhaps unattainable. It's that stage that you aspire to, that you work for, but with that fear that it's all in vain, because luxury belongs to those born to wealth and to power over your life. 

And isn't it true that luxury can be something that you once had but lost? Freedom to a jailed person. A home to one who is homeless. Democracy for those kept under the thumb of a despot. Time to a stressed working parent.

When I feel I'm in a state of total bliss, I believe that I've suddenly touched on luxury. There are the times of unusual creature comforts: an upgrade to a lie-down seat during an overnight flight. A massage with perhaps scents of rose and lavender. A room with a lovely view. Someone to clean the house once a month (more often, but that would be a state of guilt inducing ultra-luxury). But truly, near the top of my list would be sitting comfortably in a place with abundant flowers all around me, in good weather (broadly defined), with a milky coffee (a latte really), and a good book. Add a dog who is sweet and loving to the scene, with gentle music in the background, and I am in a state of bliss. 

So... sort of like this:

(she likes to join me at the table)

 

 

I love my young families, I love Ed. I love Millie! I'm thrilled that we're all reasonably healthy, that we have roofs over our heads and that the kids are being well schooled (in academics and in kindness). I'm happy when they're happy. On the other hand, if you ask me -- why work so damn hard at planting and tending all those flowers, at preparing what I regard to be a breakfast of the gods (granola, a rich yogurt, a bowl of freshly cut up fruits, honey, and of course -- milky coffee), why get up each morning with a bounce and a grin, well, it's because there are days that start like this. And when I sit down on that front porch and look out over the roses, lilies and dozens of other plants (to say nothing of the pots and a pitcher of famette flowers)...

 

 

... I really feel I've reached the summit. This is it: luxury.  Not a yacht (ugh, I hate boats anyway), not a villa with ten bedrooms and an equal number of bathrooms, not a Rolls Royce with a chauffeur (can't trust random drivers), not a stay at the George Cinq (I love Le Baume!). Not a loaded investment portfolio (earned on the backs of the poor), not jewels -- never jewels or designer anything. Not a swimming pool in the backyard (though a sauna would be fun I think), not fine art hanging on the walls (does that make anyone really happy? Happier than less expensive art?).  Just me in my shorts and t-shirt (that has a patina born of years of gardening) and flip-flops, with a small Ukrainian painting leaning on the mantle, sitting here on Steffi's cottage porch, looking over my (almost fully) planted garden, with time to read a book (Kate Atkinson's at the moment) and sip my warm coffee.

Total luxury. 

It is also a form of luxury to be able to call your sweetie and ask for digging help when it is 91F/33C outside and humid. Bliss it is not. I carry buckets of stone and clay out, Ed wields the pick-axe. But without his help, I would have tortured my way through this. And I would not have him look down and say -- I see the wire that runs here. You better call Spectrum. It's a coaxial cable.

But this wasn't marked! Or was it? I check my photos. It's off a few inches, but in the vicinity. Well, we didn't break it, but still, you cant just throw dirt over it -- it needs an inspection. Here's a lucky break -- it's the last hole I expect to dig in Millie's yard this year (where lines seem to crisscross under the soil).  Next spring, if inspiration strikes me to plant something else, I'll have the diggers hotline people come out again and I've learned to give the markings a wide berth.

(my roses in the back)

In the evening the young family is here for dinner. 

It used to be that I could cook up a storm, nurse a glass of wine, talk to my daughter, listen to the kids' stories, take photos left and right -- without batting an eye. These days I dont even think about the camera until we sit down to dinner.

 

 

I'm laser-focused  on getting the food on the table all at the same time. A simple meal, but there are 4 pots on the stovetop and one pan of food inside the oven. Oh, and Snowdrop's vegetarian dish in the microwave. So, no photos, despite the fact that everyone is awfully cute and yes, there's a large black dog under the table and Millie is climbing over him to see if anyone dropped some food. Photographic gems. But not for me. That Stoneman's corn cannot be overdone and some noodles need to have no tomato sauce over them and the chicken should be juicy but certainly not pink. 

When the young family leaves, Ed lingers. We were to watch our show, but I walked Millie past a very dry set of flowers outside, so I took out the hose for one last watering for the day. 

I deem Millie to be fit and safe for doggie daycare tomorrow. The funny thing is -- I'll miss having her always by my side, looking into my eyes to see where my thoughts are heading,. It's been a very beautiful set of Millie days.

with so much love... 

 

sheep blanket

If you live in Wisconsin, chances are you have a throw blanket for your couch. Nothing feels better in the dead of winter than a wrap thrown over your legs for that added warmth. It took me a while to find a good one. I find wool to be itchy. Fake fabrics in my opinion aren't warm enough. Cotton blankets are thin. Ed uses an old discarded comforter and when I lived in the farmhouse, I shared that with him. And eventually I found one that I like for solo snuggles: a heavy cotton one with sheep on it. The sheep are a visual bonus: they tell me "this is a warm blanket, even if you do reject our wool."

It's been a hot and dry summer, so of course, the blanket remained tucked away for future use. But this morning, I needed it. The temps dipped down to around 60f/15c and though that's quite nice for a summer night, we also got a significant cloud cover (but no rain), so that breakfast outside was... cold. I mean, not if I were to be clothed in sweatpants and warm socks. But no -- I was  dressed for how it's going to be in several hours (hot!). In shorts. 

I ate...

And snuggled and rocked my pup...

And then quickly retreated inside, digging out my sheep blanket to hurry up the warming process.

And Millie said -- what's that?? Can I play with it? Can I carry it around the house like all the other doggie blankets that I leave scattered hither and yon?

We didn't stay long arguing about whose blanket it is and what purpose it serves. Millie was morning-sleepy and I took this opportunity to put her in the crate so that I could do a quick errand run. First, to pick up Ed, then to dump cardboard, next to pick up a replacement flower (for one that was so puny it may as well be dead), and then the most important of all (which is why Ed came along) -- to visit Stoneman farms and pick up their first corn of the season.

Stoneman corn has a bit of a cult following. Yes, it is very good. Reliably so. Sweet, tender, delicious. But there's more to it: it's a family operation and (as I've written in previous years) the family is just adorable. Three generations, working together to give us a month and a half of delicious corn. 

They only sell directly from their farm and sometimes at out local market. They communicate and post adorable pictures via Facebook and it reminds you how nice Facebook can be if it doesn't go down that vile path of ads, and thoughtless garbage, and screaming slogans, and fake postings. I love their updates (and I love updates from other places and people too) and when I heard they were opening their stand this weekend, well, I was there. With Ed.

At the farmette again, he and I take a walk to assess my unseeded this year, overgrown meadows. The one in the peach orchard can be mowed down. The grasses took over. But the older one, the one in the new orchard, is reliably there still. It looks lovely next to the apple and pear trees.

 

 

 

Ed and I had scheduled a lunch at Tati's as well, and I took Millie out for that one. 

 

 

 

And then I juggled. My pup, my garden, my pup, my garden. I'm right here Millie. Just a second old girl, I'll be there shortly, yes, I'm right where you can see me, Millie, quiet! An ongoing conversation.

I got a lot done despite the Millie patrol. It would have even been a pleasant way to spend the day if I hadn't gotten some dirt in my eye and nothing, nothing helped get it out. Funny how a tiny speck of sand can drive you nuts for hours!

Millie and I make a good team. In her way, she helps move things along. And of course, the snuggles are wonderful. She still has that delicate puppy smell. I bury my face in her fur, she gives a tiny lick and we are content.

with so much love... 

days of dogs and roses...

An unbroken string of gorgeous days (though no rain means I spend a lot of time holding a hose), of garden plants, of Millie.

Ed asks -- when is she going to be like, you know, a normal dog that you leave at home and go about your day? I reply -- a little more each day. You can't rush a dog who just last week howled every time I stepped outside.

At the same time, I think I was overconfident about her transition to "normal dog that you leave at home..." Millie was charming this morning. We had a lovely hour (or more?) on the porch over breakfast.

She enjoyed a long snuggle on my lap...

Outside in her yard, I dug out a failed idea and transplanted it elsewhere. To a shadier spot. She was patient. Maybe a bit too lively! But overall a good girl!

I tried her in a tank top onsie for the hotter days. 

 

 

Cute, but not comfortable. Too easy to pull off. We resumed the regular onesies. 

She napped, I worked on some more plantings. All smooth. I took it a step further. I watered. The entire front garden. And I switched out some of the potted plants -- from rear to front and front to rear. Millie is not howling inside. She's reached a new level of maturity! I come back inside, satisfied. Until I find her on the reading chair. She has managed to open the zipper to the main arm rest cushion (never to be fully closed again) and is chomping away at the insides. Classic stuff you'd find in a video clip of a naughty dog. Millie!!! 

Dogs! I still haven't fixed the car seatbelt that Henry chewed up. Sadey was less of a chewer, nor was she an imp, she just shed like crazy. Millie? Prankster supreme. Next time she stays in the crate.

And from Ed again -- when will you be done planting? Actually by the end of the month. I'm waiting on a handful of roses. Everything else is in place for this season. But of course, there's ongoing maintenance. Of the pleasant kind. Today I cut off all spent blooms in the front yard. Deeply rewarding to be snipping again!  But mostly, my July days are a blur of Millie antics and of rose cultivation. I should have renamed my pup when I first got her. She should have been Rosie to match my big dive into that pool of flowers.

 

And tomorrow? Still on Millie patrol. Still planting, watering, weeding. Waiting for the last three roses to arrive.

with so much love... 

 

 

and then...

My puppy woke on the other side of the bed today. Well, in truth she woke from under the bed, but figuratively speaking, she definitely tried out a new path forward for this day. (If you wonder why she slept under the bed -- she is an interesting snoozer. Sometimes she sleeps in bed with me. Sometimes she sleeps on her lovely doggie bed. Sometimes she sleeps in her crate, door open. And sometimes she chooses to be under the bed. Talk about trying out different strategies for tackling the night!)

She waited patiently while I showered. 

She was very efficient during her morning walk.

Her breakfast was a little late. She did not complain.

Completely angelic during my breakfast.

After, we went to her yard. I needed to tackle that lilac. (We will omit that part where I struck a wire digging a big hole for it. No, I did not die. Yes, the digger's hotline had been called a couple of months back. No, I did not remember there being a wire in that spot. Yes, it is quite possible that I did not correctly remember the line placements. What, am I supposed to call the digger's hotline every time I get a new plant?) Millie did one or two runs, then settled to watch me from a shady spot. 

The lilac went in, I watered it. Millie did not bite the hose. 

Inside, she took a nice nap. I left her to it and went out to plant a few perennials at the side of the house -- a blind spot for her. She cannot see me there either from the porch or from her yard. I was out for maybe 45 minutes. Inside, she was awake, playing, not destructively. 

In the afternoon, I put her in the car, we picked up Ed and went to our local farmers market. Unlike the other ones around town, this one does not seem to object to dogs. People did the usual "she's so cute" thing. Millie did not shy away from the crowds. Just stood there and took it in.

Come evening, she barked to go outside. Of course, I did not catch that signal since she barks for about a thousand different reasons, but I should have -- she never barks face pointed to me. This time she did. So maybe?

Now, you'd think that surely my day had something significant in it. That Millie would not have been my sole focus the entire time from sunrise to bedtime. Yes, you'd think. But the fact is, I am stuck with her at home these days and though it has been a chore to limit myself so much, nonetheless, I think it's been good for us. She studies me, I study her. We are a team. A household. A family. A good one at that! We'll see what tomorrow will bring.

(porch flowers)

 

 

with so much love... 

seventh day

Okay Ms Millie, something has to give: I can take you outside to your little yard and I can work there while you gently play. But you cannot run like a dog possessed, and you cannot bark continuously every time a grass blade moves or a butterfly goes by. Or, you can stay in your crate for three hours, like you used to do, and I can get stuff done then, but that means no howling as if I was torturing you to death so that the neighbors would surely call Animal Rescue to, well, rescue you. Or, we can stay mostly inside (such gorgeous weather we're having this week!), but after I've given you your puzzle toy and you finished fishing out all the treats in it, you really have to amuse yourself in ways other than going upstairs to see what damage you could do there, behind my back. Or, you can decide that being 8 months old now, you are are going to act like a fully grown dog and not like an adolescent out to conquer the world with her newly acquired wisdom (which, may I remind you, isn't fully there yet, but you could try harder to reach for it this week when it's just you and me here at Steffi's House).

While we're on the subject of wisdom, let me remind you of the things you cannot do. You once knew all this quite well. Am I to assume you've forgotten? That the anesthesia brought about amnesia? Well now, here's my gentle reminder: no scratching madly at the couch cushions or the reading chair cushions. No nibbling on the rug edges. No going upstairs to relieve yourself. No taking off all the tags you can find -- pillows, cushions, anything. They're not digestible. And anyway, I dont want to find shreds of "100% cotton" around the house. No pulling at the threads of the brand new bath mat. The hole you made in it? Highly unattractive. When you're outside, do not look for wood chips. I know you're capable of finding them. I know that. But chewing on them is a real no-no. And dont dig little holes all over the yard. Dont eat the dirt that has fish emulsion sprinkled on it. And if I am using the hose, for darn's sake, do not bite on it because once you spring a leak, I may as well toss it out.

Should I continue?

Basically, Millie either needs to return to doggie day care or have her play at the dog park. (Which she cannot do or else dire things may happen in her abdomen.) She is a wildly energetic girl and doubling the Trazadone did nothing to calm her down. She wants to play, she needs to play. Or go for long runs. Or something.

We did have a lovely breakfast outside. It was so cool this morning that I wore a sweatshirt!

 

 

Immediately after I went out to Millie's yard to put in two roses and to remove all those pebbles I had put down around the plants. I had intended to also plant some perennials in the nearby fields, but Millie was so vocal this morning that I gave up on that idea. I dont yet have a neighbor on the other side of the fence to disturb, but I got very tired of saying "Millie, quiet. Good girl, quiet girl. No, don't bark at my sweatshirt, quiet! Good girl, quiet girl. No, dont sound off at the child on the bicycle five blocks away..." etc. 

Because I knew she needed a nap, we went inside and I crated her. I needed to go to the dumpster again and to pick up dirt at the farmette. Which, by the way, is in full bloom.

 

 

 

(I cleaned up a few of the spent lilies... couldn't help myself...)

 

 

(I pull out a few lily stems for Steffi's kitchen.)

 

 

I also picked up a lilac bush at K&A. This makes little sense as my focus has been on roses and finding a grand place for this "New Age" lilac (it's not going to be huge) is going to take some landscaping ingenuity. And a new hole will have to be dug out for it. Having labored over digging one out just this morning, I do not look forward to a repetition of whacking away at clay and stone. Still, the lilac went into my car, only adding to my stress about time that I do not have for planting. It will be beautiful next string and it is powdery mildew resistant (hence the "new agedness"), but still, when will I have a day for planting?

I have to wonder what working folks do. Millie has me housebound. Inconvenient but doable. Most people dont have that luxury. 

In the afternoon, I open the front door to the porch and try to do some work just outside, where she can see me. 

And then I pick up this child, who is pretty much my height, so calling her a child seems so... wrong. And yet...

                  

("what are you reading?")

 

And then I return to my adolescent Millie, who certainly is behaving like a child these days. She's allowed. She's cycling through the canine growth stages. I'll probably survive!

with so much love...