Warsaw, Day 2 for me

Sometimes, I am so tired that I cannot sleep. Yesterday may go down in my personal history as holding the prize for the most tired I have ever been. After days of hard labor, digging away at rocks and baked clay, after mornings of wake-ups before dawn, after hurrying to pack and leave on time, followed by the usual sleepless night on the long flight -- I was in a fog of sleep deprivation. And still, I needed to do a final edit of my post last night  (missing of course half the mistakes I should have caught). It was after midnight before I hit that comfortable bed, expecting to be jittery and unsettled from sheer exhaustion. Instead, I was out to the world and for the first time in weeks, logged in a solid seven hours of la la land sleep.

In the morning, the fog in my head lifts and I look outside.

No rain in Warsaw yet. I have two goals for this day: to see Bee again and to spend time with my sister.

But first, breakfast. It's not a buffet here -- you have to order off of a menu. I just go with my standard granola yogurt and fruit. Well, with an added pastry.

Of all my June days this year, funnily enough, this day, my first full day in Poland, is perhaps the most leisurely. Unrushed. My important people today (Bee, my sister) are flexible. No need to hurry. 

(heading out...)

 

First comes a walk with Bee. I had asked about the new green spaces by the Palace of Culture,so we walk in that direction, passing through the gorgeous Saxon Park. 

... filled with preschoolers, visitors, Varsovians.

 

 

The scent of linden trees in bloom right now in Warsaw is intense! These are the weeks anyone should visit Poland. For the fragrance!

 

 

Then to the Palace of Culture, the most hated gift,  grudgingly accepted, from the Soviet state. Meaning Stalin.

 

 

 

... passing, too, the monument to Janusz Korczak. There are many many monuments in Warsaw to heros who make your heart swell with grief. This one is in that group. Korczak was a Jewish doctor who took care of orphaned children. His legacy? When the Nazis forced his Warsaw Ghetto orphanage into deportation, Korczak refused multiple offers to save himself. Instead, he chose to walk alongside his 200 children and orphanage staff, comforting them to the end. They were all tragically murdered at Treblinka.

The grief and anger seem to have abated. But they're not gone, I still feel both when I am reminded, through books, art, statues like this one. 

 

The green spaces are nicest to the front of the Palace, and Bee and I lingered there on a bench. The weather is cool, but really beautiful. No rain today!

 

 

 

(Socialist realism looks like this: )

 

 

From there, we walked to the small street -- Chmielna. It was under renovation, turning into a pedestrian street the last time I was here. It's very pretty now, but what I especially wanted to see is the new unveiled mural depicting a "futuristic" Warsaw, imagined by artists in the early years of the twentieth century.  

 

  

 

And it's about now that I realized we were getting awfully close to my meetup time with my sister.  I hop on the metro (free for people over 70!). Even five or six years ago, people read books during a metro ride. Today? This:

 

 

 

I am so happy to see both my sister and my nephew waiting for me at the appointed time and place. My sister has long been taking care of my Polish self. My ID was expiring. She reminded me of that and helped me do the paperwork to extend it. Today we also extended my passport. Theoretically I could do it myself, in Chicago. It would take several trips though and long waits at odd hours. Here, it was quick and easy. 

We walked then to a bakery. I wanted a Jagodzianka -- a blueberry yeast roll -- they are in season now and quite good. With milky coffee! (I also love Polish yeasty rolls and pastries...)

 

 

 

There we sat for a good 2 or 3 hours. 

 

 

 

I finally leave, because I'd arranged for Bee to come up to my hotel in the early evening. I love to cut through the parks here and the Saxony one is just a block from my hotel...

 

 

 

 

Bee and I linger in my room, catching up in the way that one does when time with your close friend is so rare and precious. I asked to eat supper with me in her favorite coffee shop in the Old Town neighborhood. We walk through the familiar blocks and squares and settle at an outdoor table. Delicious veggie tortillas with tea...

It's getting late now and clouds are appearing over a brilliant evening sky...

She walks me to the bus stop, I hop on the 116 -- a bus I had taken more times in my life than any other, and I get off one stop too far, but deliberately. So that I can take the longer route, past the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier...

through the Saxony Park again...

And to my hotel, so perfectly located for evening, morning, afternoon strolls...

Tomorrow everyone arrives. Oh how I hope they all travel well and get here at the times that they're supposed to get here!

with so much love... 

Warsaw, Day 1 for me

I can only wish the same good luck to all in my pack of fellow travelers. Because it surely has been an easy trip so far.

(I write "so far," because I'm not there yet. I'm at the moment passing through Paris airport.)

 

Oh, I was tense alright, but not for my own travels. One of my daughters was also leaving Wednesday, ahead of the rest of the family (she's meeting her friend in Krakow for two days). Her flight left from Chicago. It's a fairly easy three hour bus ride from Madison to Chicago's airport. On the average. Wednesday, on the other hand, was not average. Attending to a million details prior to her departure (packing up the kids' suitcases -- they are to leave with their dad in a couple of days, attending to the animal sitter, attending to one child's birthday, you know how it is. Busy mother, lots to do), she missed her bus. Not great, but still okay, with enough time to make her flight. 

Then the storms hit Madison.

The next bus was one hour late leaving. This meant that if there would be traffic, she was doomed to miss her flight. If the storms kept at it and the bus would be even more late, she would miss her flight. If there were lines at security in Chicago, she would miss her flight. I spent my five hours in Detroit tracking her movement, not really having a Plan B in case she did miss her flight.

She did not miss her flight! 

So, out of the 11 travelers, 3 are already in Europe. May the rest succeed without storms or stress!

*     *     * 

Very many early summer days in Poland are really beautiful. When it's good, it's very very good. When the weather brings the cold and the rain, then it can get pretty dismal. The grays stand out. I've always thought that some cities can handle rain well. Paris, for example, can be quite lovely when made wet from a passing shower (though less lovely when overtaken by a deluge -- I've had days there when the metros flooded from a torrential never-ending rain).

I always thought that Warsaw doesn't handle rain that well. People get cranky. All those jostling umbrellas, crowded buses. Buildings look like they wished the rain had been more successful in stripping them of urban patina. 

But on the other hand, I grew up in this city, and it wasn't always sunny and warm. Rain is part of the picture. So maybe I should be glad that it'll be a very wet week? 

*     *     * 

This trip has given me a boost in my thinking about senior travels. I can be forgetful in my daily life, but I kept everything straight this month, both with the complicated garden launch and the super complicated trip planning, and I forgot nothing (except to take down the three cacti in the bedroom, but heck, Ed is capable of watering them in the upstairs. And if he misses them, it can't matter. They're cacti, for Pete's sake, they can survive a dry spell).

But in the Paris transfer, I forgot something.  

I'd like to say this has never happened to me before, but the fact is, just a year ago I had a similar incident and that time it was my fault. 

Both incidents happened at the security check point. A year ago, I was with Snowdrop and I forgot to pick up my laptop after it had gone through the screening. This time, I followed the protocols, but the agent didn't like my purse, camera, and watch sharing a bin. She separated them and put the trays in various places along the line. Then, as always, my platinum knee triggered an alert and the exam I got was ridiculously long. With shoes. Without shoes. Send shoes through separately. Scan feet. Pat down anyway. In other words, the works. I'm used to the variety of reactions to the fake knee problem, but this one took forever and my trays had long gone through. And someone, not me, but someone else, possibly a security person, saw an "empty" tray and placed it in the stack, not noticing my watch at the far corner.

When I picked up my stuff -- and this part is my fault -- I did not notice that the watch was missing.

Perhaps you've heard of the chaos at European airports due to the new system of American passport checks: no more stamps, it's all electronic. Long lines. Long waits. Missed flights. Well, at the Paris airport, all was calm. The transfer to terminal 2F was seamless and without a wait. I sailed through! And then I looked down to check the time, wanting to see how much was left for a coffee and a croissant. And all I saw was a white outline on my skin of a watch.

I had to go back through passport control. And the security staff couldn't find my watch. So many trays had passed through that the only hope was to take stacks of them from other lines and pass them through the x-ray machine, stacked and empty. My watch turned up at the very last batch. Picked up too quickly by that someone, with me not noticing the mistake.

*     *     * 

Air France requires a period of ten consecutive years of extreme loyalty before they grant you a lifetime of "status." Much has been written recently about travelers and status and lounge access and such -- I find the generalizations made in such writings to be ridiculously narrow. People want loyalty benefits for any number of reasons. For me, they click in when things go wrong. When lines are long. When your suitcase needs to be sent through. When you need a quiet corner and you're at an airport like Atlanta where there are no quiet corners. I think my faithful clinging to my airline of choice (Air France, with partners KLM and Delta) for ten years straight should come with some benefits. But I really am not happy that such benefits as airport lounges (in the US especially) are magnets for people who want to drink themselves silly and who are willing to throw money at an airline for the privilege of doing just that. Airlines reward you with privileges merely for using their credit card. It's no longer a room full of weary travelers who have been on one plane too many, but a room full of people for whom money is like a toy.

I finally concluded my ten year slog to lifetime status this year. And today, I definitely benefited from being part of their "family." I will have spent more hours at airports than in flight, and that's saying a lot, considering I had three flights and one of them was over the Atlantic. 

The sticking point happened in Paris. We boarded the airplane for Warsaw, sat in it, sat in it, sat in it, until the captain admitted that it was beyond hope. Something was broken and could not be fixed. And by the way, the crew is tired so they're going home.

None of this is the fault of the airline. There was no one you could be mad at. Not even when they located a spare aircraft and lead us to another gate, which opened up to a bus, which we eventually were allowed to board. And we waited and waited and waited and then were told to get off the bus, because the spare aircraft was ready but the spare crew hadn't arrived.

This is where I scooted to a quiet space at the airport, where I ate a decent snack, much appreciated, given the size of the earlier one shown above.

 

In the end, I had spent two hours in Madison's airport, five in Detroit's, and seven in the Paris one. I wondered if, had I known how long it would be, would have I taken the train into Paris? For a park walk maybe. And the answer was obvious to me and very much tied to my age. Twenty years ago I had a layover in Paris of equal length and I did go in. But at 73, after a string of sleep deprived days and nights, I'd pass. Give me that quiet corner any time. To read, have a coffee, to think.

*     *     * 

 If I had to pick my most traveled flight route in the US, I surely would go with the one between Madison and Detroit. In Europe? It would be, hands down, the one between Paris and Warsaw.

And despite the dozens of times I have done it, I still get that uneasy feeling each time we approach Warsaw. As if a long closed door is opening within me and I'm about to see a ghost of Christmas Past. I'm not tied to the place anymore. I am very much a part of another world and have been for a long long time. And yet...

It could be that I have my sister still in Poland. And my friend Bee, with whom I chat one way or another as often as I would were she living in Madison. And my group of friends that were part of my formative world as a young person in search of something, not really having a clear idea what.

But really, it is the ghosts here that mess with my emotions. Warsaw doesn't look the same as it did back then, under so called communism. Except that to me, it looks and feels exactly the same. Oh, there are the flashy stores now and the tall office buildings. People dress well and surf their smart phones on the bus or tram. But look closer and you'll see it -- the remains of the old Warsaw. The old women without much of the new wealth, with tired faces and tired looking shoes. The girls with long braids, the young men using a vulgar slang every other word so that it's a string of whore, whore, whore, coming out in every sentence. The stores that sell nothing that an American would consider serviceable. The Mazurek cake on every Easter table, the herring on every Christmas Eve table. The church, always the church. The entrances to apartment buildings: front and center in New York, through thick doors and with a concierge in Paris, and off to the side, maybe through a courtyard and in the back of the building in Warsaw.

It's all still there. And it hits me hard as I sink right into its clutches, wondering if I am still basically Polish after all.

*     *     *

Once I'm finally out of the airport, I take a cab to the hotel. My driver, an older gentlemanly guy, had never heard of it and he asks me if it's the one near the something or other. I dont know! I'm just a traveler arriving at the international Airport in Warsaw. This is your city! I take out my phone, look at the map app, hand it to him. Here, it's this one. He half turns while still driving. He puts on his glasses. Not good enough. He takes out a magnifying glass -- all with one hand on the wheel and half an eye on the road. It is the first driver that I have had in the last decade who dos not use technology to show the way.

 *     *     *

I was to come into town in the afternoon, check in to my hotel of choice (Warsaw Puro Stare Miasto, in a room with a view...) 

 

... and see Bee for a leisurely chat. Instead, the flight gets in at 7:15 and it isn't until 8:30 that I approach the Puro front desk. And still, I want to see my friend tonight. 

(cornflowers in my room, from Bee and her husband)

 

Tired that I am, it is nonetheless total joy to be able to sit down with her once again. I order a cheesecake. Not much of a dinner, but then, Air France fed us during the flight. (And they gave us an 11 Euro voucher for more food because of the delay, though where and when that was supposed to happen is beyond me,)

A beautiful evening in the end. And of course, this is just the beginning.

With so much love... 

this day

It's tough for me to believe that I am actually at the airport gate, waiting for my flight to Detroit. As if this was somehow normal. I sent my suitcase through -- packed, nice and full, too heavy for my liking, but I come prepared for this trip. It's not an ordinary trip. Not my usual stop in Paris where I can exhale in the Jardins Luxembourg. This particular adventure has been in the works for years. To have finally picked a day that works, to have gotten everyone on board -- that alone was a challenge. Only the first of many challenges. 

And then of course I threw in my gardening project, and I scheduled a move -- none of these interfered with the trip, but it made me feel very grateful that I did all the travel work early. And still, it wasn't clear to me how I could get it all done. But I did get it done and now here I am, at the airport. 

*     *     * 

I woke early once again today. Without Millie here, you'd think I would seize the chance to get up later. But of course, a restlessness has settled over me and once I am awake in the morning, sleep seems like someone else's indulgence. Not mine. 

And I'm glad I got up at dawn. I had so much to accomplish before my planned departure at 11:15 -- the time I was to pick up Ed for the drive to the airport (he'll take the car back, so that I don't have to pay for parking). 

After tending to the plants on the porch, putting out the inside ones too, for easy watering while I'm away, after confirming and reconfirming various reservations for this week and next, after cleaning everything (because I just received notice that my landlord at Sally's House is coming around for an inspection this week and I want him/her to find the place completely in order), I sit down to a breakfast. Inside. because I have all those lists to go over and besides, it's a steam bath out there!

 

I miss Millie.

I forgot to eat the two ripe strawberries that just ripened. It wasn't on my list.

 

 

And now I have just 2.5 hours to shower and to pack.

*     *     * 

Packing well for any trip  is a challenge. I've gotten to be good at it. Very organized. But this is a two week trip, to three destinations and the weather in each looks to be inbetween: meaning not warm, not cold. This is tough to navigate. T-shirts with sweaters? That's bulky. I've not packed until the last minute, but I've thought about it a lot. 

But this is not the toughest challenge. What takes even more time is the packing of all the non-clothes items. The backpack, with the just in case meds, cords, connectors, plugs, tablets, camera, decaf teabags, honey suckies for the plane, laptop, needed papers -- my daughter laughs at this: it's okay mom, older people need to see things on paper! So I ditch printing out anything. Just to show her!

Backpack is ready. I hit the purse next: none of the clutter of daily life. I really try to keep it light here. A wallet. Some bandaids because kids always need a bandaid. A pen and pad. Glasses. Tic-tocs. House keys. That's it.

And finally the suitcase. I have 90 minutes to pack up and leave.

*     *     * 

But where to? What's this trip about anyway? Why the importance I've given to it?

We are a family of travelers. Except for my older daughter who would much rather stay home than go on a longer trip, we all are enthusiastic explorers of other cultures. My friends in Poland have asked me again and again why my kids, my grandkids never come to Poland. I can't really explore this here -- it's complicated! (Not confidential, just complicated.) My older girl traveled to Poland once, my younger daughter twice with me. Ed -- twice. And curious that they were, I do think that was satisfactory to everyone. They saw it. Now they wanted to see the rest of the world (except for Ed and one of my girls, who just want to stay home). But we all knew that the grandkids should have a turn as well, to see the country which is a significant part of their heritage. They are all at least 25% Polish -- some of them more, because one son-in-law has some Polish in him and my ex (their granddad) may or may not have some small amount of Polish too. It is by far the most dominant ancestral home for all five kids (after Polish comes a deluge of other countries, in small amounts). 

It became a race of timing: the kids need to be old enough to remember at least something of their visit to Poland, and I have to be young enough to do this with them. We chose this year for it.

It's not a long trip -- a week in Warsaw for me, just 5-6 days for the rest. They have limited vacations and one young family wants to add on one other country to this adventure, and the other young family is going for two more countries. 

But this is it then: we're all going to be in Warsaw together, and I am charged with showing them their ancestral home, with the understanding that some would benefit from historical detail, all would benefit from sampling Polish cooking, I would like my friends to meet them and vice versa, and of course my sister and nephews are there to fill in some more Polish faces of our family tree. 

After a week in Warsaw, I'll go with one family to their second destination, and then with the other family to their third destination (skipping their second one, which will be Estonia, which fulfills for three grandkids something like an eighth of their ancestral space). 

A complicated trip. An important trip.

They say it will be raining all the days we are in Warsaw, so a wet trip too!

*     *     * 

It was, in the end, a dramatic departure. The predicted storms rolled into Madison at the predicted time: a few minutes after 1:30. Downed trees, power outages. Our full flight, scheduled to depart for Detroit at 1:31, had everyone on board in record time. The pilot got permission to depart fast. We were in the air minutes before the damaging storms hit town. 

I'm in Detroit now. With a five hour layover, I wasn't especially concerned about missing my connection. The next one though, in Paris, will be trickier. I'm entering Europe for the first time with the new electronic system in place for foreign nationals entering the EU.  If there are long lines, I doubt that I can make it to my Warsaw bound flight. But why worry? I packed my suitcase on time. I got out before the storms. My garden is planted and I hope still is in place after the storms raced through it.

I miss Millie. I miss Ed. The rest of the family? Along with Carey, a family friend -- I will see them all on Saturday. In Warsaw.

with so much love... 

 

and now for the impossible

A heavy day, weather wise, and otherwise. But a light one too! Think of it as a big hill -- the climb was all about getting ready for the fast paced spin down the slope. So today I finished the climb. I reached a summit of sorts. Now comes the spin (It's called "glass half full" thinking.)

Chronology always serves me well for Ocean posts on days that have way too much squeezed into them. And my chronology started once again at 4 a.m.. Not my landscaper's fault this time. It's all on me. Too many thoughts about the climb, about the spin.  

Does Millie sense that something is off about the morning? I dont think so. My girl is always worried that something is going to be sprung upon her. For example, this morning, I found another hairbrush that I had purchased for dogs who hate being brushed. She doesn't exactly hate being brushed, but I decided to give her a few strokes with this one to see if she liked it more. She would have none of it. The brush was new and me, coming toward her with it? I may as well have been a monster ready to attack her with jaws of steel. She runs for her life, barking furiously at a brush that, well, sort of looks like her old brush. Really Millie?!

We eat breakfast on the steamy porch. It's as humid as a greenhouse with tropical plants growing inside. We expect storms in the next day or so.

Still, I have my Millie and the morning meal is as lovely as ever. 

 

 

 

But no reading today. I have three  lists going: what to pack, what to take today for Millie drop off, and what needs to be done just today. All three are pretty long.

I should deliver her to the doggie daycare, from where Julie, one of the trainers, will take her home, but I linger. I love our mornings together!

 

But inevitably, I wake her from her dozy doze and we head off to doggie daycare, She is apprehensive, but then she is always apprehensive on car rides. This is not a dog who likes surprises!

And as I give her a last quick hug, I think to myself -- I cannot imagine life without Millie. My companion, my playful pup, my always ready for kisses girl. How do you get a dog to understand that you are not handing them over for good? Isn't every first boarding experience a betrayal of sorts? Do the dogs feel you've abandoned them? Sigh...

After a few very boring errands, I go back to Steffi's House. Ed meets me there and we get to work. He digs a handful of  holes (yes, with his pick-axe, though at the surface, the holes ooze mud), goes back to the farmhouse for a zoom meeting, comes back for another round of holes. I do everything else, including lug rocks from the next door lot. With the heavy rains last night, the water, running down a slope, dislodged all the mulch in the bed with the crab apple in the middle. I must have hauled over five or six dozen rocks to build a protective edging. And a few dozen more to create edgings elsewhere.  

Just before 2 pm, I remember that I put off picking up Sparrow's cake at Madison Sourdough. It's his birthday today and I can just see myself driving up too late, where the bakery is already closed and the little guy will once again feel like being a middle child is the worst.

Ah! They close at 3! I can put in a few more plants. I drive over (rather hurriedly)  five minutes before closing time. 

 

 

 

Ed and I are to  bring the cake to my daughter's house for a celebration. I am so streaked and plastered over with mud that I have to shower and change. Quickly. And, too, we have to make a stop at doggie daycare because I forgot to hand over to Julie a basket of Millie's toys. And her feeding dishes. (Yes, I made a list. No I did not look at it. Forgot to.)

At the daycare, I ask anxiously -- is Millie having a good day? She is! -- I'm told. But would they really tell me if she was not having a good day? 

And now for Sparrow's celebration. Sandpiper is still in school, but we have to get on with it without him, because I want to help my daughter pack up the kids for their trip and then I still have plants to put in.

Happy happy birthday, Sparrow! May your face light up forever and ever over geographic facts and names! You wanted another dog for a present.. I got you Millie wrapping paper instead!

 

 

I'm done with my garden at 8:30. Two back segments and a small side one.

I meet up with the hired by me waterer. I explain how to water these fragile flowers, She smiles -- my mom is a master horticulturalist so I know my way around plants.  Oh, did I strike gold! Every other day -- I remind her. 

And then I go home. It's 9. I have nothing to eat in the refrigerator.  Time for a salad with an egg on top. And crackers. And chocolate.

Oh am I tired! When I sit down on the couch, I feel I've gone to heaven. That piece of furniture after a long day of laboring can make a believer out of the most jaded and cynical  among us. 

But I miss Millie. 

It's past midnight now and no I haven't packed. Well, it always gets done. I've never gone on a trip without a suitcase or bag. And they've never been empty.

with so much love....

 

 

so many disasters waiting to happen...

Once again, the landscape crew was to come to Steffi's House, to take out sod and put some top soil and mulch on the ground. I was to do the planting. Today. All of it. In the back of the house, to the side of it. Three new beds. Ed would help dig. Plants await.

At 4 a.m. my landscaper texts: I'm canceling for today.

What? I look outside. It's not raining. I see patches of blue sky. I look my phone weather app. A brief rain is forecast for 9. Half an hour later -- no rain until noon. I text back: Why? There's no rain in the morning! (They were to come at 9:30.) I have 35 plants to plant! 

For reasons that aren't at all that clear, this unleashed a torrent of messages, with admonitions, accusations, and real frustration. Initially, I respond going for calm. That doesn't work. She feels challenged. The messages continue. When I cease answering, I get a phone call.

This was my morning between 4 and 7.

I offer to withdraw from the contract, since we clearly are not a good team here, but I doubt she will take me up on it. Why should she -- it's money in her pocket for very basic work. Last I heard, she's coming tomorrow at 6:30 a.m.

But how is that supposed to work?? Millie was to be at daycare today. I had canceled kid pickup. All for the cause of planting. Tomorrow, I was to drop off Millie and her stuff, pick up the kids, celebrate a birthday. And pack. Because there's my Most Important Trip on Wednesday.

And I have a deeper concern that's giving me a great amount of unease: where does all this anger and hostility come from? It is not the first time this year where I had people lash out at me because they felt angry at rather obvious choices I made. Sadey's departure generated a bunch. So did Millie's rather sickly arrival, for that matter. Really good people, exploding in text form. Thumbs clicking away at insane messages that should never been written for all the inaccuracies they contained and the wrath that they displayed. 

The pressures of life. Capitalism run amuck. My landscaper clearly was stressed by weather delays -- she works at a demonic speed, often sacrificing thought and care to get the job done. I benefited from that, because she was able to "squeeze me in" when nobody else would touch my project at a late date. But I also lost out on something: Landscaping is supposed to be hugely satisfying to the person planning a new garden,  especially if you've splurged for a professional to do the heavy work for you (here: of sod removal).  Working in this way has been anything but satisfying. The owner is stressed, and so the project becomes stressed. And yet, I was happy to have it done. I can put up with a lot to get something moving!

What happens next? I'm not sure. Ed has no time to help tomorrow, I have no time for anything tomorrow, Millie should not be left alone on my last morning with her.

And on top of everything, we're to have tornadoes pass through on Wednesday -- the day of my departure. Wouldn't it be funny/sad/horrible/ironic if a devastating storm ripped out all that I already put in at Steffi's House? Right now I think anything is possible!

Breakfast? Well, it's too gloomy and cool to eat outside, and I need my computer to go over all that now awaits me, so I take it to the couch.

My angelic dog must be sensing the tension brewing on my laptop, because she turns off her teenage rebellious streak and showers me with kisses the minute I come close to her. Oh, I will miss that lovely pup face!

(wet from the evening rains in this picture)

 

Big Day indeed... My big excursion is to Fitchburg Recycling to get rid of all the cardboard that has been accumulating in the garage. And then I decide to plant the last of the roses. In the "enclosed garden" where I intend to plant just the bare basics, because it's Millie's play space. 

It takes me an hour and a half to get that darn thing in, the soil is THAT bad. I chip away at the rocks and clay, making minute progress, hating the job, but working with a determination that only a firm deadline would generate. I finish with it, put up a few hose guides and an extra trellis, and just then I get a text. From my landscaper. We can come over in an hour! I text back: now I am concerned about the weather! We have until five before the rains come. 

I think she is being super calm because it turned out that I was so very right. There was no rain this morning. My forecaster is better than hers.

At 2:30 her crew shows up. And I have to say, they work hard and do a fine job of it. True, they got the wrong wood chips (dark ones, rather than natural like up front), but she generously did not charge me for them. In 90 minutes they are done. 

[While they work, I bring Millie for a quick run in the fenced yard. I dont care if the renter objects. He has not done his job of mowing the lawn. If he ever comes out of hiding (no one has ever seen him in the neighborhood), he and I can have a polite exchange about obligations. But here's an interesting finding: my fluffy dog who now weighs 14.5 pounds is actually skinny. Behind all that fur is a small skeletal structure. It takes a wiggle or two, but she actually can step out of the enclosure between bars. Millie, you're impossible! I'll have to put in some kind of low to the ground fence guard. Definitely an unexpected expense!]

It is nearly 4 when they pack up and leave. Ed dutifully comes over and swings his pick-axe again and again and I manage to put in 10 plants...

(6 were planted in this bed...)

 

 ... before all hell breaks loose and the rains come down. 

Evening. I reheat soup. It has gone bad. I throw it away and take out a leftover frozen pizza slice. I'm making progress with everything, just a bit slower than I had hoped for. Tomorrow, I'll have to fit it all in: the plants, the birthday, the handing over of my beloved dog and all her supplies, the packing. It can be done! I think.

with so much love... 

 

irresistable

What foolishness got into me when I signed Ed and me up for strawberry picking at Tipi's Farms? Do I really have nothing better to do then to devote the needed couple of hours for this? Will I even be here to eat all those strawberries?

It's our thing, that's what it is. We do these fruit picks, and only after bringing home boxes full of berries do we wonder why we needed so many. We've made jams, and we still have many jars of those in storage. These days, neither one of us eats croissants for breakfast. I spread jam on nut butter on the rare occasion I make myself a lunch. So... if not for jamming or baking, then for what??

It's the pleasure of picking fresh berries in mid-June. The smell of a just-picked fruit, the taste of one warmed by the sun -- it's really a June gift for us. So I signed us up.

But first, a very early morning with Millie.

It'll be a scorcher today, and beyond toasty for the early days of the week. Which means there will be storms. Not great timing, considering I have 15 plants for today, and 35 plants to put in on Monday. We will see how that goes!

We're at the Tipi farm by 10. It's all rather nostalgic. These guys were our CSA veggie farmers for many years. But they're both in our age bracket and so they retired from CSA work. 

 

 

 But the berry picks are still going on, and former CSA people get first dibs on the sign ups. The slots were filled within hours of posting.

(in my berry t-shirt... it's a tradition!)

I ask farmer Beth how it feels to be mostly retired. She laughs: all it means is that we didn't hire any help this year. It's all on us.We were picking asparagus last week and felt completely depleted after.

Our berry pick is small. We just don't need more fruit right now.

 

We drive back, Ed sleeps. He'd already played pickle ball early in the morning. Up before sunrise, he tells me. Just like me!

He wakes up as I pull into  Sally's driveway. Shhhh! -- I warn him. Millie is in her crate, sleeping. I've been gone two hours. I could use one and a half more to do my planting. But I need Ed's help to lift a boulder I'm "borrowing" from the construction dump next door. I thought it would make a good hose guide for the garden. I hired someone from the community to water the plants while I'm away. I dont want her to run the hose over my baby plants! (The boulder turns out to be a poor choice, in that the hose gets stuck in the crevice of the stone as it hits the ground. Still, the hose may get stuck it'll keep my waterer honest!)

Ed returns to the farmette, I go on to plant. And yes, I do make progress. I put in ten little guys. But I run out of soil once again. I count what's left: five plants for the front bed, and three that should go into the fenced area. 

 

 

 

It's never ending, really it is. As I stand there wondering if I should water or wait for the rain, a pickup truck rolls by. A young guy opens the window.-- Excuse me? -- he says. I look at him questioningly. I just wanted to tell you, I love your garden! 

Well now, I was touched, really I was. Not because I am in need of compliments, but because this person cared enough to stop, lean out and tell me that he liked my flowers. How totally sweet of him. Such good people there are on this planet! 

Okay, back to my Sunday list: to mow the lawn. If in general I hate lawn care, I double hate it when it's not my own and it's poorly maintained. The drought has helped me in that the lawn has hardly budged this spring. It's only my third cutting. One more before I move out! 

I feel I owe Millie a big chunk of quality time for all her patient crate rests. I take her to the big dog park.

 

 

 

She likes it, but she is still tentative when dogs come up to her. At doggie daycare, she is all over them. Here, she takes it in, then usually chooses to trot by my side instead of playing with the others. 

(the Millie Trot!)

 

 

(with an occasional gallop thrown in for good measure)

 

 

 (...followed by a rest)

 

 

I called off Sunday dinner, because there just isn't time for it. I wont even describe the number of leftovers I've used for myself this week. Evening suppers have been following the same pattern: make salad, reheat whatever there is to be reheated from meals past. Frittata slices, bowls of veggie soup, even the occasional frozen pizza slice. Anything that requires no thought and little preparation.

When Millie dozes off for a late afternoon nap, I return to the garden. Five more plants go in. Success! The front yard is just about done. The Big Day will be tomorrow as Bevalli Gardens rips up more sod on the side and the back of the house, Ed will help me dig some holes, and I'll put in the last of the plants -- all thirty-five of them. Ambitious? Well yes, but then this whole project has been insane. Why stop with just the front border?! 

Funny I should call tomorrow a Big Day. It is that, but then Tuesday is also a Big Day (a family birthday, the last day of school for the kids, and Millie goes off to trainer Julie's home. And really, Wednesday is a super Big Day: packed or not, I take off for the Big Trip. And Thursday? Very big indeed as I arrive at my destination. I suppose Friday gives me some respite and then I have a string of Big Days, one after the next.

Evening.  Ed comes over to learn his jobs at Sally's House when I'm away. He stays for supper -- I assure him I have something for our evening meal. Um, a little something: how about half a slice of leftover frittata? With a salad of course.

with so much love...