flooded

Yesterday, I called it quits just before midnight. I noted I had 33 roses to plant (and five miscellaneous tiny perennial cuttings that are so petite that they dont even count). About a half dozen were waiting for me on the porch. The holes are dug for all but nine. Saturday is a great day for gardening! Better get some rest in preparation for it.

I took Millie out for her last bathroom run. All was quiet outside, although the wind had picked up considerably. We came back in and literally one minute later the skies exploded -- with thunder and pelting rain that was so loud that you could have mistaken it for a subway pulling into the station in NYC Well, close to it. Millie was no more no less scared than she typically is when strange noises rattle her. But it was clear neither of us would fall asleep until this band of storms passed. We snuggled in bed together waiting, eventually me reading and she staring out the window at the unexpected flashes. 

This morning was the first time that I felt no rush to get up and neither did she. We lazed in bed until just before 8 -- that has to be some kind of a milestone for my girl! 

 

The torrential rain caused flooding in parts of Madison and I went outside with trepidation: how would by newly planted roses fare?

A quick scouting of the yard revealed minimal damage, although many of the dug out holes waiting for the roses were completely waterlogged. 

We got a lot of rain! Many inches of it. The question is, of course, how much more will come our way? Right now, I think the roses are okay. But another torrent of rain could do some major damage. 

Breakfast, after I towel-dried Millie.

Afterwards, I prepped the boxed and potted roses for their move to the garden, but after Millie retired for her morning nap, I saw that I could do very little out in the garden.  Mud, standing water -- foes of a person who wants to plant. One modest success: I put two roses into holes that were relatively dry. The rain had paused, but it wasn't a long pause. By the time I was tidying up my second rose, the light rain didn't feel so light at all. I was soaked. 

My goal had been to do a lot of outdoor work today. That did not happen. I did a little. 31 more to plant. When it stops raining and when the water drains. I will say this: the window for purchasing new plants has closed. But planting? It doesn't end with the roses. I seem to have ordered spring bulbs early in the summer. In bulk, for a total of 146 of daffodils, tulips, crocuses, bluebells. What was I thinking?? I can only hope for good weather in October!

This was my day then: a pause in the rain has me out removing sod. Walking Millie, surveying the landscape. A drizzle and I ignore it. A steady rain and I'm inside, drying off myself, my pup -- until there is a pause in the rain again and I continue. Start stop, start stop. 

 (wet me, wet Millie)

 

 

(Millie, you need a serious brushing out after you dry! there, that's better...)

 

 

But I cannot say I dont enjoy it. I'm finally nearing the completion of my rose project. It's exciting to have gone through it all -- from a very modest start (just six roses along the fence line), to something much more ambitious. 

I cant wait until spring!

with so much love... 

 

Millie!

It's classic, isn't it? My pup has a basket with toys of every shape and size. Squeaky, chewable, tough, soft, with delicious tags to tear off, with flavors of beef, bacon, chicken, peanut butter. And what does she choose to do when I lose myself in my rose notes this morning over breakfast?

Indignant that I should again demand space in the corner chair, she goes off in search of trouble, settling after a while on the small wool covered stool I added yesterday. I really need to put my feet up when I am sitting on the couch. The stool is cheap and though innocuous and not especially beautiful, it is just the right height and some poor underpaid women in India or maybe Vietnam, I cant remember, made wool covers for these pieces, making them very comfortable, especially with the coming winter, where wool seems so perfectly hygge! 

When the room is quiet, very quiet, and I do not see a pup stretched out somewhere close by taking a beauty nap, I know that I must stop everything and go to see what is getting destroyed behind my back. But the thing is, the house is pretty Millie proof. Oh, she has been known to go upstairs and mess up my bed, and recently, she just loves to lift the Turkish (or is it Moroccan?) rug and go after the pad that I put down underneath to keep it from sliding when she has her zoomies. And yes, several of the throw pillows on the couch have corners chewed off, but otherwise, what other trouble could Millie possibly get into?! 

I didn't figure on her excitement over the arrival of the new stool.

Millie!

It is the first time that I actually raise my voice at her. A very loud NO follows. She looks at me inquisitively. What does it even mean, this word "no?" I heard it once at Doggie Daycare when the trainer caught me picking up another dog's poop to see what it tastes like, but at home? Could it be that my mommy is shouting at me??  She shrugs it off as a possible weird noise humans sometimes make and returns to sniff the stool cover. But by now I'm prepared -- bitter apple spray! (Have you ever tasted that stuff? I have. It's disgusting. Worse than dog poop, though I admit to never having tried the latter.)

*     *     *

I feel this morning like one does after drinking way too much wine the night before: I am dealing with the post-rose-purchase hangover. Getting nine new roses last night during the very tense live rose sale (online) was exhilarating. You have to be on your toes and take some risks! I did, and (thank goodness) it paid off. However, going outside today to survey the landscape was daunting. Oh, there's room for them in the side yard and when they bloom, people walking the path that abuts that space will have a lovely rose garden to sniff and admire (unless I kill all the new plants, which is not impossible of course). But extending that rose garden means that I will have ten more holes to dig in the toughest soil on the property, and of course, I will have to remove all that sod as well, and I will have to rearrange the rose plan because now I have sizing and color issues afresh to address.

And so, while Millie is at day care, griping about her weird human mama to the other dogs, I set to it. And yes, it takes me over an hour to remove a few inches of sod and dig just one hole. And carting away the stones and the clay and the sod, uphill, because I'm planting at the bottom of an incline -- that's another chunk of time. When I am done, I have to sprint/speed to get to the boys' school on time.

*      *      *

I try to come up with a special adventure for Fridays when I have all three kids after school (otherwise, the boys glue themselves to their tablet until their time runs out, after which they complain that their time has run out). Since today is a wet day (yet again), I take them to Barnes & Noble Bookstore. 

 (Sandpiper likes to be prepared for big rains)

 

It's rare that kids these days go to bookstores and indeed, Sandpiper was a little uncertain about the purpose of the excursion. When I told him he could pick out a book or two or three -- something he didn't have at home, he spent a good chunk of our time there lifting random books from the stacks, one at a time, and asking if they had it at home. 

 

 

 

The older two quickly lose themselves in their own searches. 

 

 

 

It's a huge bookstore and I have to admit -- there were times when I did not know where at least two of the three kids were, but eventually we found each other and found good books and we took our sizable stack to the Starbucks there, and the kids got treats and we did what I had done so very often just a few decades ago -- we sat at the table, sipping, munching, and looking through our precious loot. 

 

 

When I was nearing retirement, I thought this is what I would be doing once work stopped: looking at books at a bookstore cafe for hours on end.  Shows you how inaccurate our predictions are about our future.

 

*     *     *

Millie and I come home to a bunch of boxes with roses in them. I want to work on this mega gardening project this weekend, but of course, it looks like it's going to be pretty wet out there. 

Eh, who can predict anything these days! One day at a time. Right now there are roses and there is a yard and soon those two will come together to form a rose garden.

That is the hope.

with so much love... 

still wet

I am well aware of the fact that this humidity, drizzle, dampness, with the occasional heavy shower, are not what roses like. Before I began planting them, I always believed roses liked rain. They are, in my mind, an English flower -- all the great rose growers seem to come from England (okay, also Germany and France, but when I think of beautiful rose gardens, I think of England) and I view England as being... soggy. A place where you should never leave your home without an umbrella. Ergo, roses -- a flower that thrives there -- must like soggy, drippy, wet weather, no?

Actually no.  Root rot and fungal diseases -- they're what you get with a steady stream of rainy days. As for my thoughts about English roses, well, it turns out that the countries that grow the most roses are Colombia and Ecuador, followed by Bulgaria -- which grows roses massively for perfume. In terms of exports and sales, even Poland does more with roses than England. 

But here you really have to differentiate between roses grown for commercial purposes and garden roses. With the latter, Great Britain does in fact dominate. The English dude David Austin revolutionized rose growing with the development of old fashioned shapes and fragrances and in recent years, he joined the Germans in focusing on disease resistance in these roses. France and Canada followed.

So why do all this in England, given its wet climate? Well, in the past at least, England had many qualities that are good for roses: consistent but not excessive moisture (rather than downpours with sitting water), moderate temps (rather than scorching heat), and perhaps most importantly -- growers who are keenly aware of climate and growing conditions, and who adapt their breeding programs accordingly. 

But here, in south-central Wisconsin, I have already planted some 50 roses (scattered in the four corners of Steffi's House and Garden), and I have some 20 more to go and let me tell you, all this rain, coupled with poor base soil (I can only dig out only so much of the crap in my little plot of land) has me worried. I'm picking off black spotted leaves every day now and though it's all still under control, all I see is rain in the forecast and the sight of all those clouds and raindrops on my screen ties my stomach up in knots.

Breakfast -- lovely, in my corner.

 

 

 

Millie is still unsure about me being in her chair every morning... 

But in a couple of months, I hope she'll finally accept the fact that this chair is for both of us!

Though most of the time -- just for her.

 

 

 

I take the girl to doggie day care, then stop over at the farmhouse to unburden Ed of some more of the loose items I'd left behind. This is the hateful stuff that you haven't the heart to throw out, yet there's no real reason to keep it either. Stacks of old photographs that never quite made it into any album. Language books, books on walks in and around Paris, unused notebooks, sticker books for the kids, puzzle books, card games. A lobster pot. A Christmas tree stand that I would only use again if I were to go with a big, living tree. But am I ever going to do that? Unlikely. I could go on. This stuff is scattered on the floor of the farmhouse sunroom and I dont really want any of it, but nor do I just want to dump it in the trash. So I go through a little at a time and each item that I bring back to Steffi's basement causes me great pain because I know I will never touch it again and yet, here I am, bringing it home. Honestly, I wish that Ed had, in a fit of rage, dumped all of it in the trash, but of course, Ed doesn't have fits of rage, nor does he want my wrath when I find out that he (hypothetically) threw out my most beloved whatever.

Despite the drizzle, I take the shovel out and move some plants around. Making room. The next week should keep me busy as well. I do intend to be done by Fall (Tuesday), but you just never know!

 

And in the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. We walk Goose and then settle down to read together. Except -- I forgot my reading glasses! I take the book to the best light and I try to decipher the words -- I sound like a second grader struggling to figure out the sounds! Sorry, Snowdrop -- this will not work! Instead, can I treat you to a treat at Barriques?

(hot chocolate with whipped cream... the girl is so agreeable!)

At home, I did something for the last time this year -- I tuned into the live sale of roses at Grace Farm. It's a three hour Thursday evening thing. They try to offload roses at discount prices, digging up large plants from private collections as well as from their nursery, and I always pick up my very best deals then. This time, knowing that it's my last rose purchase of the year (us Wisconsin people cannot put flowers into the ground after the first frost date, which is on October 1st for Madison), I successfully bid on nine.  This means that I will be planting past the first day of Fall. It also means that I will be done with the side bed this year, and it will be a bed of mostly roses. Now I just have to live long enough to see them bloom in years to come! Unfortunately, it also means that I have a lot of sod removal and digging in the next days. Ah well, calloused hands are healthy hands.

with so much love... 

wet middle of the week

To cry or not to cry, that is the question. My sister tells me I was an emotional little kid. Cried a bunch. I do not have any recollection of that. In fact, once I was in school, my mother (cynically? enviously? generously?) called me Little Miss Sunshine -- a quaintly early 60s kind of label. By the time I was a teenager, I was sad a lot (boyfriend wasn't really behaving much like a proper boyfriend), but tears? I don't think so. And then came menopause. And especially the years just before. I think I cried every single night for maybe a year or two. (I also drank too much wine which I'm sure did not help matters.) Once I started my life with Ed (so, since 2005), my crying stopped. I could credit him with that, or I could admit that I'd finished going through menopause. Or something. In any event, since then, I have rarely cried. People get sick, they die and still, the tears rarely spill out. Depressed? Sure, occasionally. Hurt feelings? Definitely, though not very often. Frustrated with Ed? Sometimes and yes, an outburst of tears may follow, but it's really rare (not the frustration, but the outburst).

Today though, the tears came. I suppose it had been building up. Sick friend, with daily decisions, expenses surrounding that, and yes, frustration with Ed: he's being slow in taking care of a request I made, at the same time that he keeps bringing boxes of old stuff I'd left behind in the farmhouse, even though I'm telling him that this month I do not have the bandwidth to deal with it. Add to all this is my passport issue. Because so much has been going on -- the moves, the moves, the dogs -- three of them!, the moves -- three of them! -- I'd been stalling with my passport renewal. I finally filed an online app a couple of days ago, thinking surely this would go quickly, but today AI told me I am stupid to do this now because I am going on a brief international trip in four weeks and it could well be that I wont get my new passport on time. 

So -- frustrations, worries, tiredness (late nights) and therefore -- tears. 

The thing is, I'm not especially sad. Lots of joy to be found. Roses! Millie! The grands! Ed, just not at the moment! Steffi's House, good books, milky coffee, dark chocolate, a long leisurely breakfast...

The list of happy moments is long. Add to it amazing luck: my passport expires toward the end of January. My trip has me back in the US by the late-middle of October. I am allowed to travel to a Schengen country, so long as I'm back in the U.S. three months before the expiration date. Close call, but I make it with only a few days to spare. 

Still, I feel I owed myself a good cry. It had been too long! (The last tearful spell had been around the departure of Henry then Sadey.)

Millie watched this unraveling of her mama with utter amazement. Ed happened to be here then (he was bringing in those boxes of stuff I wish he had left alone for now) and Millie looked from him, to me, to him again wondering perhaps if she should file him in her brain as an enemy of the people after all, because, was it a coincidence that her beloved mom was crying while he was bringing dangerous explosives and killer weapons into the house and storing them in the basement? (Even in the best of times, Millie is suspicious of boxes.)

I planted two roses and I transplanted some flowers to make more room and during this time Millie either slept or did her famous loopy zoomie run in her garden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 ("that was fun!")

 

 

She was amply rewarded with a walk in the afternoon to Tati's: Ed met us there and Millie, of course, had a pup cup. 

 

 

 

 ("is there more?")

 

 

 

 

 

There is a FB chat group of gardeners who bought roses from one of the country's small but exceptionally good nurseries (Grace Rose Farm). There are also many, many video clips on FB of people with their doodle stories. When I feel my frustrations mounting. I scroll to either one for a good chuckle. People who are rosarians are obsessive and funny and people who have doodle stories and video clips offer humor that is powerful because it's true. Roses fill your head and doodles fill your heart. 

Still, a good cry is like a good massage -- for a few minutes after, you feel grand.

with so much love... 

 

it rained

Not only did it rain, but, looking at the forecast, there are symbols of raindrops falling from clouds as far as the eye can see into the future (so -- for the next ten days). 

Granted, we need the rain. The inch that fell overnight wont make up for the long period without any rain at all. And it saves me time: I've had to water my flower beds every single week (and in the heat of the summer -- much more often than that) since I moved to Steffi's House. Watering is pleasant enough, but like a powerful vacuum it sucks up the hours. Nothing else gets done on a day that I take up watering.

All this means that the rainfall was a good thing.

And yet, it rained. 

And it is still raining lightly in the morning. I make use of the towel I keep by the door to get those Millie paws dry before reentering. Breakfast, of course, is inside.

I always give myself about a half hour of reading time during this morning break and though I don't love the book I've finally come around to reading, I do like it enough. Identifying with fictionalized characters isn't really something I do when I pick up a novel, but this time there are these glaring similarities and I cannot ignore them. Perhaps you've read the book -- the Correspondent? It's one of those hot picks of the year so if you chomp your way through well regarded novels, I'm sure you've given it a go. But to those that haven't, I'll just note this much: the character in it is divorced. She is 73 at the start of the book. She was a lawyer before retirement. And she writes letters -- to everyone it seems -- and in reading these, we make some sense of her life.

She, Sybil, cannot imagine not taking the time to write. To put it down on paper. To be a correspondent. Without the written word (and to her, it's important that it be written, not sent through the internet), she feels a life becomes an empty nothing, quickly forgotten.

I dont share this view, but I share her compulsion. Sybil agonizes over her words and sentences and though I dont exactly agonize here, on Ocean, I do find it necessary to take care. I haven't enough time to edit every post very carefully, but I reread and modify and/or correct 99% of what I write here.

Do I care about leaving behind this record of the everyday? I suppose I do, although I dont really know why I care, since I dont think books, letters, or blogs have any great meaning or significance when you take the perspective of infinite time and an infinite universe with an infinite number of galaxies (well, maybe not infinite, but two trillion observable galaxies -- the latest estimate -- and who knows how many there are beyond that). If I did nothing but plant and smell roses for the rest of my days rather than write here on Ocean, the universe would continue to spin into infinity and in a speck of time (like a handful of years or even a thousand years), no one would know or care.

Except, well, so long as I'm alive, so long as the people, animals, flowers mentioned here are still living, writing here matters to me. For some indisputably strong yet mysterious reason it matters to me.

 

Millie went to doggie daycare, I went back to digging out a strip of sod and working in one more rose hole. Looking at my list of what hasn't come yet, I see that there are a couple of dozen plants that are either in transit or still in the ground somewhere in California, but as of right now, I am ready for them!

 

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop at school. This is a scheduling change that actually gives me a meaningful number of minutes in the day for, well, whatever I'm obsessed with at the moment. The two boys are starting a Taekwan-do after school program and I'll be their pick up person only on Fridays. The parents feel (and I share this view) that Sparrow needs an after school activity that draws him in. He is not a sports guy, nor is he bookish in the sense that he wont lose himself in some fiction or other (he does like nonfiction though, but not enough to hook himself into one book after the next at home). He is also exceptionally friendly, but not necessarily hitting the vibe of the boys in his third grade class. At Taekwan-do during the summer he hung out with kids that he liked and who liked him right back. He played games, played chess, hit it off with the group leaders. Obviously, it's a good place for him to go to after school. And Sandpiper? We shall see. Today will have been his first day, but honestly, if an older sib does it, chances are very high that he will want to continue with it as well.

So, just Snowdrop for now. 

 

 

 

We walk Goose, then resume our reading schedule.

 

 

 

I come home in the evening with a tired but happy Millie. I have to note here how much I really love this pup. Holding her close to me, burying my face in her fur -- I realize how precious that contact with a live one can be. She wasn't a total snuggle bug initially -- she'll jump up with huge excitement with her tail wagging as fast as a flutter of a humming bird's wings when she sees me. Her love is strong and it is the number one driving force behind her every move. But only recently has she started to ask for snuggles on the couch. And I am all in, and on that couch, together, we are happy.

with so much love... 

looking out and ahead

Down to 46F (7C) this morning. We definitely pushed summer aside. On schedule, I'd say. The sunshine, too, is becoming a thing of the past. Showers this week -- welcome, to be sure, though I'm hoping they'll come in moderation. I worry about my roses -- as with children and puppies, the first months are crucial in their development.

No, Millie. No breakfast on the porch. Not today. Though while we have a few minutes of sunlight, let me fix a breakfast in the reading corner, by the windows.

Millie, dont act so surprised! This may well be the new normal!

Of course, when I am that close to the windows, I see the filter of dust. There has been a lot of construction on this road and it shows. I consider calling window washers, but then I remember how much I have spent on plants this year and I reach for the Windex instead. There's no need to do all the windows -- just the front facing ones in the reading corner and some of the ones that are easy to manipulate in the dining nook. A half hour of work and I'm done.

 

I thought yesterday that I was finished with digging out turf, but no! I redrew my plan for the roses that haven't arrived yet and I see that I can plant them out further in the side yard. So, Millie goes in her crate and I take out the shovel again. Maybe for the last time this year? With me, you never know, though I would find it obscene to continue planting past the official start of Fall (September 22nd). 

Two hours later, I'm done. Heavy work! The sod removal given the dry clay was bad, but digging out holes was the worst. That I haven't broken the shovel yet is one pure miracle. 

Before releasing Millie, I go over to the farmette to dump my bucket of compostable scraps . 

(the porch that once was my slice of heaven)

(remember the writer's shed?)

I stay a while to fill Ed in on weekend happenings. I haven't written much about my ill friend, but it is in fact an ongoing saga. I try not to get moody about it even as there's much to make you feel moody. I learned a lot about the need for joy even when drama strikes close to home, from my Michigan friend Deb. I suppose it helps that I've been on a hunt for good distractions from the more somber aspects of a day pretty much all my life. Seek and you shall find. (Me? Quoting the Bible? That has to be a first!) Digging into hard dirt may be hard work, but it is in fact very very satisfying! Getting that large rock out, pushing the shovel with your foot -- there's pleasure in that! And when I'm done for the day and sit down on the couch -- well now, that's real bliss! So, today I had a heck of a wonderful feeling of bliss.

 

Since my pup was crated for a good three hours, I take her for a longer walk in the afternoon. Along the bike path that looks out on the wetlands and on the distant side -- the farmette lands.

 

 

 

She is not a fan of longer walks along unfamiliar paths.  Tail down, a sharp pull to return. But I persevere. It's so lovely by the prairie fields now, in the very last breath of summer.

Millie, I hope you do learn to love the new, the adventures, the discovery. It's remarkable how much you can get out of life by just opening that gate to the outside world. Right, my pup? We'll keep on working at it!

with so much love... 

a careful gardener?

We often hold onto principled beliefs that we have the highest respect and concern for the environment, for animals, for people. And then your child or your dog or your garden plant becomes sick and you forget about principled beliefs and throw everything you can think of at the affected entity, to make them better. Your beloveds, your home, garden, friends -- they get a "just this once" pass. Of course they do. Even Ed will break his steadfast commitment to preserving ecosystems and run the AC, feed cats cat food probably shipped from China, design a machine that will throw particles into the air. We none of us are pure in the way we conduct ourselves. Still, many of us do try hard to not stray too much from our convictions and priorities.

In my gardening, I do try not to do harm: I do not use pest and weed control on the lawn or on plants. I dump beetles into soapy water and dig out weeds. I improve the soil organically (either with home made farmette compost or if I have to buy, I stick with the organic). All good?

Well, then along come the roses. You could argue that anyone who plants 60 roses in the scope of one season is a far cry from an environmentalist. Roses get fungus disease. Roses get pests. Every living spore and insect loves a good rose! Sure, after the first couple of mistakes, I now buy only disease resistant roses (or phlox, or other perennials). But they're resistant, not immune.

But hear me out on this: you can grow roses "organically." If you are a commercial business, you have to spray. But if you are a home gardener, you can treat your roses like you might want to treat your lawn: take preventive steps to keep them healthy. Keep a bottle of Neem Oil (oil pressed from the seeds of a neem tree) just in case your best efforts fail and you see a million white bugs covering new buds (well, if you've waited that long, perhaps you should kiss that plant goodbye), feed your plants with stuff like fish emulsion. Stick with the organics and use them minimally. Every once in a while a rose (or any plant) will tell you -- this place isn't for me, I demand more interventions. Use that plant for compost and move on.

That's my vision of a good garden with a large number of roses in it. Vigilance is everything and I love being a vigilant gardener. I check my plants every single day and snip off spotted leaves and dead stalks. I love doing this low key maintenance. It puts me close to the flowers and isn't this exactly what we aim for in life? To be closer to nature?

 *.    *.    *

Beautiful morning, though certainly on the cooler side. My first slide into jeans rather than shorts. I almost opted for breakfast inside, but the sun was gorgeous and the air felt pure and crisp.

 

 

 

When Millie naps, I remove the rest of my sod for this year's plantings and I finish digging out the holes for new plants. My neighbor told me that the side yard looks like a wild animal attacked it! (It will look like that for a while, since my plants are in transit for at least a week.)

Then of course I decide I can do more and I sketch out an extension and I'll work on digging that out tomorrow!

(Millie! Dont eat the maple leaf off of the tree!)

(is that your favorite? Mine too..)

 

 

*.    *.   *

The young family is here for dinner. I would guess that the adults were leaning toward a quiet evening. The kids? 

High energy levels in some!

The dogs?

High energy levels in both! You'd think that Millie would understand that she is not an equal partner in play to a dog that weighs close to ten times as much as she does. And she is certainly not one who should go for the attack. Goose could slap her down with his tail if he wanted to. Yet, there she is chasing him, jumping up and nipping at his neck, as if she could accomplish a grand slam and come out as the champ. (When he decides to shrug her off and give a light lunge, she runs like crazy to her crate. And then she is out again, chasing the big guy. On repeat.)

Of course, these two do know each other. Perhaps this is what comes from being a family -- you can misbehave and you know that ultimately, you can get away with it. Millie must know that every one of the people here would protect her from harm.

(oh, dogs! how we love them...)

 

 

Dinner? Lovely to have them all at the table...

With the two hyper energetic ones (who unmade my bed upstairs??) under the table. Hoping for a handout. Which they do not get.  We really do try to be good dog people! And good gardeners, and good in all those ways consistent with our beliefs. Most of the time.

with so much love... 

against the tide

 I would guess that most everyone thinks of themselves as being more of a maverick than a follower. We are all original thinkers with strong drives to be independent We set out own agenda. We are not sheep. We forge our own path.

Except of course we don't. Meeting the expectations set by others is vitally important to nearly everyone -- with the possible exception of Ed, but look where that got him! I've never met anyone who loves solitude as much as he does, to the point that if he never saw another human in the last years of his existence, I don't think he would mind. Well, he'd probably miss me, but he'd tell himself otherwise.

I'm not an Ed, but my circle of necessary intimate contacts grows smaller with every decade and I grow more and more indifferent to pre-set paths. I really do want to imagine my own. If it means digging up turf every day for months on end -- so be it. I'll do it. And if I look at a tableaux before me -- of relationships, of people struggling to come up with a good outcome -- I will have my own view of what is unfolding before my eyes. Nine people may see things differently and I will be that tenth one who sticks to her guns and sees it in the way that I see it.

I start off very many posts with themes that seem to summarize a day for me. But let's get down to the facts: a gorgeous day. And the yellow jackets are finding temptation elsewhere, so Millie and I enjoy a leisurely half hour out on the porch. With a Honey Flavorette Rose, next to one that is a mystery to me: the only one remaining that I cannot figure out -- not the name nor where I got it. (I know I planted it in early June, so the possibilities are limited and still, I cannot find a trace of the purchase nor any tag on it. This is why you need to keep a Rose Book!)

The plan for today is to go to the Farmers Market. I really push for the Westside one. Easier to get to, easier to navigate, no parking issues and it has everything you would want and then some. The young family is agreeable.

And it is splendid!

I'm with my daughter and her awesome threesome and each one finds a treat...

 

... plus we pick up veggies, flowers, breads and for me -- raspberries.

I remember the years when I lived in a condo downtown (oh about twenty years ago) and this market was right outside my door. Ed and I would go there weekly. and I have to say, I'm likely to return to this one now more often. Ease and bounty. On a fall day. Magnificent!

(I ran into a friend. He snapped our photo.)

 

 

And then I return to my sod removal. Here's my miserable progress:

 

It really is slow going. The dirt is so packed that once again, I feel compelled to call for Ed's help. He brings his pick-axe and we work together on creating eight more holes, for a total of fourteen soon to arrive new additions.

It's such satisfying work. Millie is out with us and though she doesn't understand why she needs to be tied to the hose, she is calm about it, letting me know that she prefers this to being in her crate inside.

 (my pup is rewarded with a game of ball in her yard)

 

 

Days of sunshine days of hard work. Days of illness (not mine) days of joy. Days of Millie. Days of love...

 

 

reassess

I can change my mind. Stubborn people hang on to their position as if their truth was the only truth on the whole planet. You and I, we don't want to see ourselves in this way, right? New data, new ideas, new plan. "But you said!" is one of those archaic demands that were made on us ages ago, at a time when you worried about appearing righteous and consistent. I'm free of that. Yep, when you pass 70, you are free of that. I can be inconsistent, flaky, erratic, impulsive. 

This is what's so exciting about being ancient: every day can be reimagined when you wake up in the morning and your pup's nuzzling your face, checking to see if maybe it's time to get up. Millie is always concerned about what comes next. She knows this much: certain routines are sacred, but the big box items (outings, visits, alone time, strange guests) -- they are TBD (to be determined, for those of you who, like me, are initialism neanderthals). My pup does not like surprise outings or encounters or paths into the unknown. 

 

 

We're back on the porch for breakfast this morning (though it may be a last hurrah, since yellow jackets are at their peak this month and they are aggressive) ...

 

 

 

...and Millie is happy and so am I because it really is a gorgeous day. The only drawback here is that the skies -- so terribly blue, with a crispness that could only spell the beginning of fall -- reminded me of how it was on this day 25 years ago. Same bright blue, same crispness suggesting early fall. 

Of the three grandkids here, only Snowdrop knows about 9/11 (she's familiar with the Broadway musical and the book it's based on -- "Come From Away"). As we drive this afternoon on a Family Friday Fun Adventure (a new idea I had for this semester), she tells us that they discussed 9/11 in school today. Which class? Oh, in French class. In French class?? Well yes. Come From Away does take place in Canada, and you know, they do speak French there. But not in Gander (where the story takes place)! She shrugs, indicating that grownups are weird and you should therefore not expect from them rational thought or behavior.

My morning, by the way, is spent on sod removal. My arm aches from pounding the shovel into solid clay over and over again. But I decided I may as well expand that side yard while the weather is good. (I have changed my mind about how much I will plant this year again and again and again. Right now it looks like I'll keep going until the first frost!

Okay, back to the afternoon: I had wanted to take them all raspberry picking -- kids, mom, the whole pack, but I got a lot of pushback on that plan from Sparrow who does not like raspberries. I told him there was a corn maze there - maybe he'd like that. His response? I'll probably lose my way and stay there for the rest of my life! Sparrow excels at dark humor.

His mommy had a memory flashback -- she tells us that this is the same corn maze that she went to 14 years ago, with her very new husband and some friends. No one could find their way out except for her husband. She recalls how proud she was of having just married a guy who could find his way out of corn mazes.

The story convinced me that our outing makes no sense. Raspberry picking is hard, perhaps too hard for little Sandpiper. And Sparrow doesn't like raspberries. And it's a bit of a drive, and we have to be back in time for me to pick up Millie. And the maze may be too tough a challenge for us, especially if we're tight on time. I went through my brain's rolodex of outdoor fun things to do at this time of the year and came up with Eugster's Farm. We haven't visited it this summer...

 

(the treat selection there is very.... sweet and colorful) 

 

 

... and the baby goats there are amazing.

 

 

As is the ice cream, though they didn't have vanilla so Sparrow settled for Blue Moon. I do not understand Blue Moon ice cream. 

It was a grand way to spend the afternoon -- three kids, their mom and me.

And the goats of course. I think Millie would have really liked the goats.

with so much love...