Camp day three

This perhaps is the most "normal" of this year's camp days, in that I have three kids for the full day and the fourth added for supper and an evening movie. So, full day, or to put it differently -- a day full of kids.

The start to the day is normal as well. Millie is at her best behavior. This may be temporary as she is still assessing the situation -- does it mean that the household composition has changed? Do I still fit in as before? Once she totally relaxes, I'm sure she'll be my sweet wild girl once again. 

Breakfast is now set as well. New routines very quickly become like new wallpaper: you can't even remember what had been there before, once it's up. 

I'm even back to playing my classical playlists. Primrose doesn't mind. She's a musical kid. [Did you read that piece in the paper (maybe NYT, maybe the Economist -- cant remember)  where the author tells us that people who listen to music are slower to develop dementia? I need to pass that one on to Ed who never listens to music. Just podcasts. I dont think those count.]

We were to pick up the big two and drop off Millie at Happy Dogz -- all normal enough, though there is a mix up of communications and the big two are dropped off at Steffi's House just as I'm getting Millie out the car door for daycare. [Primrose is starting to recognize Millie's sounds as we approach doggie daycare. We don't know if they signal joy or apprehension, as in "am I going somewhere strange? Will it be alright?" -- but she always grunts and squeals in the blocks before we arrive there.]

We hurry home to the waiting twosome and then they all pile in the car for our joint errand run. 

To Madison Sourdough for croissants.

To Stoneman's Farm for corn.

To the jungled farmette. 

They've missed it, but this day was a good reminder of the issues we all faced there: after the rain, the mosquitoes came out. Not full force, but enough to leave their mark even after a short walk.

(our last remaining chicken, going after my compost corncobs...)

 

 

And finally toward home again. I say "toward" because on the short drive, they talk me into stopping at Tati's for boba tea. Sparrow doesn't like it and they no longer sell ice cream cones there (our past standard), but he is mollified by a promise of a pup cup (!). Primrose never laughed so hard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 I drive back home, they walk.

 

 

 

 We eat lunch. Croissant turkey sandwiches. The pescatarian makes do with croissants and milk. Of course, fruit is a big chunk of lunch. Always.

I've picked this day for the movies. The best option seems to be Toy Story 5. I'm thinking -- maybe I'll doze...I could use a good dozing session. No dozing for the kids though!

We talk about how expensive movies have become (they brought it up). One of them comments -- but they are so much more comfortable and with better amenities now.  Yes, but at what price? Every kid used to go to the movies regularly when I was growing up. Even in postwar Poland -- hardly an example of a wealthy country. How many can afford an afternoon film jaunt now, where even without the snacks, the tab is $48 for a weekday afternoon, where one is a senior discount and three are kids? (Dont even ask how much one candy bar and one small pop corn for each kid totaled to. Okay, I'll tell you: $49. They agreed to drink water from the water cooler. Three tall cups of water would have added $30. Shocking prices!  [I laughed out loud when the theater advertised special passes for people who come to the movies at least four times a week. If you're that rich, you probably have your own cinema screen at home.]

 

We pick up Millie.

 

 

 

We go home.

I thought I'd have a moment to dig a hole and plant a rose. It was not to be. Millie was a little overwhelmed. She needed attention. One of the older kids needed help picking out school supplies. Two of them were fine, but when the littlest brother came over, the level of noise grew (they were lively though in a happy way) and I quickly pivoted toward a pizza delivery. 

The movie at home (yes, each evening has a movie for them) is Mamma Mia, chosen by them because the three cousins here had never seen it. The music was loud, the kids bounced, some sang -- it was definitely a success, although Millie would not agree with that assessment. The kids dont scare her, but sudden noises and movements do. There were a lot of sudden noises and movements. She survived! The house survived! I survived!

with so much love... 

Camp day two

Every day is a story in itself. Even seemingly dull days open up pages of new stuff. Today is completely different from all other days that came before. Even if some things do repeat themselves. 

But breakfast is definitely not a repeat of the same old. Primrose and I eat alone, in the house, because the weather today is not right for porch meals. Nor is it really easy for a kid to munch away at cereal at the wee table there. So, indoors.

With these two roses from the garden (one belongs to the category of totally edible):

 

 

Now, the next thing to do is to vote. Wisconsin's gubernatorial primaries are today. But who should I pick? The most electable person? How do you decide that? I can't tell who will sway voters and in which direction. So the person with the best platform? With the most experience? I've never been an undecided voter. Today I am an undecided voter. So much so that I almost stay home. Still, I have never skipped voting before and 73 seems too old to go in that direction. So, voting is on the agenda.

As is doggie day care, and grocery shopping, and farmette flowers run, and then finally home again for the girl and me. We sort of get through all that but with hiccups.

Millie drop off? Great. The girl runs in! Grocery shopping? Fabulous. I have a helper.

But then I get a text that the cousins have arrived (and we are not there) so everything else is tossed aside and we rush home.

They play, eat lunch...

And then things get slightly nutty. First, I find out that Snowdrop is actually supposed to be at her Shakespeare rehearsal. Sparrow begs to stay home with Primrose while I drop her there. It's only a few minute drive and they are creating houses on her on her tablet. I know that Sparrow has stayed home for brief moments while a parent ran a quick one, but I ask Primrose -- have your parents ever left you home alone? She answers truthfully -- no... but they talked about how they're going to! Well yeah, I imagine by her age 20, they'll probably stop with the babysitters. Still, it is a short roundtrip, and I just read the article in the NYTimes about kid independence in this country, and I do believe these kids are good at just sitting on the couch and doing their game, so I drill on what should happen if 1. one of them tripped and fell or got hurt  (I tell them which neighbor to go to) 2. what would happen if I didn't come home within a certain amount of time (they're on her tablet, she can reach her mom who can reach his parents), 3. someone knocked on the door (obviously do nothing; maybe hide in the garage!). So, with all bases covered I run Snowdrop over to her play.

This is when I start getting messages from people I know -- what's going on? Strange letters have appeared, apparently from me. Oh no! I've been hacked? I pull over, shut down messaging on my phone and consider if I should change my pass code then and there. I best do that from home. I hurry. And run upstairs to the two happy kids. Did any of you use my computer downstairs? From Sparrow, with big eyes that are only slightly twitching with a suggestion of a smile. Yes, we're really sorry...

I should have added a 4th instruction: 4. do not touch my computer! Maybe I should have also added 5. and do not move from your sitting position, and most of all, do not do anything that you think might trigger a reaction from me!  

(the co-conspirators) 

 

We pick up Snowdrop toward evening, then we all go to get Millie because these kids just adore my dog so much!

(the greeting committee)

 

The two local kids go home. Primrose, Millie and I drive back to Steffi's House where Ed joins us for a supper of beans and tomatoes and cheese.  

And he babysits both Primrose and Millie while I moped over to vote. By evening I had made up my mind and I cast my ballot minutes before the polling station closed. 

Ordinary enough for you? Perhaps on the retell it sounds routine. But for me, for Primrose, for Millie as well, it was all quite out of the ordinary. With wonderful high points, but reeling still from the recent developments with my sick friend, and of course, moments of plain calm. Without that calm, I would be a mess. And when the grandma at Grandma Camp is a mess, well, then the tent collapses.

 

 

with so much love... 

Camp starts today

If you step out of the shower in a hotel room, reach for your comb to fix up your freshly washed hair and find that you forgot to pack it, you do the following: 1. call guest services and ask how come they dont provide those cheap little combs in bathrooms like they used to (even though you know that this was a wasteful practice and few guests were dumb enough not to pack, of all things, a comb); 2. quickly get dressed and hop over to a nearby Walgreens where there are plenty of combs for your purchasing pleasure; 3. shrug your shoulders and get on with the day, believing that a rat's nest on your head isn't going to make the slightest difference to your day. If you picked number 1 you are a rational human being, ready to fight for your rights in life. If you picked number 2 you are a wimp that will spend any amount of money rather than ask politely for help. If you picked number 3 you are like me -- indifferent to the small stuff. Weightier issues fill your head and you're not going to be bothered about a rat's nest.

*     *     *

Looking out my hotel room window. I'm on the 14th floor (that is an upgrade for no reason I can think of except maybe that the hotel is not very full). It boggles my mind that the apartments on the top floors of these buildings (see photo) go for millions. Who would want to live that high? And I say this having grown up in Manhattan, though never living higher than the 18th floor. (The building hiding toward the back of the tower here is the John Hancock, well, officially no longer called that, though unofficially, it's the John.)

*     *     * 

I walk over to Eataly for breakfast. I could simply Uber back to my daughter's house and eat there, but I know that once I get there, I should quickly whisk away Primrose and allow my daughter to get on with her work and honestly, I need a few more minutes to process the events of this past week.

I had a wonderfully soothing conversation with my girl, with her husband too last night, but perhaps you know this from your own experience: crises, especially ones that have sizeable medical components to them, are like wrecking balls. They swing left and right and destroy everything in sight and you have to find ways to guard against that (if you can). Talking helps, but so does thinking and worrying and processing. I'm no shrink, but I have to think it's better to acknowledge your fears than sweep them under the rug. 

Besides, I like Eataly.

(empty at this early hour)

 

 

(capitalism, telling us what our home really needs, making you feel the anger of not affording it even as others can)

 

 

(urban mirrors: I always look for them in Paris, never in Wisconsin...)

 

 

(my hotel's art: I think it's for the soccer tournament and for America's birthday)

 

 

*     *     * 

And now it's time to hit the road for Grandma Camp, listening to Primrose's playlist all the way. Primrose is 8 years old and there's a lot of Taylor Swift on it. I tell my grandgirl that I so admire Swift to have managed at her young age the business aspects of her career so well. Primrose responds -- grandma, she is in her thirties!  Oh, oops. Really ancient! 

We pick up the two older cousins and go to Culver's for lunch. Their choice.

I let them set the activities for rest of the day, which indeed may be a mistake. What do 8 and 11 year olds know about structure and mood adjustments? In the past I've always just insisted on my framework. Camp is camp. But I want them to have a looser rein and so we try it. They reject water activities in favor of going back to Steffi's House and taking a look at the art loot I amassed thinking that I may just have Primrose for the week. And eventually they do settle upstairs and get to work. Something about notebooks and stories.

Oh I see. Three plays were written. And then acted out for me and Millie.

 

 

 

*     *     * 

Sandpiper comes over after his school day ends and joins the three older kids for a dinner of crunchy chicken and corn and pasta. And a movie (they all love my very favorite-cant-live-without-them wheat crackers).

And then quiet settles over Steffi's house. Well, except for the occasional woof.

So where was Millie in all this? Well, for much of the afternoon she hid in her crate. Last time she came back from Julie's (her loyal babysitter), I had moved. This time? A troop of kids invaded the normally quiet house.  If I were her, I'd think Julie was some kind of a witchy person who transformed the world as we know it. Or maybe that Julie was her savior as the planet spun out of control behind her back.

(At Millie's pickup)

 

 

We will see how the night goes. For Primrose, For Millie. For my friend. For me.

with so much love... 

 

Camp starts tomorrow

Her name was Lola. She was not a showgirl. (Have you ever read the life story of Barry Manilow, the author of those lyrics?) She was a seven year old dog, looking very much like a black and white boxer. Lola has passed by our house during porch breakfast.

Today she and her owner paused. Lola likes small dogs but is scared of pretty much everything else. Millie is vocal in ways that you can't always tell if she is scared or eager to play. Lola came up the stairs to Steffi's House and I opened the gate so that the two dogs could meet and greet. 

And they did. And Millie was delirious with joy. Lola is the first dog in this whole neighborhood that Millie got to know up close and personal.

There are a lot of yappy barky growly big dogs around here and their owners try to keep them away from other canine encounters. Rightly so, I suppose. But this has frustrated Millie no end and it has encouraged her to bark in protest and wag every time a dog walks by. At doggie daycare, she plays with everyone (but especially her two BFFs). At home, she is allowed to play with no one. It's been a struggle for her.

And the neighborhood dog owners? Nice people, albeit closed off in their own lives. If I wanted social contacts, I'd go to any number of the neighborhood activities. Morning coffee every I dont know how often. Evening drinks, posted on Facebook. A monthly book club. There's even an annual picnic, coming up, on the "village green." But I've resisted most of these. No time and my head is elsewhere right now. I've now memorized the names of three neighbors in houses across the street. I'd call that progress!

This morning, a family with a dog and a kid in a stroller passed by. They're frequent walkers in these blocks, so much so that Millie doesn't bark her head off when she sees them coming. Only an occasional wistful woof. Today, the stroller child reached out and snipped off a rose as they passed Steffi's Garden. The mom gently told him "that's not for picking only for looking." Personally, I think that if I'm going to plant flowers so close to the sidewalk, I can expect some animal/child damage. I do want to engage people with my garden. You could say that this morning, I engaged!

Roses for today? The very bold and bright ones. I tended to prefer these when I first started including roses in my garden, back in late May or early June. Now, I'm much more interested in the very light pastels. Yellow, peach, pink, with cream overtones. Still, I'm glad I started with these vibrant ones. Nothing says "rose" more than a splash of bright burgundy-red in your garden.

 

 
 

 

 

 

Ed stops by to check up on stuff...

And then I am off to drop off Millie at Julie's while I drive to Chicago to pick up Primrose for Grandma Camp.

I have an afternoon and evening with the young family and it is just so good to be with them!

 

(my daughter is baking a clafoutis for dessert)

 

 

 (dad with a workbook and Juniper)

 

 

I ask Primrose to put together a playlist for the car ride back to Wisconsin. She takes my phone, moves her thumbs around quickly. and only toward the end does she ask her mom for some titles they like to listen to that she may have forgotten.

 

  

 

Take-out Thai for dinner, followed by the clafoutis.

 

 

 

After dinner, we watch an episode of Juniper's favorite show these days, Is It Cake? Humor is contagious. 

 

 

Funny how a mood can be helped by a few hours of this -- just being here, with the girls, their parents, the clafoutis...

I Uber down to my hotel for the night. Same one, in I swear, the same room, with the same city view.

 

 

with so much love...

 

authentic

To be your authentic self. I haven't entirely bought into that idea. My experience has been that people who seek authenticity full force, hurt others in the process.

And yet, I've known people who are a mask to the world, to themselves and that, too, is tough to deal with. I'll stay with this for now: no lies, no hurts, but stick with gentle honesty. the kind that doesn't hurt, to the extent that's possible. Sometimes it isn't. But you have to try. That, I feel, should be the goal.

Here's my own story then: Ocean has always leaned toward that goal: honesty, and I do try my damnest to tread carefully. Respectfully.  I'm not saying I've succeeded always. Well, with honesty -- yes I think I've done well there. With "respect?" That's always in the eyes of the beholder, isn't it... It's like asking someone "are you a good parent" as opposed to "where your mom and dad good parents."  You have to look at it from both sides. (Though to digress -- good parents are probably those who love their kids to pieces and have at least some confidence in their parenting, even if their kids think they stink at it.)

So here's my problem now: I have a set of challenging days. A close friend is not well. Respect calls for quiet on that subject. What do you care, after all, if someone I know is going through challenging times? Many people are facing supremely challenging times. The problem is that the spillover here is tremendous. It has far reaching consequences for me and will continue to do so for a long while. I'd say that since my divorce in 2005, I cant think that anything has shaken me as much as this. And I say this having buried two parents, one of them having had a horrible last year of life, and having had a mega crisis over two rescue dogs this winter, having had to adjust my living arrangements with Ed, incurring costs that I certainly had not expected in my long term planning, having friends with cancer and kids of friends with cancer -- all horrible stuff that I managed to swim through somehow, teetering a little but in the end, escaping without great damage. And now, here I am, trembling, and so I have to signal it here because, dare I say it, otherwise my writing on Ocean would be, well, sorry to revert to that word but... inauthentic. Perhaps not an outright lie, but as close to it as you can get without actually stating an out and out untruth.

I am okay because I have been bred to be okay, and because, as someone in a pickle once said -- what else can you do but cope and be okay? I mean, is there a choice? Also I have Ed, family -- small, but real, and great friends, and of course God or someone equally benevolent invented Zoom so it's not as if you can't have another warm body (or seemingly warm, given the heat of this summer) right in your living room.

And, I remind myself that this too shall pass and besides there's Millie and the roses, both of which were with me for breakfast on what is slated to be one of the last of the very nice summer days.

But here's the thing -- I am spending a lot of time on the computer -- on messaging and Zooming and the like -- so my day may seem rather bland in the retelling, even though I assure you, bland would be the last word I'd use to describe it. 

Worry not: tomorrow I am starting grandma camp by going to Chicago to pick up one of the participants. Camp will look slightly different this year -- longer, and with an appearance of some younger ones and disappearance of older ones and truly I am making adjustments as we speak, but camp it will be. (One of my youngest participants will be Millie who is not yet 9 months old. We will see how that goes!) But this I can say for sure -- it will not be a boring week!

In the meantime, I plant my Ruby Spice Summersweet and my Swamp Rose in Millie's yard today, while she assesses the impish possibilities the garden presents. Munching grass or bark are past favorites but she is ready to branch out.

And I check my other roses, admiring the varied blooms, delighting in the new buds forming everywhere.

And no, I haven't forgotten my other flowers, because there are a couple hundred non-rose flowers out there after all...

(the never photographed back corner of the yard)

 

(for a first year and a very late planting, the sweat pea and clematis are doing quite well, climbing up to the porch)

 

And I'm thinking -- how trite it is to say it, but it surely is a pretty world out there, what with the flowers and the birds and the fields and forests and your loved ones in it... A very pretty planet indeed. A shame we take it for granted and treat it with such disrespect. But then, our attitude toward the planet is much like me writing a post, or being authentic out there, or anything else for that matter -- sometimes you dont realize you're not at your kindest until you see the damage your carelessness has caused.

A rose bush arrives by Fed Ex. The good rose growers take off all the leaves before shipment. It's healthier for the plant that way. What they don't remove are the thorns of course, and today's rose is abundantly thorny! Big ones, little ones. I got sizable cuts before I even took the rose out of the box.  It's the Lark Ascending rose. Lovely peachy pink (it will be someday)! But so thorny.

Evening. I'm binge watching a Danish series (A Nearly Normal Family -- the title tells you a lot, doesn't it?). I'm on episode 5 out of 6. Oh the things a mom will do to protect her kid! Talk about family drama! And horrible boyfriends! This cannot end well for the good people in the story! (Millie chooses to sleep through it all.)

with so much love...