a week to remember, day 6

Very late in the morning -- it's almost noon -- I'm finally sitting down to breakfast on my front porch. 

 

 

I feel more like I'm in a coffee shop, at an outdoor table. I have a full view of my street. Kids are playing in the driveway down the block, the building next to mine is in the last stage of completion and people come and go there as well (who will be my new neighbor?). I do not have a roof over me -- just a pergola and this, to me, is one of the outstanding features of my cottage. There is plenty of light coming through it, both for my plants on the porch and through the windows into my living space. 

The pergola style does mean that I am exposed to the elements. Was that a sprinkle I felt? I can move back under the overhang, or I can go inside to my reading nook. I love my options!

It's a late meal because I spent the first four hours of the morning unpacking more boxes. The kitchen is done, the other rooms are half done. Millie is coming home this afternoon and I want to go with Ed and his truck to the recycling dumpsters before that, so that I can get rid of the huge mountain of flattened cardboard. Even with his pickup, I think it'll be a challenge to do it in just one haul. 

(at the dump)

 

 

Is it the 4th of July? For a moment I thought that was yesterday. Dates are merely calendar pages with lists of what I must do at what time. That they actually represent something important -- well fine, but who has time to reflect on that?

A half hour of drinking in this porch moment and then I am back with the boxes. By early afternoon, I have most of them unpacked. This is the one benefit and perhaps the only benefit of moving so often -- you so do not want to be stuck finding space for every item in a box, that you're likely to throw or give away things that are only marginally relevant to your life. I could die tomorrow and my kids would have an easy time dealing with my possessions. But decluttering is only a beginning. Piles begin to form over time. You stuff things randomly into any corner just so you dont have to decide their fate at the moment. If I have any resolve after this last move, it's that I will not create piles and stashes of stuff. I swear I've been saying this for many decades, but this time I've been hit hard by all my packing and unpacking. I placed every item with care at Steffi's House. Perhaps this time though I'll succeed in getting closer to minimalism rather than excess. And I remind myself that I came to America with an American Tourister suitcase and a flight bag (remember those?). True, I left some possessions in Warsaw and I expected to return to them or bring them to my life here, but when my parents got rid of everything I left behind (behind my back!) I have to admit that I didn't miss any of it. And from this suitcase and bag, the possessions multiplied. Because that really is the American way. We like our stuff.

 

But this isn't a trait I want to dwell on. It's the 4th of July and I surely want to say something that has both gravitas and lightheartedness to  it: How about noise? Because I'm hearing a lot of it on this 4th. We are a loud nation. We like to expose ourselves to noise. Our music is loud. And our fireworks are loud and we love them precisely for that reason. Why else keep your kids up late and brave swarms of mosquitoes on this 4th of July if not to revel in the explosiveness of a firework display? Sure, the color and sparkle thrill us too, but you cannot gloss over the fact that we all probably lose a bit of our hearing every year as we attend these displays.

No, of course I'm not going. But I'll hear the noise anyway, because people love popping firecrackers in their driveways on this day. Why? It's the thrill of effectuating a loud bang.

(I must admit that we are not alone in this love of loud sounds. Having lived in a construction zone for 5 months, I listened to a lot of music played by the construction crew. I liked it, but it was decidedly loud, and not in English. Still, even in loudish countries, our exuberance and thrill of the loud puts us way ahead of the pack.

 

Julie brings Millie home at 3 and here's some good news -- I am breaking down the last moving box as they come in! Oh, I still have stuff to do. Pictures to put up. Small things requiring my attention. Lots of plant work. But unpacking? Done! In 24 hours I manged to put away every single item. Phew!

Millie initially does not seem bothered by the new home. She looks around, with curiosity.

 

 

 

Is it because she has seen it before, or does she think we're merely visiting someone? 

She rests, and then I take her out for a walk. I'm only two blocks from Sally's House and yet the location couldn't be more different. I am close to the bike path, the prairie fields, nature that is something other than just mowed lawn.

And at first, Millie is a happy pup. 

 

 

 

But on our walk back, two dogs from a home a few doors down, come running to their own fence line barking and growling at her. I've met the owners before -- nice people who admit they have troubled dogs. Millie freezes. She has encountered mean dogs before -- near Sally's House there are two of them -- but these guys caught her by surprise. My terrified dog pulls like never before to get away from this space, these dogs, their owners, all of it. 

At home, she figures out that if she is on furniture, she can see people out the window. Including the family across the street with little kids playing with firecrackers. Their dad throws something down, it pops, they jump on it, there's smoke. I haven't a clue as to what this firecracker is, but Millie is in no mood for any of it. She barks her head off at all of it -- the loud pops, the kids running around clouds of smoke, and perhaps her own situation -- a dog suddenly in a place that just isn't the home she remembers. The scents are a match, but it all feels... very very strange. different.

 I sit closely with her and when she is in my arms, she quiets down. But her body is stiff. The girl is tense. And when i let her go, she is back on the chairs, barking. At everything.

 

 

I put her in her crate where she cannot see anything. The two growling lunging dogs have put her on alert. It'll take a while now to get her to feel confident again. 

 

And me? I can't believe I'm winding down a year of choppy seas and turbulent winds. Could it be that I am finally settled? My week to remember ends tomorrow, but really it ends today, on July 4th. In my new home.

with so much love... 

 

a week to remember, day 5

What a day. And it still continues. Though in a few minutes it'll be midnight and therefore -- the 4th of July

But let me start with one thought I had today -- Americans who work in service fields are extremely pleasant toward customers. I can't think of another country where I have encountered such a consistent emphasis on friendly, customer-focused, attentive service. (This is why we hear so many complaints by Americans when they travel for the first time abroad. People appear to them to be rude. They're not that, actually, they are just.. normal. (Well, I'm still seeing some rudeness in the old country, or at least indifference to those who come in through the door. A hold over from our postwar era of absolutely lousy, hostile service. Nothing on the shelves, indifference of the clerks.) It's us, here in America who are the outliers. Some of the service workers are kind and friendly by nature, but if that's not your style, you surely will be told by management that your job is to show care. I remember when I did moonlighting in retail, selling L'Occitanae cosmetics. I was instructed to complement customers in some fashion. Just to make them feel good. Personally, I like a hands-off sales clerk who will let me browse without her or him hovering nearby, but I was told to shove that attitude in my pocket and keep it there while I worked behind the counter. Be cheerful, be pleasant. After a while, it becomes second nature.

Perhaps you're thinking that this is a corporate model that is more about bringing in a sale than being genuinely concerned about the person who comes in for a needed something or other. But the fact is that I have always thought that at first blush at least, Americans are genuinely friendly. Maybe we are now going through a phase where we hate everyone who is not like us, and yet, we still reach out with kindness to those seeking our help.

[My two movers today are, in fact, extremely kind and pretty friendly. Young men who surely must loathe their job -- they never stay with it for more than a few months or a year -- so pleasant to deal with on what is turning out to be a very difficult move. It took the two of them six hours to do the job and this despite my moving all fragile stuff on my own.]

Let me roll back to the morning. Without Millie. A good thing, because the day is one big mess pile. In fact, I called Julie, her babysitter, and asked if she could bring Millie not today, but tomorrow. Smart move! Steffi's House is a disaster right now.

I was up early -- at 5 a.m. -- and I did squeeze in a breakfast on the increasingly naked porch...

 

And then it was one mad dash -- to move more stuff. Anything that would require careful handling. To shovel off the wood chips that are still in the driveway. To work with the movers on placement of furniture. To call Ed for help with building a chair. To start unpacking. Very slowly. TO break down boxes. 

I was feeling upbeat all the way until 4 pm. My new reading corner made me totally giddy.

Then I hit that brick wall. I mentioned here that I got talked into switching my mobile service. To bundle it with the internet. I went through the process of doing this. It took forever. Cancel ATT, start Spectrum. Except that once tranferred and activated, the new phone service had such poor reception that I could not complete a single call. Next then was an hour spent with Spectrum trouble shooting. Nothing helped. I think I am simply in a Spectrum/Verizon dead. zone. All to save $10 a month...

Next hour? Spent with Spectrum and ATT canceling the first and reactivating the second (it's called a "winback"). I mean, you have to laugh. Everything was going smoothly, and then here I am, working not on the move but on my phone service. To un-save $10. 

But on the upside, the agents have all been super nice! And friendly. No one grumbled, no one was hostile or blamed me for this back and forth. (They did ask me -- how long did I stick it out with Spectrum and were quite surprised when I said "less than an hour.")

In the evening I return to the boxes.  Ed came, and I so I paused to share the leftover pizza slices with him (and a salad!) but eventually I resumed unpacking. Three moves and I still can't decide which is more loathsome -- the packing or unpacking.At least with the latter, you know you're at the tail end of it. Hard to believe that tonight I'll be in my home finally. Just me and the boxes. Millie comes back tomorrow.

with so much love... 

a week to remember, day 4

The first commercial roller coaster opened in 1884, in Coney Island of course. Oh, the idea had its roots 100 years earlier, in St Petersburg, Russia. Something akin to a mechanical sled on tracks was built at the whim of Catherine the Great. But it was the Coney Island ride that launched the roller coaster as we know it today -- with all the trappings of an amusement park surrounding it.

Roller coasters are popular worldwide, but America has the highest concentration of the thrill coasters that basically make you feel like your guts are plunging way ahead of you into a void of nothingness where up is down, and down is up, and your body shakes and quivers for a long time after, to recover from the shock it just endured. 

We love roller coasters.

I used to love roller coasters, until I didn't. Now, you couldn't pay me to go on one. Feeling dizzy and sick and jarred and tossed around so that the bones rattle is just not pleasurable any more. But it once was. Just like it still is for so many Americans.

*     *     *

I put Millie through a lot this morning. First of all, she and I had another late night. (I had to buy a bed. Not for me. It took a while to find one that was cheap and appropriate. Then of course there was the mattress... by the time I was done, it was midnight.) But there was no sleeping in this morning. Up at 5. Lots to do. 

Millie didn't mind the early wake up. But she does mind the chaos. The changes. The absence of old reliable props. We had breakfast on the porch. She hadn't her usual plants to sniff out, and there was no bench to settle under. It looked and felt different. 

 

My girl, this is our last morning here. I just want to tell you -- all these moves, the work involved -- it's been worth it. Our days here have been beautiful. And they will even more beautiful in Steffi's House.

And then I had to interrupt her morning nap, because the carpet cleaner had arrived. I had four rugs to unroll for them, and of course I had to open up the garage for them. I took the girl with me, thinking that perhaps she'd like a run in the Steffi yard. She did, but when I went into the house for a minute, she got scared. And when the big guy (and he was big) came with his machinery, she got more scared. And when he turned on his carpet cleaning motors, she was totally freaked out. She trembled as I put her in the car.

We snuggled for a while, then I drove her to Happy Dogz where she flew into the room full of familiar everything, tail going at full speed, excitement returning to her dark eyes.

Happy Dogz is closed tomorrow for the holiday weekend, but Julie -- the staff person who took care of Millie when I went to Europe -- happily agreed to take her home for an overnight. In this way, I have the whole day today to finish up with the packing and of course tomorrow, to assist with the move.

It wasn't the smoothest of days, and it was beastly hot once again, with storms hitting us in the early evening. Nothing terrible happened and the move continues to go forward, but there were bumps along the way. I had to call Ed to help with the Internet installation. The process stumped him as well and we spent way too much time trying to understand what our errors were. The movers came to pack up anything I hadn't boxed yet, and they packed all that they weren't supposed to pack (things I needed for the next two days) and did not pack a whole cabinet of stuff that should have been boxed. And I mowed the Sally lawn and the mowing machine swallowed up one of its parts and spit it out in shreds, gashing my leg in the process. Same leg that the neighbor's dog scratched just minutes before. (I said to him -- your dog has very sharp nails. He smiled in agreement. He did then ask -- can I help you with the mowing? And when I paused, trying to think of a polite response, he explained -- you know, because it's so hot and well... what he wanted to say but caught himself  is -- and you're so old...). And the light switch in the house isn't working and the storms knocked down some of my plants. small things that test your ability to stay calm and focused.. 

In the late evening, Ed came over with a pizza. I made a salad, we watched one of our old favorites on TV. I am totally exhausted but I do want to return to the move in a few minutes -- I can start unpacking stuff that I hauled over myself. 

Sally's House feels horribly empty right now: no Millie, no sign of a life in it. I suppose that I never thought of it as a real home. It felt more like I was house sitting for someone. The space was very pleasant, but never quite settled. Three dogs passed through it and that is the way I will remember these months. Henry, Sadey, and finally my sweet Millie. 

Tomorrow, my pup and I will be in Steffi's House. 

with so much love... 

a week to remember, day 3

Millie, 6 a.m. is better than 5:15. We are making progress! Or, is it that we both went to sleep so late last night that the idea of rising at dawn seemed... silly? I had taken my pup for a late evening stroll to Steffi's House. Her first venture inside. I accomplished two things -- I got her acquainted with her future home (she loved it! ...ran off upstairs to explore and came leaping down as if with approval), and additionally, I got to do some measurements. Of course, my set up at the Edge and even in Sally's House is not going to work well in the new place. This in itself is funny, since the same construction company put up both Sally's and Steffi's houses and even in the same year. Much of what is inside one, is a carbon copy of what is inside the other (the cabinets, the fridge, the stove, the fireplace). Though I will say that Steffi's House hasn't some of the shortcomings of Sally's. The flooring isn't as artificial looking, the washer dryer combo isn't the bottom of the barrel, like the ones here which I swear came from the discontinued stack at Walmart. And I love the fact that Steffi's space is small -- appropriate and plenty luxurious, I think, for a single dweller who expects grandkids to sleepover and come over on a regular basis. One open space downstairs (a blend of kitchen/ dining/ living), three small bedrooms upstairs. I had been looking for a house with just two bedrooms, but apparently these are rarely built. Americans like their space.

Add that to my list then:  being American means loving privacy. Physical space around you that others cannot enter without permission. And if you have the money for it, that space ill be big. I have this beautiful book of small houses. I'd always admired them and thought they were both clever and practical. And beautiful! But I have never seen one anywhere. These are custom built architecturally designed homes that make it into magazines and coffee table books (are there still "coffee table books," or is that an idea out of the 60s?), not into our neighborhoods. 

The idea of "lots of space" surely dates back to the years when Europeans arrived on the continental shores of North America, expecting to lay claim to all that they found here. This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land is a fiction. We appear to love privacy more than thinking ourselves to be merely stewards of a land shared by many. And the larger the space, the better. Big cars, big houses, big closets, big fences. At least that is the dream. That it has become less and less attainable is reason for people to feel they've been cheated out of this American idea. And in all honesty, they have been cheated. People here work hard. [Can I add that to my list of Americanisms? I don't know a single Pole whose kid worked summer jobs at mindless menial tasks just to earn some money; I don't know a single American whose kid did not work before graduating high school.]  We have little time off for family or leisure, and at the end of the day, we feel the need to close ourselves off  (in front of the big TV, and I mean big!) to recover. Only recently have we begun to ask -- if we can't even attain a roof over our heads under which we can hide from the rest of the world, what's the point of all that hard work? Well we might wonder.

 

*     *     *

Another steamy day. Nevertheless, I take my breakfast outside. These are the last porch breakfasts for Millie and me and we both enjoy them too much to be put off by hot weather.

And then she rests. I am so tempted to just drop her off at daycare -- I have accelerated everything now and cant wait to get on with it -- but the little girl needs her quiet on the cool floor, with soft jazz or classical playing in the background. At least that's my take on her morning needs. She seems so... content then. And that feeling then seeps into my soul as well. We are both morning-content!

Eventually though I rouse her and take her over to Happy Dogz. It's July 1st, so I have to drive around and pay rents at the various places for which I still owe rents (a small supplement at the Edge and thankfully the last payment at Sally's House). And now finally I can move some stuff and plant some plants and distribute the chips Ed piled onto the driveway. Inside, the cleaning crew is making sure all is well and that Steffi's House is without any trace of germs or meth or whatever else it is that cleaning crews are looking to eliminate.

 

At 11:30, Ed is free from his various Zooms and appointments and we do some more transporting. More kitchen stuff. And some furniture. This is a bit nuts: I have movers this Friday who are there to do the heavy lifting. Why transport the heavy yard benches, the side tables, the plant stands? 

Because I worked so hard at getting the yard together and they mowed the lawn for me at Steffi's today and I was just dying to see how it all would fit together. And, too, Ed helped me build the bird bath which has a gurgling little fountain to it --- here's a post-installation photo:

And the front porch is taking shape as well and I planted another rose, plus a hibiscus which was damn hard today, what with the heat and the rocky soil, so do you blame me for wanting to finally put the missing pieces in place and take it all in? Because it really has been a hell of an effort! Today was perhaps the toughest of all the physically tough days. The heat was unreal and I had the planting and the watering and the moving of wood chips -- I must have gone through at least a six pack of sparkling water and even then I was totally wiped out.

 

I pick up Millie, we stop for a few minutes at the young family's house. I haven't seen Sandpiper since the trip and he is also a huge fan of Millie.

("I want to hold her!")

 

 

 (Snowdrop, hand her over...)

 

 

*     *     *

The cleaning crew at Steffi's was less enthusiastic about the state of the inside. It looked more or less good to me, but then I was expecting the worst. It looked dusty to them. The blinds, windows, the shelves of the cabinets. They worked hard and took all afternoon to get the job done. It's such a luxury to have someone do this for me! Tomorrow, the carpet guys will do the carpet washing (including rugs that I carted over that bear many marks of a puppy being house-trained), and in the afternoon the movers will finish packing all that I left for them (mostly books and cleaning supplies). In other words -- we're moving along exactly at the pace I had laid out for this so many months ago! 

But I never anticipated that I would go for the big one: the transformation of Steffi's Garden. Nor did I expect there to be a blistering heat wave as I finished up work outside (well, it's not exactly finished, but getting there!). Not to be throwing out one cliché after the next, but I do feel like if this doesn't kill me, it'll make me stronger. Physical labor at my age is something we don't seek out, but when you're pushed into it (in this case by some internal drive that leads me to do these things), ultimately, your muscles will thank you for it.

tomorrow -- another big day!

with so much love... 

a week to remember, day 2

I am in my second day of the crazy week of extremes. this time Millie is up at 5:30, which is an improvement over 5:15 I suppose, but still, too early! 

It's stinky hot outside, though at this moment just after sunrise (at 5:21 today) it's quite bearable. Not that I can do anything yet. Millie is with me and the renter has until noon to move out -- two impediments to getting things rolling.

I eat breakfast outside. Every home I have ever lived in had a lovely side to it, even the tiny two room space on ulica Nowowjejska. The room I shared there with my sister was noisy (tram stop underneath the windows) but it had plenty of sunshine! The first house I ever moved to, back in 1984 -- a suburban split level that looked like it would come in first in a contest for "the most ordinary," had a small spot for my first perennial patch. And Sally's House? Well, the porch with the ugly view. I screened off the row of garages in the back alley with plants and once it was warm enough, I ate all my breakfasts here.

I dont really wish that Steffi's House had a screened porch. I suppose if I had stacks of gold hidden under my mattress, I'd think about putting one to the side of the kitchen, but it would be a major construction project and it seems that even for a wealthy person, it's a lot to spend on a whim that would benefit only one. (I write this as I happened to be looking at a NYTimes article about houses for sale in the Hamptons, What are these people thinking?!)

Still, will I take my breakfast out on the front porch? Will there be bugs? How would Millie go in and out? None of the houses in the new development have screen doors in the front -- I suppose that housing style disappeared once every new home got an AC unit. The girl wont be able to step in and out as she does here, at Sally's House. Ed suggested I put up a screened tent outside the garage -- a way cheaper solution than building out a porch, but the aesthetics of it just don't do it for me. 

*     *     *

As I sit and wait for Millie to finish her nap so that I can take her to doggie day care, I think about the news of the day, and that brings me back to the 250th and my fluff thoughts about becoming American. So, we a smitten with our dogs. What else? 

Here's an obvious one: we are full of genuine smiles. They're not fake, nor are they forced. Completely sincere. Is our collective grin born of eternal optimism? Is it because Americans have great teeth? Is it that we want to compete with others in the "happiest nation" rankings? No, can't be that. For one thing, we're only 23rd on the Happiest Nation scale. Many countries outperform us, though we did beat out Afghanistan. 

I think the smiles express our light-hearted approach to social encounters. I look at a photo of a gathering of my Polish friends and they are all so serious! No one cracks a smile. American photos, on the other hand, are full of laugh wrinkles and goofy grins. And that's the way we greet people too. In stores, in casual encounters. The French may have their obligatory "bonjour," but we deliver that big, robust smile. We like feeling proud and happy and showing this side of us to others (even if inside, we're deeply anxious and, as I said yesterday, probably lonely).

 

*     *     *

Well, I got up to put something away and Millie immediately woke up and followed me, so I may as well take her to doggie daycare. It gives me time to pack some more boxes. 

 (awake and aware)

 

 

And at noon, I go over to Steffi's House, thinking all the while -- what if... What if he hasn't moved out? Is it like a hotel checkout -- you get an hour's grace? And what if it's a disaster inside? I'm sweating on this one and it isn't the fault of the heat outside.

 

*     *     * 

I peak through the window into the garage. No one there. No red car, nothing. I try the code I'd put into the garage two years ago. Still works. I go inside. A little muddy in the garage, but nothing a hose and a broom can't fix. I step inside the house. 

The first thing that strikes me is how cold it is. The renter liked the AC to go full blast. I keep my thermostat at 78F/25.5C. He's at 70F/21C.  

The second thing? I am stunned at how clean the place is. Spotless counters. Swept floor. The stove? Looks like it's never been used. Refrigerator? Like new. Oh sure, my critical eye picks out stuff that may need a scrub, but trivially so. Basically, the house is in great shape.

Who was this guy? 

He cared nothing about the outside, but in here -- not a scratch on the wall. Not even a nail hole for a picture. (Except the garbage -- he forgot to empty it. Totally forgiven. And in the basement? No trace if a meth lab! I feel like sending him a letter of gratitude!

For the first time ever, I look at the house with the eyes of a person who is about to live in her own home. It's delightfully smaller than Sally's House. Truly a cottage. With windows everywhere. I am mesmerized by all of it. 

And I am energized. I call Ed. He comes with his truck and dumps a load of chips on the driveway. I'll get to those tomorrow. We clean out the truck and go over to load up plants, rugs, boxes, wall paintings. We make just a couple of round trips. I can see that the heat is really getting to him. Me? A motor has been turned on within me. I want to get on with this move!

We cant do much though. The house has to stay empty until the cleaning crew goes over it tomorrow. And even then, the upstairs will be off limits until the carpet crew gets done the next day. But I've stacked most of the important and breakable stuff in the garage (after scrubbing the floor clean) and I put out some plants on the front porch and I am feeling so good!

 

*     *     *

I pick up Millie. It's been a long day for me, and for her as well. Normally I just let her go to daycare for half-days, but of course, this week, I want her busy and happy all day so I extended her playtime there.

We stop by the young family's house on the way home. The kids are all in full day programs this month which is good, because I have this move to deal with, but it does mean I see less of them. So I do these quick drop-ins just to see their young faces. 

My next move? You're going to have to wheel me out of that house in a wheelchair as I struggle to remember my name and yours. That's how long I intend to stay at Steffi's House.

with so much love...  

 

a week to remember

This week! Let's see -- there's the move. I should be able to enter Steffi's House tomorrow. And start moving things, at least into the garage, in the afternoon. That is the hope. 

Then there's the heat: we aren't heading toward the broiling temperatures experienced in western Europe last week, but still, it's going to be toasty in the upper Midwest. Upwards of 90F/33C. Steamy hot.

And of course, it's the week of the 4th of July. I don't like the traditional markers of this holiday. Celebrating with fireworks, grilled hot dogs, flags and red white and blue garb, neighborhood parades of kids with festooned bikes (decorated by parents with a lot of red white and blue ribbons and bells and whistles on hand) -- I understand the fun in all of it, but for me, crowds, loud noises -- I'd rather pass. And of course, none of these traditional celebrations seem related to the fact that something happened 250 years ago to create a country. This country. We could discuss high and low what constitutes true patriotism, or if patriotism is inexorably intertwined with a support for democracy, but just the fact that there's not consensus on any of this anymore, tells you a lot about how pleasant that discussion would be. So no, I wont allow myself to be serious here, even if the 4th of July demands of us a moment of serious reflection. 

But let me suggest something light for Ocean. Something that would still make us happy to be American with all our foibles and peculiarities and perhaps inflated ideas about our place on this planet. What, looking at the light side of things, strikes me this morning as truly American? What goofy habit is ours and maybe even uniquely ours? I have some ideas. They are not research based. No science behind any of it, at all. Just my own anecdotal observations. Feel free to disagree. Quietly. After all, disagreement seems to be very American right now!

So here's my "it's so American!"-ism for today: 

Americans are besotted with their dogs. (I admit to being truly American in this way as well!) All people in all countries of course love their canines. But we are downright goofy about it. I visit a dog park in Paris. People let their pooches loose and stand around and socialize with each other. I go to a dog park locally, here in Wisconsin. You call your dog, she comes running and you're absolutely thrilled when she arrives! Your heart bursts with glee and pride and love. Good girl! Good job! Atta girl, you sweet muffin, you!  Rub that neck, kiss that face, lean and lanky, or hefty and furry, maybe with a weird snout or with floppy ears -- no matter, he or she is the best dog in the world! You cannot live without her. Seriously.

Look at the treat selection in an American pet store: there are literally hundreds to choose from. Small bites. Bacon. Peanut butter. Salmon. Chicken. Venison. Parts of animals I'd rather not mention. Crunchy. Soft. Smelly. Air dried. You name it, it's there. (You should see my treat supply, left over from when Henry and Sadey ravenously devoured a handful a day. At least that. I was not stingy.)

Oh, I know what you're thinking -- the French are nuts about their dogs as well - they take them out to restaurants for dinner. We take kids and leave dogs at home. They take dogs and leave kids at home. But do they swoon over their pets? They do not. If you catch the owner's eye and say some sweet nothing about their dog, they nod and go back to their escargot and Sauvignon Blanc.The presence of a dog in a restaurant is merely a statement: I train everyone in my household to be respectful of food and use the right utensils. Even the dog.  We, on this side of the ocean, don't take dogs out because our dogs are special and should have the freedom to be themselves and besides, we try to train them, but we really like it when they jump on the couch next to us, or snuggle in our beds, even if they take our favorite spot in it.

Why have we become so pup crazy? (Again, it's just my speculation -- there's no science behind any of this.) Probably because we are lonely and isolated and live in big houses or cramped apartments with nothing but our laptops and our dogs to keep us happy. And laptops are cold and sometimes spit out nasty things, whereas our dogs? Always there, always happy to converse and listen to our crazed ideas about the state of the world.

Dog infatuation. So American!

*     *     *

Speaking of dogs in a bed, mine woke up at 5:15 this morning and jumped down in search of something. Millie is not trustworthy with potty training in that she does not signal well when she has to go. If I take her out and she doesn't pee, I know that she has secretly peed somewhere in the house. She wont do it in my presence. She'll find a hidden corner where I cannot see her. So no, I was not going to stay in bed while she went searching for a good pee spot, especially since the upstairs is carpeted and therefore harder to clean. I got up with her, took her out, came back in, and went to bed.

Well that threw her off! The girl does not like unpredictability. But  I held firm: I dont like being up before 6. I stuck it out, feigning sleep, and then we went downstairs.

Breakfast outside, but I can feel the steam rolling in...

(sweat peas from the farmette gardens)

Very quickly Millie settles down for her morning nap. Why am I not surprised! (5:15? Really Millie?)

As she seemed to really want to sleep (under the couch, as always), I decided to use this opportunity to put in a half a dozen plants in Steffi's Garden. I know what you're thinking -- why not pack up the house instead? Well that wont work: if I start prowling around, she will follow me with great suspicion. She knows something's up.

So I plant. And as I run the hose to the back, I see the garage door open at Steffi's House, and car drive out with a young guy in a baseball cap hiding the better part of his face. My tenant!

Will he yell at me for being in the garden every single day this week? I will stay calm! I have a good comeback: I'm taking care of the yard since you have not wanted to do anything with the lawn yourself. 

But my renter drives away without a word to me. And did I see a light wave of the hand? The car is rather full. He is moving stuff out by himself, in a small car. I will forever wonder why he wanted this big empty house for two years.

 

*     *     *

Millie has a grooming appointment at noon. Oh, does she need it! Hair covers her eyes and her thick coat makes her pant anytime she is out in the sun. I drop her off and return home. To pack, yes that. And still I am not in a hurry. I've switched mail service, water, sewage, electricity, internet, all of it. I have boxes. I took down art. I packed up (more like threw in) all the glassware and most of the dishes. Ed is scheduled to come tomorrow with his truck to dump chips and move these initial boxes and all my plants over to their new home. Yes, there's lots more to pack but Steffi's House is so close that I can shuttle things back and forth easily this week, storms and heat not withstanding. 

So I sit down and read a book -- light stuff: a mystery by the famed dog behaviorist Patricia McConnell -- who is a bit of a local celebrity) and think about my garden.

*     *     *

Millie, you look so different! Were you a good pup for the groomer? 

 

 

 

My girl always looks completely transformed after a haircut (it's her third). This time, she was trimmed to a short coat because of the summer heat. My sheered pup!

She is hungry, she is playful. But she is also aware of missing carpets and stacked boxes. 

I ignore her questioning gaze and feed her lots of treats. have to make a dent in my supply! Besides, I love this girl so much! My totally awesome little pup!

 

 

with so much love...

 

indulging a passion

My sweet Millie tested the waters last night. As we went upstairs, and I followed my nightly routines, she jumped up on the bed and stayed there watching. Will I push her off? She half expected me to. I'd done it before. But on this night, I let her stay. Crating for the night? That ship has now sailed. And honestly, it was sweet to have her there.

Up early. I have so much to accomplish! But first, breakfast.

I notice that after a solid walk and her own breakfast, Millie is ready for a longer morning nap. For this I crate her. This is my time for planting. 

I move the five coral bells to the east of the building where they'll get the appropriate balance of sun and shade. And I put in about a dozen in the freed up space as well as in other spots where I think an addition would be helpful.

Yes, I know. This is not the right moment for planting. I should get the house ready for the move. But really, if you cannot indulge a passion at the age of 73, then what's the point of living into a ripe old age? There is never a perfect moment for doing something that is unnecessary but oh so beautiful. Duty calls all day every day. And of course, eventually your strength wanes and your passion (for flowers in this instance) fizzles into an unrealized daydream.

 

(getting there!)

 

 

 

 

After nearly three hours in the flower beds, I pack up my shovel and buckets and head home.... by way of K&A Nursery. I need some edging plants. Just a few. To be planted probably once I have moved. 

And then, finally, I come home and pick up a well -rested Millie. She deserves a good run in the dog park! I take her there.

My pup is a speedy kangaroo!

 

 

 

On the way back, we pick up Ed and the three of us go to Tati's for lunch. Millie is given a pup cup and this one is in a perfectly sized mug. I intend to give her just some of the cream, but she so loves it that I let her lick the cup clean.

I have here one happy girl!

And now it really is time to put some breakables in boxes. I have a schedule in mind and it includes taking the first batch of stuff over on Tuesday. That would be the day after tomorrow. Millie naps once again (all that running, all that cream!), and I pack. Not a lot, but enough to feel a sense of accomplishment.

with so much love... 

 

neighbors

As you know, I am moving once again. It's been a complicated trajectory and I can't blame you for not keeping pace. Since not every Ocean reader tracks my comings and goings on a regular basis, I will be including quick summaries occasionally, repetitive to some, all new to those infrequent friends. 

A brief synopsis then: with Ed's help, I recently became a homeowner of a cottage-type house in the new development that abuts the farmette lands. I call it Steffi's House, naming it after my grandmother, whose home was the place of my childhood dreams. Steffi's House was originally a back-up plan. I have no ownership interest in the farmhouse and Ed and I are of an age where one of us may keel over at any time. We both agreed that I should not be thrown out to the dogs if Ed, say, had a biking accident and became a vegetable overnight. Housing prices keep going up, so we both thought it would be wise to take the plunge now before I got priced out of the market.

Last fall, I moved out of the farmhouse. I was overwhelmed by it and I didn't think Ed and I could ever agree on a way forward, both in terms of house maintenance and yard work. We were both making too many compromises already. I moved to an apartment to give myself time to figure out what to do next. It became obvious that Ed and I love our life together even if we cannot share the same residence. So I moved closer to him and waited for Steffi's House to shed its renter so that I could move in to what I hope will be my permanent residence. Steffi's House is compact and importantly, just a few minutes' walk to the farmhouse door. My life with Ed has no ready label for it. I used to call him my occasional travel companion (it was a joke). He calls me gorgeous. Or girl friend -- a designation that I hate because it makes me feel like being on a perpetual date. I call him my partner -- another designation we both do not like since we are not a corporation. So, no good label, but a life together, only now mine will be based out of Steffi's House.

The renter is moving out by noon this Tuesday. I hope. I know nothing about the guy except that he pays his bills on time, does not mow the lawn like he's supposed to, and keeps all shades down to the max all the time. No one has ever seen him in the neighborhood which I know sounds ominous. I did notice that someone put out a garbage can on Thursday, so someone's pulling the strings from the inside. I am somewhat terrified of what I will find inside once he moves out.

Before this last year, I have never been a home owner on my own. Yes, my (ex)husband and I had a heavily mortgaged house while the kids were growing up, but once they were out and gone and my now ex moved to Chicago, I switched to an apartment, and then a heavily mortgaged condo, and then to the farmhouse. Ed's farmhouse. I suppose it does feel late to be entering my own house for the first time at age 73. Many people think I should be going to a retirement community and not embarking on the complicated task of taking care of a house. I happen to disagree. I managed the affairs of house maintenance when I was married and I cared for the premises of the ancient farmhouse for the 15 years I lived in it. I know what's at stake. 

But what I never expected was the new layer of complete lunacy imposed on all homeowners in a community and one with a Home Owners Association, as we now live in the world of social media. 

Initially, when I was invited to join the Facebook Group (open to all here, in the new development), I thought -- great! We can share questions and navigate challenges together! And yes, there is that component to it. But there is another: the finger pointing, calling out, ranting and complaining and shaming of neighbors -- all that I find somewhat crazed. Recently, it's been all about dogs. It is true that many people do not pick up after their pooches. I have a neighbor whose dog routinely poops in my yard and there the poop remains. People who give themselves permission to not follow the rules are not going to be swayed by angry rants on a Facebook page. But the discussion has gone a step further: some homeowners have taken to putting up little signs on their property of the type that say"keep your dog off my property." And so now there are rants about that as well. With the other side joining in, along the lines of "I spend a lot of money on my lawn and do not wish to have it ruined by your dog ." Back and forth like that.

I am beginning to think that we are a country that truly struggles with the idea of community. Having just traveled to places where it is assumed (and confirmed by the high-ups) that anyone can hike over any land at any time, so long as they are respectful and quiet, it's hard for me to believe that we are fighting here over whose dog crosses which lawn. And equally troubling is the positioning of the opposition: I remember when in Paris there were no poop laws and walking on the sidewalks of that city was... treacherous. Then suddenly the people decided that this cannot continue. Leaving dog waste on the street stopped, and these days you'll have to walk many, many blocks before you'll come across any dog poop. And I don't think social media shaming can claim credit for that. 

The Facebook page for this development goes beyond dogs trespassing. People get angry about kids cutting across their back lawn. They get angry when the mailman makes a mistake with a letter (we have a communal mail station). They get really worked up when the flowers in the median strips start to get too tall. And garbage collection  -- if it starts ten minutes early, people get upset. And of course, everyone now has Blink or comparable monitoring systems. You can post pictures of what you feel is offensive conduct. And last night I bought a camera too, since I do not want to be labeled as the one person in the entire neighborhood that you can rob and vandalize because the old bitty does not subscribe to new technology.

We live in such strange times..

 

 *     *     *

Millie did not sleep in her crate last night. That's a first! I let her stay out because she hid under the bed when it was time to turn off the light. It was grand to know that she has reached that milestone in her life where she can be trusted at night to have her freedom.

Breakfast on the porch. With my girl under the bench.

I take her then to the big dog park. I can tell she doesn't really remember it. She is very tentative and doesn't stray far from my side.

 (a roll in the grass is always nice!)

 

And surprisingly, she is also tentative with the dogs there. My pup really likes familiarity. She races to get to doggie daycare -- where she knows the people and the dogs. She hasn't the same confidence in the dog park.

But, it's a gorgeous day and we have quite the lovely walk. More dog park walks are ahead for us, I'm sure of it! 

(classic Millie!)

 

 

*     *     *

On our way back home, I stop over at Steffi's House. Hard to believe that in three days I wont have to tiptoe around there as I inspect the yard.

I go over to the crab apple that was transplanted in the mad pre-trip sod removal and garden creation project. The tree initially was really suffering in its new place, but thankfully it seems to have recovered. And a robin has made a nest in its thick foliage. Since the mama bird is screeching at me as I approach it, I know there must be eggs. 

No eggs. But these!

Welcome to this crazy world, baby birds! 

 

*     *     * 

My move prep is going slowly. Really slowly. You'd think you'd pick up speed the third time around but no. I diddle with small stuff. Why am I not packing? 

I go back to posts here on Ocean about my last move. That one was all about Henry of course and the familiar sadness seeps in. I stop reading and come back to the present.

 

*     *     *

One item that has been on my list of must do's is the paying off of bills for the sod rip up and the planting of a small corner of the Steffi garden. I'd been putting it off until the due date because, well, there have been other expenses this month! 

I get to it this afternoon. As I look at the dozen or so plants the landscaper chose for me, I notice five that I just hadn't paid attention to. Coral bells. Heucheras. Why didn't I see this before? Because I'd been ignoring that corner of the garden and concentrating on the rest. But there it is now: 5 heucheras, placed in the front south side bed, in full glorious hot sun. In case you don't know this about coral bells, they detest hot sun and especially afternoon sun. 

Everything is conspiring for me to replant that corner of the bed. 

Millie, you are napping. Let me put you in the crate for an hour while I go to the K&A Nursery and see what perennials are left. 

I pick up a trunk-ful of lovely plants. And I have to wonder -- just like taking on massive planting days before my departure for Poland, I have now acquired more plants that will need to go in soon. Like, this week.The week of my move. Nits, right? 

No matter. I have faith in hard work and careful scheduling. I will get it done. And I will inhabit Steffi's House next week. 

 

*     *     * 

Now that I slammed in on FaceBook, let me give a flip view of it. Today, for example, I found a video reel on doodle ownership and I had to laugh. It's up and down and all around a Millie profile! Here's the text: 

Everyone wants a doodle until they realize ... everything sticks to their fur (Millie! I just brushed you! must you roll in dried plant life?)... rules are just a suggestion (I guess you can jump up on the bed if you really want to...) ... they rearrange the decor (I really think the couch cover belongs on... the couch)... toilet paper (or a tissue) is considered a food group (actually, every item found outside is considered a food group).

The most playful, silly, lovable dog on the planet!

with so much love... 

 

it's mostly about the move

Ed asks me today -- can I help in any way? He's referring to help with my move.. Nice offer, but so far I have to tell him no. Unfortunately. I've learned that moves are like travel: the complicated sequence of preparations hasn't much to do with packing clothes into a suitcase for a trip. For me -- that's an hour at most. It's the everything else. So, too, with the move. nd I have experience, believe me! Third move in less than a year.

My official move-in date is July 3rd. I set that up even before I moved to Sally's House. I booked movers back in February. July 1st is set aside for cleaning Steffi's House and in this I get help. Not from Ed, but from a professional team. I have no idea how the renter has treated the premises (do meth labs rake havoc to the surroundings??). I hope one day is sufficient for cleaning. I hope he hasn't torn up walls and splattered blood all over the carpets. But in case he has, I hired carpet cleaners for July 2nd.

Once he is out and the management company has inspected the house (I'm told they will do that on June 30th), I can start moving stuff in (at least into the garage). This is when I will need Ed's help. His truck is currently filled with city wood chips and he has to dump those on the driveway of Steffi's House, but he cant do that until the renter has moved out and once he does dump the chips, in order to free the truck for our moving use, I have to quickly disperse them, so that the driveway is free for my movers by July 3rd. For this, I just purchased a wheelbarrow at Home Depot, which I have to pick up later today, along with a shovel, because it's nuts to have to drive over to the farmette every time I want to dig something up. (Why did I think the wheelbarrow would be small and that it would easily fit into the trunk of the car? Just because I googled "small wheelbarrow?" The thing turns out to be  monstrous!)

Do you see what I mean?

And it goes on like this. I call to set up payment for water and sewage, even as I can't discontinue it yet at Sally's House. And don't get me started on the switch of Internet service. Spectrum finally convinced me (it took years of trying) to give up on ATT mobile service and switch over to theirs (and therefore Verizon). They did this by offering a better price. That's all fine, but do you know how stupidly complicated it is to switch your mobile phone service? Of course, it also took an hour of phone time with the Spectrum guy before we settled on a package that would serve my needs. No one believes how low my needs are! I don't stream or game or do any of those high data usage things and yet, they keep telling me that I can increase my speed so much if I sign up for their new and fast fiber-optic cable service. Speed for what? To post updates on Ocean? Nevertheless, I upgraded just to get the better price. Too, I am always scared that I'm running behind as the world moves on. Ed always laughs at me: that's what you get from being raised in commie Poland, he'll say. You're always afraid of losing out.

The morning is cool. I actually take out a blanket for the porch breakfast. Millie, my beautiful shadow, joins me, at first on a chair, then in her usual spot under the bench.

 

(the poppies are from Tivoli...)

 

 

Millie is an "under the furniture" kind of dog. She keeps me company by resting under the couch, not too far from my legs. If I get up, she'll get up and follow me, but so long as I am on the couch, she is under it. (I'd rather have her on the couch next to me, but I have learned to accept a dog's idiosyncratic preferences. As Julie her caregiver last week told me -- Millie is Millie.)

(Pause for a second cup of coffee: here I have to admit to buying souvenirs; I don't normally do that anymore. I'm downsizing! But, on this trip of all trips, I picked up a commemorative plate and cup in Poland,  the breakfast poppies and the candy below in Denmark, and the tray in Finland. I'm not likely to ever forget where these came from!)

I take the time to brush Millie. She is due for a haircut, but in the meantime, I like to keep her untangled. Honestly, I do not know why I enjoy doing this so much! She wiggles like a dog possessed and yet, I patiently run the brush for a good twenty minutes over all her curly hair. There, done!

 

 

 

I drop her off for a half day of doggie daycare. I need to plant what I failed to plant yesterday. And I need to check up on the fencing project -- the owner of the company agreed with me that they did a lousy job installing the mini fence for my mini dog. So they are redoing it. I'm keeping an eye on things there. And the mosquitoes notwithstanding, I go over to the farmette and do some hasty weeding. I just feel bad about leaving the mess there. All those weeds and my dense plants only help increase the mosquito population and frankly, I thought the garden would look okay in its first year of neglect, but it's not looking okay,. It's looking like a jungle, darn it. I need to at least take out some of the density. And yes, I see the first beautiful day lilies popping out! 

(Irises, too, are going strong.)

At the farmhouse, Ed asked me to trim his beard and hair so that's next on my list. 

(done)

 

And while at the farmhouse, I empty out one more bookshelf that I'll use for garage storage. 

The two plants. I have to put those into the ground at Steffi's garden. And in doing that, I realize that I no longer have a watering person, and the last time she watered the newly planted flowers was Monday. True, it rained a day after but still, I need to roll out the hoses. 

That takes an hour. 

Finally, I pick up Millie. And I take her over to the young family's house -- I want to reacquaint her with the kids and I want her to feel some people chaos! Julie agreed that she is still a shy pup and that she would benefit from more people exposure. Here's her people exposure:

A moment of hesitation, a pause. Then my pup has a flashback -- I know these people! 

 

 

And then she and I go home, tired, having done not nearly enough to facilitate next week's move, but of course, it'll get done. Slowly, it will get done.

with so much love... 

 

recognizing joy

Everyone has heard of the saying that you have to travel with someone to understand their sometimes well hidden shortcomings. Maybe. But travel also reveals a person's superpowers. You really start to see where your travel companion shines. Looking back on the trip, I really appreciate how much each of my fellow travelers brought to the table. It shouldn't come as a surprise. I love my family, I think they're all fantastic people. And yet, during our great adventure together they rose to the challenge with extraordinary depth, wisdom, trust, and yes -- joy. The older kids looked after the little ones. It's not by chance, nor by anyone's request that we have so many photos of them all walking together holding hands. That was their initiative. And the littles? The distances they covered! Little Juniper and young Sandpiper never lost their enthusiasm for keeping up, for going this way or that, for meals together, for embracing this mind boggling adventure as if it was no great imposition. They ran up the 3 flights of stairs (in my old apartment house) along with the big kids. They did everything along with the big kids. 

And the grownups? For one thing, they accepted my plan for the trip and deemed every day to be important and they shared that message with their young ones, so that everyone walked the streets of Warsaw (or rural roads of Gniazdowo) with their eyes and hearts wide open. And the joy -- so much joy! Dinners were long because the funny stories were never-ending. It's as if we were all young again, not yet worried about jobs and kids and schools and the twists and turns of daily life. I see my kids, my grandkids, in their happy spaces back home, but during the trip, everyone -- young and old -- was so exuberant! Six days of exuberance -- that's what I'll remember about our trip to Poland.

*     *     *

My cold is improving, but as always, it's taking its time. But it is this slight congestion that makes me happy as a clam right now: being home means that there is a tissue box ready and waiting when I need a tissue. I dont have to fill my pockets with clean and then not so clean tissues in the course of the day. Such luxury: pull out, blow, toss, done. Makes me smile, really it does.

*     *     *

Leaving Europe so early yesterday and making my tight connections meant that I came back to Sally's House at an unusually early hour: before 3 pm. (Usually it's early or late evening.) This means I am already unpacked and have done two loads of laundry. I ordered groceries and they were delivered. And I did the budget for the trip. With all the expenses piling on this month (a trip of a lifetime, the garden, the move), I need to be cautious and monitor the flow and allocation of savings. I attended to that yesterday.

This morning I just want to do a few things that are tough to do with Millie at home: mow the lawn. Plant (yes, still more!) a couple of replacement lilies at Steffi's House Clean out the garage and get it ready for moving boxes, dump cardboard at the recycling place -- that kind of stuff.

But first comes breakfast. I try to flip my meal a little: yogurt on the bottom, then granola and fruit. I can't say that it made much difference (in terms of taste), but it made me feel I was still one foot in the Nordic countries.

It's a beautiful day -- not hot yet. That comes next week. I appreciate the large porch here -- so convenient for breakfast! What will I do at Steffi's House? Take my morning coffee to the front porch? Or maybe the side yard? Exciting to imagine how I might start the day there.

*     *     *  

I go to the farmette to pick up some more dirt. Some replacement plants came last week (and more will arrive next week) and I want to put them in as soon as possible. As I get out of the car, I am hit with a swarm of mosquitoes. I have to say, I think they're made worse by my absence. The garden is looking terribly overgrown. All those rains last week really created a jungle out there. Should I help Ed clear it some? But didn't I move out deliberately so that this wouldn't be my chore, my problem? And yet, I feel some responsibility for the place. Sigh...

*     *     *

I pick up Millie. Yes, she is happy to see me. Yes, she jumps all over me and once home, follows me everywhere. she looks taller and leaner!

 

 

 

And I sense her puzzlement. She has that tentative stance, that "what just happened here" demeanor. She loved me, then she loved Julie. Her substitute caregiver took her everywhere with her -- to work at Happy Dogz. On a camping trip with her friends. On a hike in the state park. To bed with her at night. I'm sure Millie adjusted to the idea that Julie's house was her new home. 

And yet, although my pup adjusted well, Julie tells me that Millie has an ingrained hesitancy to anyone who is not her number one human. She is unsure around those who do not fit into her everyday. Not that she does much about it. She merely sidesteps them, just in case they're going to pounce on her and eat her up. 

(sweet, sweet girl!)

 

 

Right now, I am taking one day at a time with her. She'll necessarily spend a bit of time at doggie day care because of the impending move. In many ways that is her constant. She has known the people there from her first week with me. And how will she take to her new home? Probably just fine, given that she already knows the gardens there. Nonetheless, this cautious girl will do best, I'm sure, once we have settled down to something resembling permanence. Millie loves routine. She'll have plenty of it. Just not this month!

with so much love...  

returning home...

White nights are those when it never gets dark. It feels like the sun was on its way down, then, just as it began to disappear beyond the horizon, it changed its mind and came right back up again. Like a pogo stick. Down and up, down and up.

If you have a flight that has you waking just before 4 a.m. (after going to sleep just a couple of white night hours earlier) so that you can catch a ride to the airport at 4:30, then you really appreciate the light gently coming in through the window. You don't want to wake the little girl still sleeping in the big bed, so you dont turn on the lights. And still, you can see everything. You tuck your cream and night-wear into your big bag (to be sent through), zip up everything, and hop into the shower, from where you hear that soft sweet voice -- hi gaga... I'm going to miss you...

Go back to bed, Snowdrop. You dont need to be up for hours!

I will, I just want to stay up a little to say good bye. 

 

 

 

Leaving Helsinki. Down the elevator...

 

 

 

... to the front desk for a quick check on my account. The hotel told me that since I'd be missing breakfast, there's be coffee and croissants available at 4:15 for me to take. I was going to pass, but the croissants were warm and smelled so good...

A quick ride through the quiet city, and I am at the airport.  

Helsinki Airport. It is the culprit here, responsible for this middle of the (white) night wake up. My airlines of choice flies out of there, but to connect to U.S. bound flights the same day, you have to leave by 7. I contemplated over-nighting in Amsterdam, or even Paris, just to give me a decent night's sleep in Helsinki, and a last breakfast with the young family (they are flying to Chicago, so they have no connection issues), but thankfully I decided way back when, at the time of booking everything, that I'd just want to get home. And that is just so true! I do want to get home. (And I don't want to stop even for a minute in sweltering Paris or overheated Amsterdam.)

Breakfast, therefore, is at the airport and it consists of that croissant and fruit picked up at the hotel, and the world's worst coffee, straight from a machine that asked if you wanted coffee with a whitener. Sounds ominous, no? Whatever it was, I would not call it milk. I did add to my tray something that will be my Helsinki breakfast gift: yogurt with juicy squished berries. Possibly lingonberries or maybe bilberries. The flavor is tart in a pleasant sort of way. Had they granola, I would have sprinkled it on top. I picked up a love of croissants from France, a love of muesli in Switzerland, and now, from Finland -- a real fondness for creamy yogurt with a juicy berry mixture (and granola, once I'm home). You might wonder -- what breakfast love did I bring back from Poland? Really not a whole lot since Poles tend to favor savory breakfasts. White cheese with radishes and maybe chives, over dark bread, a soft boiled egg in a glass, lots of meaty cold cuts. I suppose from my grandmother, I did pick up a love of oatmeal with fruits and honey. My winter staple!

 

 

The flight to Amsterdam took off on time. And it arrived on time. That is really good news: I need to go through passport control in Amsterdam and the stories of lines there have been harrowing and my layover is unusually short, again, picked because the choices were poor: just one hour to connect, or wait 4.5 hours for the next flight. I went with the risky one hour and this time at least I won.

The flight to Minneapolis, on the other hand, did not take off on time. Something about numbers that needed balancing. An hour past scheduled take off, the soft spoken captain finally proclaimed it to be okay (whatever it was that was not okay), but of course, there was that lost hour, and once again, I had a short connecting time in Minneapolis: originally one and a half hours. -- to clear customs, pick up luggage, transfer it to the domestic connection, go through security once again and get to the gate which in Minneapolis is no small feat, and now I had that cut to under an hour. It was stressful, hurried, and I had to budge a few lines, and move along at a fast clip, but in the end, I ran up to the gate just as the last passenger was boarding. It was that close, but I made it.

Ed is waiting at the airport. Your beard needs a trim -- I comment. Yes, my hair too. 

I had asked him to come over and hang out with me tonight, but I changed my mind and told him we need to push that to a later day. I have a lot to do before I pick up Millie tomorrow and, too, I am still coughing up a storm. After listening to my raspy voice, I'm sure he was relieved to return to the farmette (where, as of yesterday, the mosquitoes are horrible!).

I drive by Steffi's House. The garden looks pretty good. Lots of rain made for light work for my watering person. But it's not all perfect. Some plants have fallen, some chips have been washed away. Worst of all, the fencing people put up a mini fence inside so that Millie wont be able to squeeze through the posts and in places it looks plain horrible.  They need to redo it. They wont be happy to hear this. Sigh...

And then I'm home. 

But is it really home if I'm to move out of it in a week?  My to-do list for the return is not to unpack and put away, but to throw out and downsize once again. To take stock of the plants. To bring boxes up from the basement and start packing and stacking stuff in the garage. And to get Millie! But not until tomorrow morning. For now, I sit back and drink my perfect milky coffee. And I think about it all. It was such a grand trip! Possibly a "best ever!" Which makes me not just content, but plain old happy.

with so much love...