I was 52 when Ed and I began to spend our days in each other's company. He was a fresh 55.
We were already formed.
In younger years, people grow together, or, so often, they grow apart. It's hard to tell where that growth will take you. But after, say 50, your direction is probably set. The core is formed. What you put in the pot is already there. You can season, you can mix in other ingredients, but you can't take out what's simmering within. It's been cooking too long.
Ed's love of roaming freely, unencumbered, say through Latin America is formed. My love of rambling along somewhat more predictable tracks through Europe is formed. We bend and we go along to meet the other, but we are never fully convinced. We like what we like.
I write this because Ed and I take up the topic we left hanging yesterday -- where will we travel next?
It's such an abstract discussion! I have months of work before me, and then -- more months of work. And yet, it is an essential discussion. Because I want to know -- where we, you and I -- where will we travel next?
In the morning, we move gently in our back and forth. There are distractions, after all. The blooming anemone has attracted a flock of bees. We try to imagine where they're living, what they're doing with the pollen they collect.
In the early afternoon, I break from work and from porch specualtions: it's been a while since my older girl and I have taken a longer walk together. We do that now, through the maze of paths at the Arboretum.
Wisconsin could not look better than it does right now.
Evening: Ed and I do a round of tennis and then, because there are all these tomatoes, Ed makes up a batch of salsa and let me not forget to mention that the guy who, before this summer, hasn't cooked for us since he was 55 and I was 52, also worked up a pot of fallen apples from the old orchard so that we can have applesauce all winter long (after freezing a dozen jars of homemade peach jam last week).
Applesauce? I ask, trying to imagine how we might use it come January.
The fact is, if it grows at the farmette and it's edible and if Ed is inspired to preserve it, we will be eating it, all year long.
Night time. The air is cooling down. Windows are wide open. The topic of future travels hangs in the air, but it wont be resolved. Not today, not this year. It will be an ongoing discussion. So that we can find those paths that we would both want to take. Despite the fact that he will never feel as rooted in Europe as I do and I will never crave to ramble through Latin America with a backpack as much as he does.
We were already formed.
In younger years, people grow together, or, so often, they grow apart. It's hard to tell where that growth will take you. But after, say 50, your direction is probably set. The core is formed. What you put in the pot is already there. You can season, you can mix in other ingredients, but you can't take out what's simmering within. It's been cooking too long.
Ed's love of roaming freely, unencumbered, say through Latin America is formed. My love of rambling along somewhat more predictable tracks through Europe is formed. We bend and we go along to meet the other, but we are never fully convinced. We like what we like.
I write this because Ed and I take up the topic we left hanging yesterday -- where will we travel next?
It's such an abstract discussion! I have months of work before me, and then -- more months of work. And yet, it is an essential discussion. Because I want to know -- where we, you and I -- where will we travel next?
In the morning, we move gently in our back and forth. There are distractions, after all. The blooming anemone has attracted a flock of bees. We try to imagine where they're living, what they're doing with the pollen they collect.
In the early afternoon, I break from work and from porch specualtions: it's been a while since my older girl and I have taken a longer walk together. We do that now, through the maze of paths at the Arboretum.
Wisconsin could not look better than it does right now.
Evening: Ed and I do a round of tennis and then, because there are all these tomatoes, Ed makes up a batch of salsa and let me not forget to mention that the guy who, before this summer, hasn't cooked for us since he was 55 and I was 52, also worked up a pot of fallen apples from the old orchard so that we can have applesauce all winter long (after freezing a dozen jars of homemade peach jam last week).
Applesauce? I ask, trying to imagine how we might use it come January.
The fact is, if it grows at the farmette and it's edible and if Ed is inspired to preserve it, we will be eating it, all year long.
Night time. The air is cooling down. Windows are wide open. The topic of future travels hangs in the air, but it wont be resolved. Not today, not this year. It will be an ongoing discussion. So that we can find those paths that we would both want to take. Despite the fact that he will never feel as rooted in Europe as I do and I will never crave to ramble through Latin America with a backpack as much as he does.
I think a compromise in Latin America would be Cartagena, Santiago or Montevideo -all of which feel like great European cities in their own way- and let him hike around before, during or after. Just another opinion to add to the mix. Happy last day of summer vacation!
ReplyDeleteSara -- I think you are correct that the compromise ought to tilt in Ed's favor (meaning Central/South America), keeping things a little less wild perhaps than he would like. Because it is clear as anything that in the now nearly nine years we've been together, he has traveled with me numerous times to where I wanted to go and I have been with him to Latin America exactly once. So, this winter will be a trip due south.
ReplyDeleteStill, the idea of a Europe without Ed is not nearly as pleasant as a Europe with Ed, so I may have to adjust my images.
that first capture of Ed is so good...great musings on life and travel and how two come together in their separateness.
ReplyDeleteHow about Iceland? I've heard it's stunning.
ReplyDeleteNow regarding the applesauce, I use it every week or 10 days to make the big batch of homemade granola for Paul. It gives just the right sweetness along with the brown sugar I add, and it keeps it moist. I use about a cup to 1.5 cups for a large batch - added before baking it.
Diane -- as you know, it's your spouse's excitement about travel to Europe that triggered this! :)
ReplyDeleteBex -- the granola (alternatively -- oatmeal) is a great idea. But no to Iceland. Supremely expensive. I was there as a kid and even then, I was stunned at how much they charge for walking and breathing (it seemed).