We're establishing new rhythms. They start early. Our usual breakfast around 9 has shifted: today it is around 7:30, as Ed has meetings to attend.
It's the last meal with our house guests. They pack up and leave shortly after. You might nod sympathetically and say -- good to have your house back, what with all the tumult. I suppose. Establishing new rhythms requires a time of a meditative quiet. At the same time, I look around and notice that the lawn is mowed. The chicken coop is cleaned, the dishes are washed, Snowdrop's jumparoo is assembled. Our house guests saw us through a tough week, using a huge amount of tact and elbow grease. On top of it all, Ed had sympathetic listeners. I had an enthusiastic pal to help me uncork and sample an Islay whisky. These guys helped move us from square one to square two. We were so very fortunate to have them here.
Afternoon? Snowdrop time!
I must proudly report that the girl received her first certificate of accomplishment today: she completed her swimming course! I don't know that much was required of her -- showing up was plenty sufficient -- but still, the certificate hangs on the young family's refrigerator door: a congratulatory note attesting to her "swimming" progress.
Snowdrop wakes from her nap just as I arrive...
She and I play, though if you watched her, you could hardly call it play. She is intense and she works hard at perfecting her finger grasp. Too, she rolls so adeptly and without regard to any obstacles that I have to carefully steer her away from potential collisions with furniture.
A few hours of this and she needs a pause. The three of us (her mommy joins us) take a walk around the lake and yes, do note that this is her downtime. Her expression tells us as much. (The "tatoo" on her arm is her swimming badge of honor.)
And now I'm home. I spend an evening hour deadheading day lilies. You don't have to do that: eventually the spent flowers fall off of their own accord. But there is something deeply satisfying in tidying a yard in full bloom. You're not the designer, the developer, the digger and planter anymore. You're the gentle hand that adds a touch of appreciation to what's before you. Nothing more, nothing less.
It's the last meal with our house guests. They pack up and leave shortly after. You might nod sympathetically and say -- good to have your house back, what with all the tumult. I suppose. Establishing new rhythms requires a time of a meditative quiet. At the same time, I look around and notice that the lawn is mowed. The chicken coop is cleaned, the dishes are washed, Snowdrop's jumparoo is assembled. Our house guests saw us through a tough week, using a huge amount of tact and elbow grease. On top of it all, Ed had sympathetic listeners. I had an enthusiastic pal to help me uncork and sample an Islay whisky. These guys helped move us from square one to square two. We were so very fortunate to have them here.
Afternoon? Snowdrop time!
I must proudly report that the girl received her first certificate of accomplishment today: she completed her swimming course! I don't know that much was required of her -- showing up was plenty sufficient -- but still, the certificate hangs on the young family's refrigerator door: a congratulatory note attesting to her "swimming" progress.
Snowdrop wakes from her nap just as I arrive...
She and I play, though if you watched her, you could hardly call it play. She is intense and she works hard at perfecting her finger grasp. Too, she rolls so adeptly and without regard to any obstacles that I have to carefully steer her away from potential collisions with furniture.
A few hours of this and she needs a pause. The three of us (her mommy joins us) take a walk around the lake and yes, do note that this is her downtime. Her expression tells us as much. (The "tatoo" on her arm is her swimming badge of honor.)
And now I'm home. I spend an evening hour deadheading day lilies. You don't have to do that: eventually the spent flowers fall off of their own accord. But there is something deeply satisfying in tidying a yard in full bloom. You're not the designer, the developer, the digger and planter anymore. You're the gentle hand that adds a touch of appreciation to what's before you. Nothing more, nothing less.
Your first paragraph about your house guests was wonderful.
ReplyDeleteYou are very fortunate to have such great friends-and family-Nina. I hope you have a great weekend.
ReplyDeleteYes, good friends indeed. Is Ed going through a life change regarding his work and the late friend's company? Or is this a temporary doubling-down?
ReplyDeleteThe garden. Exhale. I like your phrase "something deeply satisfying about tidying" in the garden, I feel it too, and it is healthy for the plants, as well as for ourselves. I fantasize that they're grateful. I remind them that I am their Goddess. :) Well actually it's the bees I talk to, when they flurry up at me in a warning, I remind them that I'm making this little paradise for them.
Thinking about letting one's imagination free in the garden - I especially liked your first photo on Tuesday - the daylilies opening up toward that visible ray of sunlight. I feel, again, that they are grateful, turning their faces to the sun with pleasure. I know, I know, phototropism.
I turn my face to the sun in gratitude as well.
I had no idea babies could be taught to swim so early.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry for your loss Nina and Ed.