A new week of new habits, which are quickly becoming old habits. Up early, check on flowers,
... eat breakfast,
... shoo Ed off to work.
And of course, play time with Snowdrop.
True, I am now thinking ahead more carefully -- as if I were going to an office myself: make sure I have dinners in mind, make sure there's a recipe in my head for all those tomatoes we picked yesterday, make sure the flower tubs are watered -- it's going to be hot hot hot this week! Make sure, make sure, keep a list going, check things off, write in new details, don't mess it up -- others are counting on you!
Retirement is what you make of it and many of my insane days are that way by choice -- my choice, no less. I offer no complaints. But please do not be surprised if for the next few days, my posts will read like notes scribbled on a paper dinner napkin -- you know, a little rough and hastily drawn around the edges. With spills. Think: Snowdrop eating carrots (as she did today, when I fed her, this time in her own home).
And while I'm bragging about Snowdrop's great accomplishments, let me show you what that little girl is up to right now.
Yep, she's swaying on all fours, ready to take off. I feel great trepidation. Are we all ready for this?!
And still, I know that this crazy busy time -- it's all transitional. Ed applies himself fully to his new commitments, but they will either recede with time or become part of our everyday. There will come a day when he'll be late coming home in the evening and I'll yawn, because of the sheer regularity of it all. [I don't feel that way tonight, as I'm still used to him being here for dinner pronto, because really, you cannot be late walking from the sheep shed to the farmhouse. Today, when the dinner hour comes and goes and he is not here, I despair with the freshly made pizza, then vow to myself to talk him into finally, finally getting a cell phone. A person who goes to work needs a cell phone, so that he or she may be called and asked to pick up a bag of mozzarella on the way home from the office, or to be yelled at by their partner for being late for dinner.]
By the end of the day, Ed and I return to a steady and solid equilibrium. We take a walk into the fields farmed by truck farmers to the east of the farmette. Crops are doing well this year. The harvest will be rock solid. At home, too, our flowers are bursting with enthusiasm.
It's contagious.
... eat breakfast,
... shoo Ed off to work.
And of course, play time with Snowdrop.
True, I am now thinking ahead more carefully -- as if I were going to an office myself: make sure I have dinners in mind, make sure there's a recipe in my head for all those tomatoes we picked yesterday, make sure the flower tubs are watered -- it's going to be hot hot hot this week! Make sure, make sure, keep a list going, check things off, write in new details, don't mess it up -- others are counting on you!
Retirement is what you make of it and many of my insane days are that way by choice -- my choice, no less. I offer no complaints. But please do not be surprised if for the next few days, my posts will read like notes scribbled on a paper dinner napkin -- you know, a little rough and hastily drawn around the edges. With spills. Think: Snowdrop eating carrots (as she did today, when I fed her, this time in her own home).
And while I'm bragging about Snowdrop's great accomplishments, let me show you what that little girl is up to right now.
Yep, she's swaying on all fours, ready to take off. I feel great trepidation. Are we all ready for this?!
And still, I know that this crazy busy time -- it's all transitional. Ed applies himself fully to his new commitments, but they will either recede with time or become part of our everyday. There will come a day when he'll be late coming home in the evening and I'll yawn, because of the sheer regularity of it all. [I don't feel that way tonight, as I'm still used to him being here for dinner pronto, because really, you cannot be late walking from the sheep shed to the farmhouse. Today, when the dinner hour comes and goes and he is not here, I despair with the freshly made pizza, then vow to myself to talk him into finally, finally getting a cell phone. A person who goes to work needs a cell phone, so that he or she may be called and asked to pick up a bag of mozzarella on the way home from the office, or to be yelled at by their partner for being late for dinner.]
By the end of the day, Ed and I return to a steady and solid equilibrium. We take a walk into the fields farmed by truck farmers to the east of the farmette. Crops are doing well this year. The harvest will be rock solid. At home, too, our flowers are bursting with enthusiasm.
It's contagious.
