There surely were twists and turns to the week, but here we are, on Friday, still trudging on, and the sun rises, and the season moves forward, and it feels mighty lucky to be part of it all right now.
Ed is in deep sleep at the time the cheepers should be let out, so I hustle on outside leaving him to dream on...
But being up at dawn has its rewards.
Breakfast is in the sun room.
The angle is different, because I want to include the ever faithful Christmas cactus -- a gift from Ed in our first year together, when he still thought he had to occasionally bring me a flower. The funny thing is that it always blooms ahead of schedule, as if to remind me that things needn't be right on target to be beautiful.
I have an afternoon with Snowdrop and it's especially wonderful because it's the end of a tougher week, but, too, my time with the little girl is quickly going to undergo some transformations. She is a busy girl this weekend and I'll not see her until next week. And not for long then either. Her first Thanksgiving will be in Chicago and so I'll have to make do with taking a moment to be thankful with her on Tuesday.
All this to say that the days with Snowdrop no longer feel like routine. They are unique and grand. Each one stands alone in its wonderfulness.
And so, after my weekly grocery shopping (where I briefly felt the surge of nostalgia for the decades when the full Thanksgiving meal was on my shoulders), I am with Snowdrop.
The granddaughter of all granddaughters, except if I ever have another granddaughter!
With her full palate of smiles, climbs, hoists, "ats" and playful twists and turns.
In the late late afternoon, her mommy and I very much want to take her out for a walk. And we do. The temps are now in their thirties and the wind doesn't make that feel all that good. Does the little girl love it? Well, let's just say she is wonderfully stoic about it.
The night comes early.
I leave just as the first snow flakes start to fall. It really is cold outside. But, forgive the cliche, so warm inside.
Ed is in deep sleep at the time the cheepers should be let out, so I hustle on outside leaving him to dream on...
But being up at dawn has its rewards.
Breakfast is in the sun room.
The angle is different, because I want to include the ever faithful Christmas cactus -- a gift from Ed in our first year together, when he still thought he had to occasionally bring me a flower. The funny thing is that it always blooms ahead of schedule, as if to remind me that things needn't be right on target to be beautiful.
I have an afternoon with Snowdrop and it's especially wonderful because it's the end of a tougher week, but, too, my time with the little girl is quickly going to undergo some transformations. She is a busy girl this weekend and I'll not see her until next week. And not for long then either. Her first Thanksgiving will be in Chicago and so I'll have to make do with taking a moment to be thankful with her on Tuesday.
All this to say that the days with Snowdrop no longer feel like routine. They are unique and grand. Each one stands alone in its wonderfulness.
And so, after my weekly grocery shopping (where I briefly felt the surge of nostalgia for the decades when the full Thanksgiving meal was on my shoulders), I am with Snowdrop.
The granddaughter of all granddaughters, except if I ever have another granddaughter!
With her full palate of smiles, climbs, hoists, "ats" and playful twists and turns.
In the late late afternoon, her mommy and I very much want to take her out for a walk. And we do. The temps are now in their thirties and the wind doesn't make that feel all that good. Does the little girl love it? Well, let's just say she is wonderfully stoic about it.
The night comes early.
I leave just as the first snow flakes start to fall. It really is cold outside. But, forgive the cliche, so warm inside.
