Most of the time, the fact that Ed and I are so different in so many ways, bothers us not at all. We've grown used to side-stepping around issues that are sacred to the other: my family is supremely important to me and so he, the non-family guy, embraces the new normal (which has a lot of family in it). And, his need to be wholly responsible for his own destiny is untouchable and so I don't touch it. Well, I mostly do not touch it. In the same way that he mostly does not touch my travel plans. We know where the brick walls are and we try not to bang our heads against them.
Every now and then, however, the itch to rattle the other is just too great. Take the very small matter of breakfast: if I want a calm and wholesome beginning to the day, why not just say something devilishly wicked about the world, for no good reason really, but hey, why not? And rather than letting it fly, why not just punch right back with some equally pernicious comment, just because your balance is already disturbed so you may as well topple the whole apple cart?
That more or less describes our breakfast this morning. It started off well...
... and then plummeted into a flaunt of our differences.
Way to go, Nina and Ed!
The remaining hours of the day were spent on my tending the garden, for zen reasons. In that world of water and lilies and asters I found my calm (and Ed found his calm too, in retreating to his design drawings, though frankly it's hard to say that he found calm since he isn't the one who ever suffers its loss).
(The three girls, sharing a drink together. A rare shot for many reasons, not the least of which is the failing strength of Scotch. She seems suddenly very old. The two other hens hover and appear tender and kind next to her as she finds spots in the garden to just rest...)
A few garden photos for you, in case you too need help getting to a calm place today:
(A fall garden...)
(A lily in the front...)
(The ever delicate and beautiful beeblossom...)
In the evening, the young family comes for dinner.
After a hot day we have ourselves a beautiful evening -- perfect for perhaps the last evening meal of the year on the porch. Snowdrop is rested, the family is in good spirits.
And it is a grand night, even as those wee differences that so rarely creep into my everyday with Ed crept in once more. It was as if the day had to end as it had begun -- with a clash of styles. Rugged individualism, meet a yearning for group harmony!
Snowdrop tests boundaries. As I put the finishing touches on dinner, she plays with Ed.
Snowdrop, it's dinner time.
No, I'm still playing!
No, we're still playing!
Ed!
He's playing too!
I'm playing too!
Great, I have TWO toddlers in the house, one more willful that the other!
It takes a while to bring the both of them to the table.
For his disruptions to the enterprise, I am disinviting him from the dinner photo!
And still, the evening is beautiful...
... and the day -- a little zig-zaggy, but restorative after all. And tomorrow promises to be another hot one in this never ending summer that twists things around a little bit for all of us.
Every now and then, however, the itch to rattle the other is just too great. Take the very small matter of breakfast: if I want a calm and wholesome beginning to the day, why not just say something devilishly wicked about the world, for no good reason really, but hey, why not? And rather than letting it fly, why not just punch right back with some equally pernicious comment, just because your balance is already disturbed so you may as well topple the whole apple cart?
That more or less describes our breakfast this morning. It started off well...
... and then plummeted into a flaunt of our differences.
Way to go, Nina and Ed!
The remaining hours of the day were spent on my tending the garden, for zen reasons. In that world of water and lilies and asters I found my calm (and Ed found his calm too, in retreating to his design drawings, though frankly it's hard to say that he found calm since he isn't the one who ever suffers its loss).
(The three girls, sharing a drink together. A rare shot for many reasons, not the least of which is the failing strength of Scotch. She seems suddenly very old. The two other hens hover and appear tender and kind next to her as she finds spots in the garden to just rest...)
A few garden photos for you, in case you too need help getting to a calm place today:
(A fall garden...)
(A lily in the front...)
(The ever delicate and beautiful beeblossom...)
In the evening, the young family comes for dinner.
After a hot day we have ourselves a beautiful evening -- perfect for perhaps the last evening meal of the year on the porch. Snowdrop is rested, the family is in good spirits.
And it is a grand night, even as those wee differences that so rarely creep into my everyday with Ed crept in once more. It was as if the day had to end as it had begun -- with a clash of styles. Rugged individualism, meet a yearning for group harmony!
Snowdrop tests boundaries. As I put the finishing touches on dinner, she plays with Ed.
Snowdrop, it's dinner time.
No, I'm still playing!
No, we're still playing!
Ed!
He's playing too!
I'm playing too!
Great, I have TWO toddlers in the house, one more willful that the other!
It takes a while to bring the both of them to the table.
For his disruptions to the enterprise, I am disinviting him from the dinner photo!
And still, the evening is beautiful...
... and the day -- a little zig-zaggy, but restorative after all. And tomorrow promises to be another hot one in this never ending summer that twists things around a little bit for all of us.
