Wednesday, November 29, 2017

looking forward

We all look forward. Well, there are those that truly believe in The Moment, but most of us have an eye toward the next hour. And on a sunny (if cool) day, everything about the next hour looks so grand!

I put on our most beautiful Christmas music mix (compiled over the decades) and get to work on holiday cards. (What? You're not on my list? If you're a good Ocean friend, you should be! Send me your address!)

It's been a full morning. We sold our couch and made plans to pick up the new-ish one. We moved furniture. We made room for the newcommer. We looked for the kitties and found none of them and sure enough, in the two days without kitties, we've trapped mice in the basement. Coincidence? I don't think so.

Breakfast in glorious sunshine! Our old potted orchids are starting their winter bloom!

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And now the music and the cards. Ed is not in the farmhouse or I'd hesitate with the music. My daughter pointed out that she doesn't know many guys who love streaming lovely holiday offerings hour after hour. Well, they're missing something! The calm that comes from hearing hauntingly beautiful and familiar melodies is exquisite.

I pick up Snowdrop.

Her teacher tells me she and her buddy were very energetic and so she calmed them down by telling a story: of goldilocks and the three bears. The two imps seem properly horrified by the tale's twists and turns.

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I think that yesterday's gusty winds finally had an impact on Snowdrop. When I asked if she'd prefer playground over coffee shop she surprised me by choosing the coffee shop. So fine by me!

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A third day without a nap. She is tired.

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But it is in her nature to rally and to find that something to smile about. A doughnut? Yes, I love doughnuts, grandma!

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Revived. We walk back to the car.

Every inch of this route is familiar, yet we never tire of it!

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But today we have to hurry. We have one more music class to observe.

It all takes me back, of course. I remember it too well -- watching that excitement, the desire to improve, the work, the car rides to get us there.

And still, it's different.

(We walk through a fragment of a mall, with a paper store. Like me at her age, Snowdrop loves paper products!)

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I suppose having grandkids is like that: familiar, beautiful, yet completely fresh and unpredictable.

I take the little one home. Christmas songs play on the car radio. She sings along, paying minute attention to the various parts that bring a song together. Come on it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you... Ding-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling! It's all rather magical: the darkening night, the lights outside, the music, her young voice: ding-a-ying-a-ying-a-ying-a-ying!

And now I am the farmhouse once more. The couch is on the truck. Ed and I hoist it, work it up through the porch, past the kitchen and finally to its spot in the living room.

Sleek lines, simple, pale colors, firm support. Perfect.

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It takes some getting used to: we no longer sink into a feather bed of cushions when we sit down. And that's a good thing. A fine thing indeed!

Now, about tomorrow and the next hour and the hour after that...