There was nothing linear about this day. We jumped between extremes, between a placid quiet and a mad dash, between storms and sunshine, between celebration, graduation and worry (unwarranted in the end, but still...).
And it all started off so normal! I mean, there was rain. Well sure, my gardens like rain. Cool, yes, warranting a bit of heat in the house. It's May, I understand.
We eat breakfast inside, in the front room.
I welcome the break, really I do. I haven't caught up with email, I'm coasting on only headlines from news sources and, too, there is the issue of the swimsuit. I want to find a good one for Snowdrop. Fact is, I've already purchased two. She wore them this week. Size 4 (she's 3 years old). And they're both too small. They'll be fine until, oh, Memorial Day.
So I lose myself in these mundane details of life and suddenly the clouds part and it's warm and, well, I should be gardening.
(We're about to enter the prettiest week of them all -- when the crabs and lilacs open up their pods of blossoms.)
I do go out. I'm in my final big push. Divide hostas now, or else! Finish with the annuals. Secure the vines. Plant the last of this weeks arrivals.
Phew, it suddenly feels very warm out there! Is it me, or is it that the storms have passed and there's a spray of sunshine?
Never mind, it's time to pick up Snowdrop. I have to get her to ballet on time: it's the last class and the little girls will have an audience of parents and grandparents.
But Snowdrop chooses this day to have the longest school nap ever. I arrive and wait for her to wake up. And wait. And wait. And finally, I give up, walk in and rouse her. Hurry, hurry, hurry! -- the words that will carry me through the next hour.
At the farmhouse, I speed through a book as she nibbles on her fruits. I do pose for a selfie, because one of the teachers pointed out that Snowdrop and I are exactly matched in our attire. Indeed! She has a pink-ish dress and purple sweater and I have purple pants and pink-ish sweater! Total coincidence!
Hurry, hurry, hurry!
She takes her time.
Grandma, we must walk slowly! I feel she is sharing some directive from school, perhaps from times of chaos in the classroom or on the playground.
But can't we rush just this once??
No, grandma! Slowly! I swear, she's at a crawl. Snails move forward at a better pace.
I get her to class just as it begins. Phew! Exhale.
It strikes me that this is the first of the many many performances she will go through in her growing years. Schools are full of them. Life is full of them.
This one is especially touching because she is so young -- the shrimp of the class (to remind you: she is in the upper percentiles in terms of height; she just happens to be young). And so to see her go through the steps of a 45 minute class is really quite lovely.
As always, they act out a story (it's called Storybook Ballet for a reason). This one is a very loose adaptation of Beauty and the Beast.
Here comes Belle!
... with her book! As you can see, I'm not the only one taking photos.
The little Belles are waking up the "beast" with tokens of love...
And then it all ends, pretty much at the same moment that my daughter receives a text of her husband's awesome work promotion.
(We go to the store where they pick up celebratory stuff.)
And now it's threatening to storm, only maybe not here, maybe just to the north, or is it east? Who can tell. Storms, clearings, downpours, drizzle -- we've had it all.
I return to the quiet of the farmette and finish up my gardening tasks for this day. And then I look for the little girls. I haven't seen them since the afternoon.
Ed, where are they?
I don't know...
I look everywhere. I call them. I whistle, whisper, shout. Nothing.
I return to the farmhouse.
I can't find them. I feel just terrible. Did we let them out before they have fully developed their street smarts? Were they nabbed by predators in broad daylight??
We are both out now, searching every space where they have been known to wander.
They must have thought us pretty silly as they sat perched on a ledge in the barn (invisible to us, at least initially), keeping an eye on the sudden frantic activity.
Oh, chickens! Oh, spring! How fun and funny you all can be!
And it all started off so normal! I mean, there was rain. Well sure, my gardens like rain. Cool, yes, warranting a bit of heat in the house. It's May, I understand.
We eat breakfast inside, in the front room.
I welcome the break, really I do. I haven't caught up with email, I'm coasting on only headlines from news sources and, too, there is the issue of the swimsuit. I want to find a good one for Snowdrop. Fact is, I've already purchased two. She wore them this week. Size 4 (she's 3 years old). And they're both too small. They'll be fine until, oh, Memorial Day.
So I lose myself in these mundane details of life and suddenly the clouds part and it's warm and, well, I should be gardening.
(We're about to enter the prettiest week of them all -- when the crabs and lilacs open up their pods of blossoms.)
I do go out. I'm in my final big push. Divide hostas now, or else! Finish with the annuals. Secure the vines. Plant the last of this weeks arrivals.
Phew, it suddenly feels very warm out there! Is it me, or is it that the storms have passed and there's a spray of sunshine?
Never mind, it's time to pick up Snowdrop. I have to get her to ballet on time: it's the last class and the little girls will have an audience of parents and grandparents.
But Snowdrop chooses this day to have the longest school nap ever. I arrive and wait for her to wake up. And wait. And wait. And finally, I give up, walk in and rouse her. Hurry, hurry, hurry! -- the words that will carry me through the next hour.
At the farmhouse, I speed through a book as she nibbles on her fruits. I do pose for a selfie, because one of the teachers pointed out that Snowdrop and I are exactly matched in our attire. Indeed! She has a pink-ish dress and purple sweater and I have purple pants and pink-ish sweater! Total coincidence!
Hurry, hurry, hurry!
She takes her time.
Grandma, we must walk slowly! I feel she is sharing some directive from school, perhaps from times of chaos in the classroom or on the playground.
But can't we rush just this once??
No, grandma! Slowly! I swear, she's at a crawl. Snails move forward at a better pace.
I get her to class just as it begins. Phew! Exhale.
It strikes me that this is the first of the many many performances she will go through in her growing years. Schools are full of them. Life is full of them.
This one is especially touching because she is so young -- the shrimp of the class (to remind you: she is in the upper percentiles in terms of height; she just happens to be young). And so to see her go through the steps of a 45 minute class is really quite lovely.
As always, they act out a story (it's called Storybook Ballet for a reason). This one is a very loose adaptation of Beauty and the Beast.
Here comes Belle!
... with her book! As you can see, I'm not the only one taking photos.
The little Belles are waking up the "beast" with tokens of love...
And then it all ends, pretty much at the same moment that my daughter receives a text of her husband's awesome work promotion.
(We go to the store where they pick up celebratory stuff.)
And now it's threatening to storm, only maybe not here, maybe just to the north, or is it east? Who can tell. Storms, clearings, downpours, drizzle -- we've had it all.
I return to the quiet of the farmette and finish up my gardening tasks for this day. And then I look for the little girls. I haven't seen them since the afternoon.
Ed, where are they?
I don't know...
I look everywhere. I call them. I whistle, whisper, shout. Nothing.
I return to the farmhouse.
I can't find them. I feel just terrible. Did we let them out before they have fully developed their street smarts? Were they nabbed by predators in broad daylight??
We are both out now, searching every space where they have been known to wander.
They must have thought us pretty silly as they sat perched on a ledge in the barn (invisible to us, at least initially), keeping an eye on the sudden frantic activity.
Oh, chickens! Oh, spring! How fun and funny you all can be!
