Tuesday, July 10, 2018

so many pages...

I could say that this day is like delving into a tome of  Don Quixote or War and Peace: you wonder -- how is it possible to have so many pages in just one book? Of course, everything that I do these days is mundane and predictable. No book could come of it. (Well, a good writer could make a good book of anything.) But surely it feels full! I was two minutes behind schedule all day long and feeling rather proud that it was only two minutes!

I think for any serious gardner living in northern climes, a summer morning is hugely important. This is when you talk to your garden. You take in the complaints, you beam at the success stories. You make necessary adjustments. You do all this before you sit down to your first cup of whatever it is that you drink in the mornings.

At around 7, I am outside doing just that.

(The lily bed by the beloved porch...)

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(How best to look at them? In groups? Each in its own right?)

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(From the thicket of the Big Bed, looking toward the farmhouse.)

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Alright. Pause for breakfast. On the porch.

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We talk about bugs. For instance -- why are we spotting European honey bees only now, when the mosquitoes have been pushed away? And how long will the mosquitoes stay away? They're hovering at the peripheries. You need only to step outside of the garlic-rosemary-peppermint area and they are all over you.

For now, we welcome the bees and butterflies and hope that they, like us, find this to be a calmer place without the buzz of the summer horrors.

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Next chapter: I take my mom shopping. We're heading for Target.

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As I drive with her through familiar neighborhoods, she is surprised at the changes that have taken place. (She hasn't been here since she left 18 years ago.) Cities don't stand still of course. They grow or they shrivel. There is rarely a middle path.

As we add household things to her Target cart, I am reminded of shopping trips with daughters heading for college. Ironing board, toaster. Another pillow. Toiletries.

The morning passes quickly. Wait, is it still morning? I'm to be with Sparrow at noon. Mom goes home. I take a quick pause at the now familiar Ancora for a coffee...

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...and scoot over to my older girl's home.

Hi, Sparrow!

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Are you really only a month old?

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And now I'm awfully close to Snowdrop pick up time.

She herself has had such full days that she has reverted to taking a nap again. Well, at least today she napped. See that still sleepy face? (We're searching for a lost sweater... Found!)

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I revive her by telling her that today, I remembered our swim stuff. If she wants to, we can go to the pool.

She wants to, but she is determined to trip me up: did you remember the water baby?
I did.
How about my water shoes, do you have those?
I do.
And a pain au chocolate?
Big grin. Thank you!!!

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She has again gotten used to the ways of the kids at the pool: the crowds, the splashers, runners, screamers -- I'm happy to say they no longer faze her. Indeed, it's hard to get her to leave. Snowdrop, two more minutes! That's all! Really truly!

An hour or so later, we're at the farmhouse... (hi, three cheeps!)

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Snowdrop, don't dawdle, we're going to be so late!
She is a superb dawdler.

Phew! Dressed, hair back, ready for dance class. Nearly on time!

(Her arabeques are beyond charming...)

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(I'm not sure what the story was today, but I am certain that Snowdrop loved the reenactment, no matter what it was.)

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We're nearing the end of my great volume of a day. The last pages. The parents appear to pick the little girl up. Sparrow is with them and the girl is delighted that he should be here to watch her dance. With eyes closed, but still...

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And now it's late evening. I pick up a few veggies and head home to a simple supper of eggs and the locally grown peas and mushrooms.

Tomorrow, at dawn, I'm off to Chicago.