Monday, July 16, 2018


Brief encounters, snippets of conversation, a string of minutes. Nothing lasted for very long. Came and went. And yet they left their mark.

I start the day very early. "Up before the chickens" says it all. I need to do a thorough sweep of the yesterday's spent daylilies. It's their peak moment, in that the greatest number blooms right about now. The flowers are magnificent! And numerous. I count how many spent ones I pluck today, ever so gently, so as not to disturb emergent buds: 520. It takes me an hour and a half.

(Morning garden photos)

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(Pepper and Tomato)

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(Mama Java follows me to the front flower bed. Protectively. To make sure I stay off the road.)

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(A flower field is nearly indistinguishable to me from a painting...)

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Since I've braved the bugs in the flower fields, I may as well continue my morning adventure and go to the farthest edge of the farmette, where we have two blueberry bushes. I pick a plateful. The cheepers follow.

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And now it's time for breakfast, on the porch,
(with the blueberries) despite the roar of construction to our east.

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A few more snippets of conversation and my beloved friend and weekend guest departs.

Ever since the monarda flowers have started to bloom, the humming birds have come to call, again and again. Their visits are brief but charming: how can a bird flutter its wings at such great speed? This small creature can do 80 beats per second! Remarkable.

Late in the morning, I drive my mom to an appointment. It's not far and I'm there only to make sure she goes to the right place.

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Too, it gives me a chance to assess where she is at. It's been a week since her move. She is unpacked and waiting on some new pieces of furniture. I make a note to get to this project for sure tonight.

Since I am not too far from the bakery where I buy pain au chocolat for Snowdrop, I hop over now to do my bakery shopping. And there I run into an old friend. She belongs to an era of married life that predates this blog. I run into her at the grocery store every few years and today, I meet her at the bakery. We sit down to catch up: I hear about who from that set of once friends is sick, who is well, who has grandkids, who does not.

We laugh our way through recounts of tragedies and near misses. I mean, at the age of 65, you're allowed to laugh.

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. 

She is full of vim and vigor! She proudly shows me a picture she'd been working on (the big girl in the center of the page with the face-wide smile? That's a self portrait).

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I only have a small handful of hours with her today. I offer the pool. From early season timidity, I have before me a girl that's raring to go!

If I had to choose a perfect day in the pool with her, I'd likely pick today. It helps that the weather is ideal. And that last Friday, she came to this very pool with her school (when it isn't open to the public), and that yesterday she went swimming again with her parents and baby Sparrow.

In other words, she is on a pool roll!

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And an after-pool shower roll.  
The changing room for girls is pink, Gaga -- she explains to me this new realization. But boys can change here too. 
Did boys and girls change here last Friday?
Yes, but the girls went to this small room. Right here, Gaga. 
I am learning the ways of a school swim.

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And Snowdrop's mood remains downright bubbly!

Evening. An hour on the porch, just in time to catch the fireflies outside and the flutter of the occasional bat.

It's a beautiful night. I wish you could look out at it with me. Here, let's sit back and exhale together:

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I'll leave you with Robert Frost, on fireflies.

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.