Sunday

I am like my grandmother. There isn't a Sunday in my life that I don't wish for my two young families to be at the farmhouse, where I can cook up a meal amidst the ruckus of little kids, frazzled parents, an amused Ed. There would be the interrupted stories, the dribbles of things onto the floor and onto clothing, adult admonishments and children daring to yell, play and hold court, and at the end of it all -- there would be satisfied eaters.

That is my image of a perfect ending to a weekend.

We came close to it today. Missing was the young family from Chicago of course, but they are not far and I tell myself that soon enough, we'll be cooking up a storm, all of us, crazily ambitious, happy to be stirring pots under the farmette roof once more.

Those are my evening thoughts. But let's roll back to the morning. Snowdrop is sleeping over and I admit without hesitation that her wake ups here are the best part of it all.






True, I had been up before anyone, admiring the sunshine, feeding the animals, taking note of the flowers.,..










My grandmother was up before all of us as well when we stayed in her village home. She made sure the fire was going full blast in her coal stove and that her breakfast foods were nearly ready in time for our wake up.  I don't have a coal stove, but I, too, want to cut up the fruits, fry up the bacon and mix up the pancake batter before the sweet little girl makes her way downstairs.

Breakfast is indoors. We're getting the cool and very crisp mornings that tell us that summer is a thing of the past.






There is time for a little play, but not too long. Snowdrop is, of course, full of ideas as to how we may proceed. There are princesses and princes, weddings and castles, journeys and adventures.


 


And then she is off and away with her parents for the rest of the day.


Me, I should work outside. Ed tells me that it's the perfect weather for beginning the long job of putting a garden to its winter rest.

I do none of it. Instead, in the quiet of a warm house, I write.


And then it is time to fix dinner -- made a bit more special today by the arrival of the young family, but too, of the other grandma, who has traveled here from Buffalo because, well, she loves her two grandkids and also because I am about to depart on my fall trip across the ocean. (It will be a short trip, but still, her help is invaluable in the days I'm away.)

Sparrow takes it all in...






Snowdrop is a bit giddy tonight...






But the meal is sweetly effervescent and if the youngest family were with us, I'd say it was just about perfect in all its crazy wonderful chaos.






Dishes done, chickens put away. Time to write, to think, to smile at all that was extra crazy and extra wonderful.