Perhaps being elsewhere hasn't completely left my system. As I was driving Ed back from his post-surgical appointment in Janesville this morning, I thought -- wouldn't it be wonderful to stop at Finca Cafe (down the road from us) for a late breakfast there? Maybe a croissant and one of their sweet pastries? I miss having an unhealthy breakfast!
Ed was agreeable and why shouldn't he be... we just spent another night and morning trying to cope with his eye issues. We are finally feeling confident that things are going well and so here we are, at Finca, both of us lost in our computers, though in the most congenial, sweet fashion. This is the way we do cafes together.
I suppose there are any number of ways in which I have not fully returned. There is no rhythm yet. No established pattern. We take each day as it comes.
And each night, too: at around 1 in the morning, a pack of coyotes came to our yard, barking and howling so loudly that I felt sure they were taking part in some drunken brawl, perhaps in celebration of their latest raid of a farmer's chicken coop. Or of garage kittens. I was very relieved to see all little cats accounted for this morning.
(the one-and-a-half month olds: two are so different from the rest that we sometimes wonder if it's possible for a cat to carry two litters at one time!)
(meanwhile, Happy remains happy and the flowers move seamlessly into their autumnal period of rest...)
One foot in, one foot dangling somewhere in travel still. Suitcase not unpacked (so unusual for me! I typically do this within an hour of returning!), plants not inspected, nothing accomplished really except this drive back and forth and my return to the routine of picking up Snowdrop after school.
As if to keep pace with everything else right now, the little girl and I have ourselves a packed afternoon. Oh, there are the usuals -- book reading, snack devouring... But, too, we fit in a solid lego expansion to the current pretend set up...
And, too, we help her feed the littlest of the kitties.
This is rather intentional: when outside, Snowdrop moves quickly and the cats are scared of her. But the littlest guys are our best pals and so it's not too hard to get one or two to relax when she is nearby. For Snowdrop, this is very rewarding. This little guy (girl?) does not mind her gentle fingers on his (her?) coat. She is ecstatic to be so close to "the cutest one!" (she hopes that this will be the kitten's name)
From cats, to market: it's Thursday and normally Ed goes over to our local market to do an exchange of eggs for cheese. But the guy's still suffering the side effects of eye surgery and so Snowdrop and I do the job for him this week. And while there, she and I pick up a huge load of tomatoes from Natalie's -- our annual supplier of tomatoes for a whole winter season of chilies.
As you can see, Snowdrop is in her dance clothes. This semester, she dances on Thursdays and I am quite amazed that we are not late for the class. (As she explained to Natalie -- "I like the part where we dress up and act out stories...") Today's story? Peter Pan. With Tinkerbells fluttering up and down the dance floor.
You could say that I'm floating as well, suspended up there, between this place and that, even as I ground myself more and more in the details of farmette life.
Ed was agreeable and why shouldn't he be... we just spent another night and morning trying to cope with his eye issues. We are finally feeling confident that things are going well and so here we are, at Finca, both of us lost in our computers, though in the most congenial, sweet fashion. This is the way we do cafes together.
I suppose there are any number of ways in which I have not fully returned. There is no rhythm yet. No established pattern. We take each day as it comes.
And each night, too: at around 1 in the morning, a pack of coyotes came to our yard, barking and howling so loudly that I felt sure they were taking part in some drunken brawl, perhaps in celebration of their latest raid of a farmer's chicken coop. Or of garage kittens. I was very relieved to see all little cats accounted for this morning.
(the one-and-a-half month olds: two are so different from the rest that we sometimes wonder if it's possible for a cat to carry two litters at one time!)
(meanwhile, Happy remains happy and the flowers move seamlessly into their autumnal period of rest...)
One foot in, one foot dangling somewhere in travel still. Suitcase not unpacked (so unusual for me! I typically do this within an hour of returning!), plants not inspected, nothing accomplished really except this drive back and forth and my return to the routine of picking up Snowdrop after school.
As if to keep pace with everything else right now, the little girl and I have ourselves a packed afternoon. Oh, there are the usuals -- book reading, snack devouring... But, too, we fit in a solid lego expansion to the current pretend set up...
And, too, we help her feed the littlest of the kitties.
This is rather intentional: when outside, Snowdrop moves quickly and the cats are scared of her. But the littlest guys are our best pals and so it's not too hard to get one or two to relax when she is nearby. For Snowdrop, this is very rewarding. This little guy (girl?) does not mind her gentle fingers on his (her?) coat. She is ecstatic to be so close to "the cutest one!" (she hopes that this will be the kitten's name)
From cats, to market: it's Thursday and normally Ed goes over to our local market to do an exchange of eggs for cheese. But the guy's still suffering the side effects of eye surgery and so Snowdrop and I do the job for him this week. And while there, she and I pick up a huge load of tomatoes from Natalie's -- our annual supplier of tomatoes for a whole winter season of chilies.
As you can see, Snowdrop is in her dance clothes. This semester, she dances on Thursdays and I am quite amazed that we are not late for the class. (As she explained to Natalie -- "I like the part where we dress up and act out stories...") Today's story? Peter Pan. With Tinkerbells fluttering up and down the dance floor.
You could say that I'm floating as well, suspended up there, between this place and that, even as I ground myself more and more in the details of farmette life.
