Lo! The unbounded sea!
On its breast a Ship starting, spreading all her sails -- an ample
Ship, carrying even her moonsails;
The pennant is flying aloft, as she speeds, she speeds so stately--
below, emulous waves press forward,
They surround the Ship, with shining curving motions and foam.
(Walt Whitman)
I finally caved and looked at a broad weather chart for the western Atlantic Ocean. (I'd been avoiding doing that because I fall into the group of people who know too little to make sense of such information. Still, living in an information vacuum is hard and so I peeked.) There may be some micro horrors taking place, but for the most part, things look very calm. I'm greatly relieved, of course, but, too, I know that a calm ocean is no friend to a sailboat. You cannot "speed" or "fly aloft" without wind. I'm told that calm seas mean that you drift. And so the wait (my wait) continues.
At the same time, it's an insanely busy morning for me. I am doing a quick-turn-around trip to Chicago to spend time with my granddaughter, Primrose. I can't be gone too long because of the darn animals. You wouldn't worry about feral cats and cooped up chickens under normal circumstances, but these are not normal circumstances. I woke up to 10F (-12C) outside. Everything is frozen solid.
The porch kittens are huddled in their ever-so-lighty heated (meaning: you call this heat??) lair, and the plugged in water dish is preventing their water from turning into a block of solid ice, but food is a problem. Not only would it freeze within minutes, but, too, I may be attracting unwanted visitors to the porch by leaving a full bowl of kibbles there. But to leave less? Stop Sign is insatiable. She eats more than half the energetic cats in the shed put together.
So I feed everyone well, leave some dry stuff out anyway, cross my fingers and head out. At some point, I have to stop worrying about cats that have clawed their way into my world (especially in the last ten days).
I have an early morning appointment and from there, I'm aiming to catch the 10 a.m. to Chicago. I'm in luck. There is a window between the two and I have just enough time to scoot over to Finca for a morning coffee before getting on the bus.
The barista packs a sweet quesadilla for my journey. A gift, he says. God, I love that place -- so full of warm light, good music and lovely people!
And now I am in Chicago. I go straight to Primrose's school and, with some degree of excitement, bundle the little girl up andpack up her belongings to take back home. Unlike with Snowdrop, where the spillover is tremendous, here, everything fits into Primrose's wee little backpack.
We do stop in a store to pick up some flowers. Just because, it's ridiculously cold outside and flowers help you remember that this too will pass.
It's been only three weeks since I last saw Primrose, but she is at an age where even a few days can make a real difference.
(Like Sparrow, she builds towers, except she attacks them from the top!)
(I'm sure her parents wont be amused with my small gift of a cheap (and I mean cheap) toy phone that beeps and talks and is altogether annoying.)
Oh, the beautiful moments of a young child's life! You hope they'll stick with you forever, but in fact, they are continuously replaced by the next ones and the ones after...
My daughter comes home from work and sets about fixing a supper for a very hungry little girl.
And then it's Primrose's bedtime and her mom and I can now sit down together and think back and think forward, to all those beautiful things that are before you. To see your daughters grow up and face life with wide smiles on their faces -- this really is a magnificent thing! Sort of like growing a peony flower flush with petals, or a many hued day lily, only better! So much better!
It is another night of stars and moon beams casting their milky light over the Midwestern landscape. And, too, over the western Atlantic. Over children sleeping, over a boat pressing forward.
