Too much coffee, too much herbal tea, too little food. Many conversations, with everyone except the person who feels himself to be needing another world, one without conversation.
That is my morning.
I have stumbled into a state of inertia, because I haven't the information to make any good decisions. So I kill time until some inner wisdom pushes me in one direction or the next.
For those of you who worry (as I surely did), do know that Ed is in Puerto Rico and doing fine. Yes, I'm happy too. I want that guy to stay well!
There is a lot of beauty in the world around me, here, at the farmette...
... though I feel myself to be at the edge of it right now. My lingering lung infection and dark brooding skies are juxtaposed against lingering memories of sweet blossom on trees and in the gardens, of walks across hills filled with butterflies ("you've got to come see them! let's go right now!"). Was that really only a few weeks ago? The butterflies escaped to Mexico, Ed escaped to Puerto Rico, while I'm watching too many cats and too many chickens and the plants shriveled and tumbled under the weight of an early winter.
At least the grandkids are like a burst of goodness, of sweet hugs and innocent dreams...
(Sparrow has a hard time with parting with his lunchbox once he leaves school!)
Snowdrop starts off with a percolating story, but she gives up on it quickly. This has been a pattern for her lately: tell story, give it up, plunk down on the couch and ask for a few chapters of a book.
Sparrow, on the other hand, starts with play and then, toward the end of the evening, asks for book after book after book.
There is almost never a time when either kid is not into art. Recently, Sparrow just wants to draw with a pencil. Snowdrop would prefer markers, but today I insist on her sketching with a pen. (If there are markers, Sparrow goes wild with enthusiasm and inevitably, there will be marker stains everywhere.)
Later in the evening, once the kids leave, I make my way to the sheep shed to feed the cats. I have a cavalier attitude about them right now: they're all grown, they're all strong, they're all messy. Three weeks ago, I cleaned up after them. Unless it's totally gross, I don't do that anymore. I don't wash their bowls. I don't stay and chat them up. I dump food and water into the bowls and leave with a "so long, cats.... you pushed me over the edge this month. I love you, but we're one step from you being on your own."
I walk back to the farmhouse breathing in the beautiful November air and think -- this month wasn't supposed to be like this.
That is my morning.
I have stumbled into a state of inertia, because I haven't the information to make any good decisions. So I kill time until some inner wisdom pushes me in one direction or the next.
For those of you who worry (as I surely did), do know that Ed is in Puerto Rico and doing fine. Yes, I'm happy too. I want that guy to stay well!
There is a lot of beauty in the world around me, here, at the farmette...
... though I feel myself to be at the edge of it right now. My lingering lung infection and dark brooding skies are juxtaposed against lingering memories of sweet blossom on trees and in the gardens, of walks across hills filled with butterflies ("you've got to come see them! let's go right now!"). Was that really only a few weeks ago? The butterflies escaped to Mexico, Ed escaped to Puerto Rico, while I'm watching too many cats and too many chickens and the plants shriveled and tumbled under the weight of an early winter.
At least the grandkids are like a burst of goodness, of sweet hugs and innocent dreams...
(Sparrow has a hard time with parting with his lunchbox once he leaves school!)
Snowdrop starts off with a percolating story, but she gives up on it quickly. This has been a pattern for her lately: tell story, give it up, plunk down on the couch and ask for a few chapters of a book.
Sparrow, on the other hand, starts with play and then, toward the end of the evening, asks for book after book after book.
There is almost never a time when either kid is not into art. Recently, Sparrow just wants to draw with a pencil. Snowdrop would prefer markers, but today I insist on her sketching with a pen. (If there are markers, Sparrow goes wild with enthusiasm and inevitably, there will be marker stains everywhere.)
Later in the evening, once the kids leave, I make my way to the sheep shed to feed the cats. I have a cavalier attitude about them right now: they're all grown, they're all strong, they're all messy. Three weeks ago, I cleaned up after them. Unless it's totally gross, I don't do that anymore. I don't wash their bowls. I don't stay and chat them up. I dump food and water into the bowls and leave with a "so long, cats.... you pushed me over the edge this month. I love you, but we're one step from you being on your own."
I walk back to the farmhouse breathing in the beautiful November air and think -- this month wasn't supposed to be like this.
