Well, I'm annoyed at a recent article in the New York Times. Seriously annoyed. A punch in the gut, I call it.
Let me explain: I was scanning the news sources yesterday and it caught my eye: a story on deep cleaning. I (mistakenly) thought it had to do with taking extra precautions, what with the pandemic raging to horrifying new levels of infection. And so I read it. And I looked at the photos of sparkling surfaces and I said to Ed -- we need to deep clean the farmhouse.
What? Why?
To restore a sparkle to the place. A nice, thorough deep clean. Starting with the wooden floors. Do we have a mop?
I don't have a mop...
I'm trying to remember when I last washed the floor (apart from spot cleaning). No recent date comes to mind.
The article is a total guilt trip. Take out everything from the cupboards? Sprinkle baking soda (at least I think they said baking soda) on the carpet? It goes on and on, pointing out all that I haven't done, that I gloss over, all the corners I haven't fully scrubbed, leading Snowdrop to sometimes say -- gaga, there's *another* dead spider here... Oh, it's time to do that deep clean alright!
Then I think -- but one day of Ed moving through the rooms and it wont sparkle anymore. No one will notice the glistening cupboards, the brief moment of mirror-like surfaces (except maybe Snowdrop, who'll likely say -- where have all the spiders gone?). So... isn't it a waste of time?
Thank you, New York Times, for introducing a new dilemma into my life.
It is July. I think we all take the progressions to a new month with a great deal of awe these days. As in -- it's unbelievable! Another month gone by and the insanity continues! Do you remember when it was March and we all wanted to believe that come summer, everything would be that much easier?
In many ways for Ed and for me, the summer is easier. The farmette lands demand a lot from us, from me especially. (Ed said today -- if you die, I'm going to bulldoze all the flower beds. I can't possibly keep up with them. I retorted -- hire someone to maintain it! But I know better: Ed never hires help.) The work is never-ending. I cannot sit on the couch and read all the details of the horror show unfolding across the globe and unfortunately, especially in this country. I have stuff to do!
This morning... (good morning, cheepers!)
... I was up just enough earlier than usual, that I had the time to wander over to the front bed. I know it's the one bed that is visible to the outside world, but it's not visible to me. Out of sight out of mind.
Oh my. Post rain weeds. Grasses invading. Sprouting little saplings. Sigh... I get right to it. No gloves, no shovel, just bare hands attacking that which needs my immediate attention. (And noticing some pretty flowers showing off their sweetness right now.)
And then it's a rush to get in that morning breakfast. (Without Ed, because he was on the phone and wanted to sit down while continuing his conversation and I said absolutely not! Breakfast time is sacred. It's meditative and quiet. By the time he brought his call to an end, I was done.)
The kids are here immediately after. Again, our outdoor time is slightly different. Snowdrop waters the two tomatoes in the pots (and sprays the two bystanders! Sparrow minded less than I did).
We then walk over to the barn to check for eggs. Along the way, I point out to her the perfect and perfectly ripe raspberry. (Sparrow is still sitting on his anti-fruit platform. He is pretty good at silent rebellion.)
There aren't many. We have way too little sunlight to get a nice crop these days. So long as Ed refuses to cut down more of the big trees (the lotus, the box elders the walnuts -- they are all invasive and huge and there are very few farmette spaces that get more than four hours of sunlight each day), many of our flowers and all of our berries will lose their lushness.
In the coop there is an egg. A Henny egg, which is always special because it's green. Each child has a great urge to hold it. Egg survives.
(Walking backwards...)
(Urging the cheepers to stay hydrated...)
Inside, I suggest an art topic: paint or draw the tomato bush. Snowdrop goes right to it...
... and very quickly finds fault with the picture.
It looks like a radish.
No it doesn't.
How do radishes grow? On bushes?
Well... I sketch a radish plant.
She scribbles over her art work and wants to start again.
In the meantime, Sparrow doesn't want to touch a marker. He tries painting...
Gives it up. He then tells me to draw for him. What?
Sun.
What color?
Blue.
What else?
Sun.
What color?
This. He points to orange.
Snowdrop watches. I tell her that artists can decide to be creative. They don't have to stick with conventional depictions, colors, numbers. Under Sparrow's directive, the page now has ten suns.
And now the little girl is inspired again. She draws several pages of a new book, which she titles "The Super Team Saves a Cherry" Here's the first hero: the flying radish.
(Happy...)
(Happy...)
After I drop the kids at their home, I return to the garden. The pots need water. They could use a fertilizer as well. There are weeds right before my nose that could use a pull. All this turns out to be a project. A long, drawn out, hot project.
A satisfying project. A July kind of gardening that you love for a few weeks before the joy of slapping away at bugs and wiping down sweat wears on you and you begin thinking that actually winter's not that bad after all.
Ed is biking today and that's a good thing. Someone in this household has to maintain an aerobic routine! Me, I stir fry a few chicken pieces with copious amounts of broccoli. I'm thinking I should sit back to take in the loveliness of a July evening and eat my dinner on the porch. It's just too beautiful right now outside.
One minute into the meal and I'm done with that idea. The cats. They are there to remind me, loudly, that they have not yet been fed. Forget it. I retreat indoors. Ed comes in just as the sun has set. By that time, I'm ready for our popcorn on the couch.
Let me explain: I was scanning the news sources yesterday and it caught my eye: a story on deep cleaning. I (mistakenly) thought it had to do with taking extra precautions, what with the pandemic raging to horrifying new levels of infection. And so I read it. And I looked at the photos of sparkling surfaces and I said to Ed -- we need to deep clean the farmhouse.
What? Why?
To restore a sparkle to the place. A nice, thorough deep clean. Starting with the wooden floors. Do we have a mop?
I don't have a mop...
I'm trying to remember when I last washed the floor (apart from spot cleaning). No recent date comes to mind.
The article is a total guilt trip. Take out everything from the cupboards? Sprinkle baking soda (at least I think they said baking soda) on the carpet? It goes on and on, pointing out all that I haven't done, that I gloss over, all the corners I haven't fully scrubbed, leading Snowdrop to sometimes say -- gaga, there's *another* dead spider here... Oh, it's time to do that deep clean alright!
Then I think -- but one day of Ed moving through the rooms and it wont sparkle anymore. No one will notice the glistening cupboards, the brief moment of mirror-like surfaces (except maybe Snowdrop, who'll likely say -- where have all the spiders gone?). So... isn't it a waste of time?
Thank you, New York Times, for introducing a new dilemma into my life.
It is July. I think we all take the progressions to a new month with a great deal of awe these days. As in -- it's unbelievable! Another month gone by and the insanity continues! Do you remember when it was March and we all wanted to believe that come summer, everything would be that much easier?
In many ways for Ed and for me, the summer is easier. The farmette lands demand a lot from us, from me especially. (Ed said today -- if you die, I'm going to bulldoze all the flower beds. I can't possibly keep up with them. I retorted -- hire someone to maintain it! But I know better: Ed never hires help.) The work is never-ending. I cannot sit on the couch and read all the details of the horror show unfolding across the globe and unfortunately, especially in this country. I have stuff to do!
This morning... (good morning, cheepers!)
... I was up just enough earlier than usual, that I had the time to wander over to the front bed. I know it's the one bed that is visible to the outside world, but it's not visible to me. Out of sight out of mind.
Oh my. Post rain weeds. Grasses invading. Sprouting little saplings. Sigh... I get right to it. No gloves, no shovel, just bare hands attacking that which needs my immediate attention. (And noticing some pretty flowers showing off their sweetness right now.)
And then it's a rush to get in that morning breakfast. (Without Ed, because he was on the phone and wanted to sit down while continuing his conversation and I said absolutely not! Breakfast time is sacred. It's meditative and quiet. By the time he brought his call to an end, I was done.)
The kids are here immediately after. Again, our outdoor time is slightly different. Snowdrop waters the two tomatoes in the pots (and sprays the two bystanders! Sparrow minded less than I did).
We then walk over to the barn to check for eggs. Along the way, I point out to her the perfect and perfectly ripe raspberry. (Sparrow is still sitting on his anti-fruit platform. He is pretty good at silent rebellion.)
There aren't many. We have way too little sunlight to get a nice crop these days. So long as Ed refuses to cut down more of the big trees (the lotus, the box elders the walnuts -- they are all invasive and huge and there are very few farmette spaces that get more than four hours of sunlight each day), many of our flowers and all of our berries will lose their lushness.
In the coop there is an egg. A Henny egg, which is always special because it's green. Each child has a great urge to hold it. Egg survives.
(Walking backwards...)
(Urging the cheepers to stay hydrated...)
Inside, I suggest an art topic: paint or draw the tomato bush. Snowdrop goes right to it...
... and very quickly finds fault with the picture.
It looks like a radish.
No it doesn't.
How do radishes grow? On bushes?
Well... I sketch a radish plant.
She scribbles over her art work and wants to start again.
In the meantime, Sparrow doesn't want to touch a marker. He tries painting...
Gives it up. He then tells me to draw for him. What?
Sun.
What color?
Blue.
What else?
Sun.
What color?
This. He points to orange.
Snowdrop watches. I tell her that artists can decide to be creative. They don't have to stick with conventional depictions, colors, numbers. Under Sparrow's directive, the page now has ten suns.
And now the little girl is inspired again. She draws several pages of a new book, which she titles "The Super Team Saves a Cherry" Here's the first hero: the flying radish.
(Happy...)
(Happy...)
After I drop the kids at their home, I return to the garden. The pots need water. They could use a fertilizer as well. There are weeds right before my nose that could use a pull. All this turns out to be a project. A long, drawn out, hot project.
A satisfying project. A July kind of gardening that you love for a few weeks before the joy of slapping away at bugs and wiping down sweat wears on you and you begin thinking that actually winter's not that bad after all.
Ed is biking today and that's a good thing. Someone in this household has to maintain an aerobic routine! Me, I stir fry a few chicken pieces with copious amounts of broccoli. I'm thinking I should sit back to take in the loveliness of a July evening and eat my dinner on the porch. It's just too beautiful right now outside.
One minute into the meal and I'm done with that idea. The cats. They are there to remind me, loudly, that they have not yet been fed. Forget it. I retreat indoors. Ed comes in just as the sun has set. By that time, I'm ready for our popcorn on the couch.
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