This afternoon, I took a nap. I couldn't help it: sleepiness crept in slowly, persistently and I gave into it. My mom (who has 96 years of life's experience behind her) tells me almost daily that I sleep too little (she's an Ocean reader and she has noticed that the posting times have crept up to a dangerously late hour) and I've been yeah, yeahing those reprimands each time, but today, when I sat down with an afternoon cup of coffee (coffee, of all things!), I could think about nothing more, nothing less than sleep: beautiful, soft, luxurious sleep. So I napped.
For me, daytime naps are rare, possibly because they aren't as deeply refreshing as nighttime sleep. I drift around somewhere between dreamland and reality and wake up groggy and cranky. I remind myself of the Snowdrop I used to wake at school at pick up time when she was three: she hated rousing herself fully and I'd sit with her for a long time waiting for the moment when she would be ready to fully rejoin the world. She has my cranky napper genes.
In my own woozy dozy state, I let myself drift among a dreamy mixture of past images and thoughts about the future. Like for instance, I thought about the cafe on the ground floor of the building of my Warsaw apartment. Hey, remember that I have this tiny apartment in Warsaw? Am I likely to return to it in the way that I once did? It seems so far away and the journey -- so complicated. How about Paris? I have many many dollars of credit in the little hotel I was to stay in this past March and then again in May. They've been closed, but are they're reopening soon. Not to Americans, of course. Not yet. I'm betting not this year at all, which is fine. Who wants to travel for pleasure when nothing about travel is going to be fun.
So I'm thinking about Paris and Warsaw, and I have this insight into my own future: I'm not likely to ever go back to a time when solo travel is again part of my seasonal routine. Something snapped there. Being alone and far away is the last thing that I miss. Being with family, friends -- yes. Here, there, near, far, anywhere. Making my way by myself to a remote Scottish island or a Catalan village on the border of Spain and France? I just don't see it.
Prove me wrong, life! Go ahead and prove me wrong!
The day is hot. Hotter than hot in fact. It feels like July in Florida, with Wisconsin mosquitoes let loose to really make any outside work a chore. My morning walk is brief. The barn is buzzing with bugs. I feed the animals and smile at the lilies...
(this one was newly planted last year and starting to bloom beautifully this year...)
(another -- with piercing color!)
(how does a flower even get to be like that??)
(each blossom lasting only one day... still, look at all the buds! So many blossoms from one plant...)
Things are perking up alright!
Okay, back to the farmhouse.
I tell Ed that this is the time to mist some garlic oil, to push away the bloodsuckers out there. Not next week, next month, next year. Now. He is still arguing that the damsel flies are working hard to solve the problem for us, but I'm no longer listening. We are losing this year's war with mosquitoes. Time to take some steps to at least put up a modest fight.
Breakfast. Blissfully behind the screens of our porch.
The kids arrive then and they are antsy to frolic. Well, okay. If we stay in the mostly sunny courtyard, we wont suffer. Not from bugs anyway.
Snowdrop takes to the hose. Sparrow is a little hesitant. He's happiest when we're doing something predictable, like scolding the chickens for digging up my flowers.
Okay, we admired the growing tomatoes, we scolded the chickens. Time to go inside.
For a while, the kids are happy with some tame activities. Snowdrop finds a bag of old plastilina clay (like play-doh only it never hardens) and though it's not easy to work with, she hashes out some pretty convincing edibles. Sparrow goes along.
But then, things get crazy. She wants to bathe some of her little babies. It sounds innocent, but what she is really saying is that she wants to splash the dickens out of the little tub and get everything as wet as is maximally possible before gaga says -- enough!
Sparrow goes along.
He is at an age when he can now do a lot of what she can do, even as he doesn't always understand why she is doing something and what is amusing about it. She puts her feet in the tub. He attempts to put his feet in the tiny tub I'd given him for his characters.
I keep wondering what goes through his young mind -- are we having fun yet? Am I a big boy at last?
Eventually I tell her she is spinning out of control. The carpet is wet, we are wet. But, there was a lot of spirited laughter. I'll push the limits a lot for some spirited laughter!
We go back to reading. Sparrow is super tolerant as we push through nearly two chapter books, though he does take a break from snuggling next to me and staring at page after page of writing to go and add two brush strokes to his canvas-in-progress.
Okay, you know my post grandkids afternoon: I nap and think about travel.
Wednesday evening. No biking today. It's too hot. No cooking either. Chop salad greens, throw in CSA cucumber, reheat frittata.
And guess what -- I'm sleepy again. Ten o'clock and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Nap -- you really were worthless!
Yawn... Goodnight!
With lily love...
For me, daytime naps are rare, possibly because they aren't as deeply refreshing as nighttime sleep. I drift around somewhere between dreamland and reality and wake up groggy and cranky. I remind myself of the Snowdrop I used to wake at school at pick up time when she was three: she hated rousing herself fully and I'd sit with her for a long time waiting for the moment when she would be ready to fully rejoin the world. She has my cranky napper genes.
In my own woozy dozy state, I let myself drift among a dreamy mixture of past images and thoughts about the future. Like for instance, I thought about the cafe on the ground floor of the building of my Warsaw apartment. Hey, remember that I have this tiny apartment in Warsaw? Am I likely to return to it in the way that I once did? It seems so far away and the journey -- so complicated. How about Paris? I have many many dollars of credit in the little hotel I was to stay in this past March and then again in May. They've been closed, but are they're reopening soon. Not to Americans, of course. Not yet. I'm betting not this year at all, which is fine. Who wants to travel for pleasure when nothing about travel is going to be fun.
So I'm thinking about Paris and Warsaw, and I have this insight into my own future: I'm not likely to ever go back to a time when solo travel is again part of my seasonal routine. Something snapped there. Being alone and far away is the last thing that I miss. Being with family, friends -- yes. Here, there, near, far, anywhere. Making my way by myself to a remote Scottish island or a Catalan village on the border of Spain and France? I just don't see it.
Prove me wrong, life! Go ahead and prove me wrong!
The day is hot. Hotter than hot in fact. It feels like July in Florida, with Wisconsin mosquitoes let loose to really make any outside work a chore. My morning walk is brief. The barn is buzzing with bugs. I feed the animals and smile at the lilies...
(this one was newly planted last year and starting to bloom beautifully this year...)
(another -- with piercing color!)
(how does a flower even get to be like that??)
(each blossom lasting only one day... still, look at all the buds! So many blossoms from one plant...)
Things are perking up alright!
Okay, back to the farmhouse.
I tell Ed that this is the time to mist some garlic oil, to push away the bloodsuckers out there. Not next week, next month, next year. Now. He is still arguing that the damsel flies are working hard to solve the problem for us, but I'm no longer listening. We are losing this year's war with mosquitoes. Time to take some steps to at least put up a modest fight.
Breakfast. Blissfully behind the screens of our porch.
The kids arrive then and they are antsy to frolic. Well, okay. If we stay in the mostly sunny courtyard, we wont suffer. Not from bugs anyway.
Snowdrop takes to the hose. Sparrow is a little hesitant. He's happiest when we're doing something predictable, like scolding the chickens for digging up my flowers.
Okay, we admired the growing tomatoes, we scolded the chickens. Time to go inside.
For a while, the kids are happy with some tame activities. Snowdrop finds a bag of old plastilina clay (like play-doh only it never hardens) and though it's not easy to work with, she hashes out some pretty convincing edibles. Sparrow goes along.
But then, things get crazy. She wants to bathe some of her little babies. It sounds innocent, but what she is really saying is that she wants to splash the dickens out of the little tub and get everything as wet as is maximally possible before gaga says -- enough!
Sparrow goes along.
He is at an age when he can now do a lot of what she can do, even as he doesn't always understand why she is doing something and what is amusing about it. She puts her feet in the tub. He attempts to put his feet in the tiny tub I'd given him for his characters.
I keep wondering what goes through his young mind -- are we having fun yet? Am I a big boy at last?
Eventually I tell her she is spinning out of control. The carpet is wet, we are wet. But, there was a lot of spirited laughter. I'll push the limits a lot for some spirited laughter!
We go back to reading. Sparrow is super tolerant as we push through nearly two chapter books, though he does take a break from snuggling next to me and staring at page after page of writing to go and add two brush strokes to his canvas-in-progress.
Okay, you know my post grandkids afternoon: I nap and think about travel.
Wednesday evening. No biking today. It's too hot. No cooking either. Chop salad greens, throw in CSA cucumber, reheat frittata.
And guess what -- I'm sleepy again. Ten o'clock and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Nap -- you really were worthless!
Yawn... Goodnight!
With lily love...
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