A friend asked me today -- do I always wake up in a good mood? Don't I occasionally feel pissed at the world?
The thing is -- I do typically wake up in a good mood and I rarely feel pissed at the world (though upon occasion, I do fume at individuals in it). Oh sure, at times of crises, the day gets complicated very quickly and I can't say that I remain happy throughout. But those are extreme days. I rarely have them.
You'll challenge me, telling me it's fake, I'm pretending, it's an act. Call it that if you wish. I do know that it's deliberate. I've been at it for a long, long time. And if I understand yesterday's NPR story correctly, where a scientist talked of her research on optimism, some people are predisposed to it and some (not all, but a good many) can get to that same state by training themselves to reject ideas of infinite and inevitable calamity and accept, instead, the notion that this too shall pass and indeed, you do have some control over a better outcome.
So here we go -- morning at the farmette and as usual, I begin the day in my hope-filled mood. (And aside from those dismal moments spent reading news reports and then reviewing them with Ed, whose optimistic bone sometimes can appear to be very well hidden, I stay with hope and of course, with hope comes good cheer.)
Breakfast.
And soon after, Snowdrop and Sparrow are here. Their dad drops them off. Both kids are in high spirits.
A brief chat with Happy, the rooster.
This whole cheeper exchange just tickles the little guy no end.
Inside, Snowdrop initiates a pillow fight with Ed. At least I think it's she who initiates it.
There is a numbers puzzle that I uncover and bring out. Sort of easy, even for him. But Snowdrop surprises me by showing how high you can make the numbers go by joining them together. And if you turn 8 sideways, you've got infinity!
I notice that Sparrow's hair is rather long, so we play this game. He brings me a book, I'm allowed to trim a side of his hair. And then he brings me another book. I trim some more.
And eventually, they do art.
And there's more. Outside again, the kids indulge me. Go by the crab apple! I tell them. They do so and wait to see what's next.
Can I have a small branch? -- Snowdrop asks.
Flowers to the nose.
Heaven.
I drive them home with clippings from the crab.
In the late afternoon, I'm back at the farmette, with the lilac, the crab, the garden work.
It's a big day for us: Ed and I think it's warm enough to put the tomatoes in the ground.
The cats and cheepers follow us and observe. (This is how tall the grass is right now!)
It's not a rewarding job. Ed had covered the field with a black sheet of plastic. Wood chips had been poured in various places. And still, the weed roots are plentiful and the soil is awful. Solid clay. Even with our added improvements (buckets of compost, of chicken manure, of better soil), we see that we're dealing with a tough growing situation.
We only plant some three dozen tomatoes -- a third of what we have. We'll do more tomorrow. But honestly, this may be a poor growing season for the tomatoes. We should have prepped the bed earlier (like last fall) and more thoroughly.
One more glance at the crabs...
And then I retreat to work on dinner. Lots of asparagus, pieces of fish, smothered with dill, lemon, garlic. You could not have a more season-appropriate meal.
So I start the day with that spring in my step. And then I take in all that happens in this world and most of the news is not good and that spring gets a little wobbly. Nonetheless, those of us who are doing nothing more grand than sheltering in place, whose family and friends are well, who still have an income of sorts -- it seems that waking up again, the next day, with renewed energy and a mega bounce is doable. So that becomes the goal. Deliberate optimism.
But the late evening is reserved for quiet contemplation. Because there really is a lot to think about. The quiet of the night is good for this. You're winding down. You have no more work or chores to do. Focus now on the enormity of tasks facing others. So many others...
Sending you and all those countless others who work so hard love.
The thing is -- I do typically wake up in a good mood and I rarely feel pissed at the world (though upon occasion, I do fume at individuals in it). Oh sure, at times of crises, the day gets complicated very quickly and I can't say that I remain happy throughout. But those are extreme days. I rarely have them.
You'll challenge me, telling me it's fake, I'm pretending, it's an act. Call it that if you wish. I do know that it's deliberate. I've been at it for a long, long time. And if I understand yesterday's NPR story correctly, where a scientist talked of her research on optimism, some people are predisposed to it and some (not all, but a good many) can get to that same state by training themselves to reject ideas of infinite and inevitable calamity and accept, instead, the notion that this too shall pass and indeed, you do have some control over a better outcome.
So here we go -- morning at the farmette and as usual, I begin the day in my hope-filled mood. (And aside from those dismal moments spent reading news reports and then reviewing them with Ed, whose optimistic bone sometimes can appear to be very well hidden, I stay with hope and of course, with hope comes good cheer.)
Breakfast.
And soon after, Snowdrop and Sparrow are here. Their dad drops them off. Both kids are in high spirits.
A brief chat with Happy, the rooster.
This whole cheeper exchange just tickles the little guy no end.
Inside, Snowdrop initiates a pillow fight with Ed. At least I think it's she who initiates it.
There is a numbers puzzle that I uncover and bring out. Sort of easy, even for him. But Snowdrop surprises me by showing how high you can make the numbers go by joining them together. And if you turn 8 sideways, you've got infinity!
I notice that Sparrow's hair is rather long, so we play this game. He brings me a book, I'm allowed to trim a side of his hair. And then he brings me another book. I trim some more.
And eventually, they do art.
And there's more. Outside again, the kids indulge me. Go by the crab apple! I tell them. They do so and wait to see what's next.
Can I have a small branch? -- Snowdrop asks.
Flowers to the nose.
Heaven.
I drive them home with clippings from the crab.
In the late afternoon, I'm back at the farmette, with the lilac, the crab, the garden work.
It's a big day for us: Ed and I think it's warm enough to put the tomatoes in the ground.
The cats and cheepers follow us and observe. (This is how tall the grass is right now!)
It's not a rewarding job. Ed had covered the field with a black sheet of plastic. Wood chips had been poured in various places. And still, the weed roots are plentiful and the soil is awful. Solid clay. Even with our added improvements (buckets of compost, of chicken manure, of better soil), we see that we're dealing with a tough growing situation.
We only plant some three dozen tomatoes -- a third of what we have. We'll do more tomorrow. But honestly, this may be a poor growing season for the tomatoes. We should have prepped the bed earlier (like last fall) and more thoroughly.
One more glance at the crabs...
And then I retreat to work on dinner. Lots of asparagus, pieces of fish, smothered with dill, lemon, garlic. You could not have a more season-appropriate meal.
So I start the day with that spring in my step. And then I take in all that happens in this world and most of the news is not good and that spring gets a little wobbly. Nonetheless, those of us who are doing nothing more grand than sheltering in place, whose family and friends are well, who still have an income of sorts -- it seems that waking up again, the next day, with renewed energy and a mega bounce is doable. So that becomes the goal. Deliberate optimism.
But the late evening is reserved for quiet contemplation. Because there really is a lot to think about. The quiet of the night is good for this. You're winding down. You have no more work or chores to do. Focus now on the enormity of tasks facing others. So many others...
Sending you and all those countless others who work so hard love.
