Hot, clammy, sticky day. The kind of weather that has you muttering, for the first time since winter, "sweaters and woolly socks aren't so bad! I'm looking forward to colder air."
Ed and I are up early. We decided to move Cutie to the writer's shed where Calico has been recuperating. Of all options on the table, this seemed the safest for now. Cutie has been really affectionate with me, but still runs away at the sight of anyone else. At the sight of other cats, she disappears into thin air. So Ed distracts the other cats and I trap her with food inside the pet carrier. She hesitates, but I push her in. I can almost see the look of deep hurt in her eyes -- et tu, Brute?
I release her in the shed. Calico is happy. Cutie -- well, she needs to adjust. The thought is that they'll grow more comfortable with us, thereby opening the door for adoption. Or, we'll release them eventually and in the meantime both will be safe and keep each other company. Or, the other cats will come to the door, sniff them out and finally accept them into the herd.
One can hope.
Gardening. Remember the days when I would clip more than a thousand spent lilies? Today I celebrate each remaining bloom!
Breakfast.
The kids come over soon after. Yes, I take more photos than ever. The last week of Gaga's Summer School. I want my chest of memories to be really, really full.
Despite the weather, they agree to stay outside for a little longer.
To water a few plants.
To chat with the cheepers.
To pick string beans.
To pick cosmos in the meadow and blow tufts of dried grass seed into the air.
Inside again, things feel a little different.
First, out of the blue, the little girl asks for prosciutto. Okay! I have it! With fruit, just like an Italian!
Ready to delve into books. But not the usual ones. There's no push for the chapter book sequels to her favorite stories. Instead, Snowdrop goes to the shelf and picks a picture book that she has loved for, oh, I'd say at least three years. It's called "Waiting," and it is about just that: toys on a windowsill, waiting for change, for seasonal transformation, for nothing in particular. I've always thought it to be a sweetly meditative book, but today it's just a tiny bit sad. For all the times we've read it in the past, for the very idea of the waiting that's ahead.
And then she tidies. Everything in a neat space, carefully arranged.
Sparrow goes along with this, to a point. He starts to rearrange. Of course he does! It's his play space too!
It's funny, but again, in a poignant way. I had intended to straighten up much of the toy mess next week, once they were no longer here. She did it for me. Except a few days too soon!
For the rest of the day we do art. She draws her pigs, I sketch my "family of five," Sparrow draws increasingly more precise doodles. We are a happy bunch.
The afternoon sizzles, my plants whither. I take pity on the front bed and point a hose on each plant there. Ed takes a saw to dead branches on the pine trees that flank the front door to the farmhouse. And of course, we play with Cutie and Calico, now safely in the writer's shed.
Evening. Behind the branches of the towering trees there's a pretty sunset. Muted too by the hazy heat of a hot summer day.
Leftovers. Isn't it a fine time to watch a thriller with comedic twists on TV? Bring on the popcorn!
Ed and I are up early. We decided to move Cutie to the writer's shed where Calico has been recuperating. Of all options on the table, this seemed the safest for now. Cutie has been really affectionate with me, but still runs away at the sight of anyone else. At the sight of other cats, she disappears into thin air. So Ed distracts the other cats and I trap her with food inside the pet carrier. She hesitates, but I push her in. I can almost see the look of deep hurt in her eyes -- et tu, Brute?
I release her in the shed. Calico is happy. Cutie -- well, she needs to adjust. The thought is that they'll grow more comfortable with us, thereby opening the door for adoption. Or, we'll release them eventually and in the meantime both will be safe and keep each other company. Or, the other cats will come to the door, sniff them out and finally accept them into the herd.
One can hope.
Gardening. Remember the days when I would clip more than a thousand spent lilies? Today I celebrate each remaining bloom!
Breakfast.
The kids come over soon after. Yes, I take more photos than ever. The last week of Gaga's Summer School. I want my chest of memories to be really, really full.
Despite the weather, they agree to stay outside for a little longer.
To water a few plants.
To chat with the cheepers.
To pick string beans.
To pick cosmos in the meadow and blow tufts of dried grass seed into the air.
Inside again, things feel a little different.
First, out of the blue, the little girl asks for prosciutto. Okay! I have it! With fruit, just like an Italian!
Ready to delve into books. But not the usual ones. There's no push for the chapter book sequels to her favorite stories. Instead, Snowdrop goes to the shelf and picks a picture book that she has loved for, oh, I'd say at least three years. It's called "Waiting," and it is about just that: toys on a windowsill, waiting for change, for seasonal transformation, for nothing in particular. I've always thought it to be a sweetly meditative book, but today it's just a tiny bit sad. For all the times we've read it in the past, for the very idea of the waiting that's ahead.
And then she tidies. Everything in a neat space, carefully arranged.
Sparrow goes along with this, to a point. He starts to rearrange. Of course he does! It's his play space too!
It's funny, but again, in a poignant way. I had intended to straighten up much of the toy mess next week, once they were no longer here. She did it for me. Except a few days too soon!
For the rest of the day we do art. She draws her pigs, I sketch my "family of five," Sparrow draws increasingly more precise doodles. We are a happy bunch.
The afternoon sizzles, my plants whither. I take pity on the front bed and point a hose on each plant there. Ed takes a saw to dead branches on the pine trees that flank the front door to the farmhouse. And of course, we play with Cutie and Calico, now safely in the writer's shed.
Evening. Behind the branches of the towering trees there's a pretty sunset. Muted too by the hazy heat of a hot summer day.
Leftovers. Isn't it a fine time to watch a thriller with comedic twists on TV? Bring on the popcorn!
