the last of the holiday weekend

I was up extremely early today. Not because I couldn't sleep, not because I had loads to do, but because Ed came up from his all-nighter downstairs and I chose this moments to discuss with him the choices we make in our charitable giving. This is a minefield of a topic for us because he and I are so different in the way we approach it and in the way we imagine who and what needs help from those who make charitable donations, however big or small, at this time of the year. It's no surprise of course that he and I aren't on the same platform here: choosing who to help reflects your core beliefs, your ideas of where we are heading and of course, most of you know that Ed and I are very different in our life choices. What I learned from living with someone who is not at all like me is that in everyday matters, little of this comes up. I imagine it would be like a staunch Republican living with a solid Democrat right now: how you go through the day is not going to be impacted much by your politics. But every once in a while, like in our case this morning, the belief systems (which, just so you know, have little to do with politics) clash and the noise is ear-piercingly loud. Not an argument so much (because -- what's there to argue about? he is who he is, I am who I am, we both know that), but a thunderous divergence of views that gets aired at a weird time. Like by me at 5 a.m. this morning.

And then we return to our regularly scheduled day. Happy and whole once again.

For me, the regularly scheduled day is actually not very regular at all: it's amazing and wonderful and different. The young family from Chicago is in town still and this morning they are at the farmhouse, joined later in the morning by the five who live just 15 minutes up the roads from me.

Things don't change much at the farmhouse: the toys may be updated a tiny bit every now and then, but not a whole lot. Most of it stays the same, waiting for the next grandchild to grow into it. This means that when the kids come here, when their parents come here, everyone knows where everything is. The kids go off to the play room or the art room, the parents gather at the kitchen table, or in the living room, or on the playroom floor -- we've done it all a million times and that comfort of knowing what's what makes for a pretty easy set of hours, even with the littlest guys.

(Primrose notices that there's a fence and a gate in the playroom. This is totally to keep Sandpiper safe. On one side are toys with which he can let loose and do what he wants. On the other -- small stuff, fragile stuff, more precious stuff.)

Hey, Juniper!

How does it feel to be almost one?

(Grandma time..)

(the older girls...)

I was told not to fuss with brunch, so I ordered a box of croissants from Madison Sourdough, cut up loads of fruits, put out some leftover Thanksgiving apple cake and Clasen's baguette, found a hunk of four year cheddar cheese,  baked up some bacon, sautéed some mushrooms, and of course, scrambled some cheeper eggs.

The table just fits eleven if I set things right. 

(Making Juniper laugh...)

We eat, and then we let the kids play while we drift into that wonderful conversation that hits both funny events from the last months and, too, speculations about the future. I mostly love to listen to them, with an occasional question maybe, but really I just suck in the sweetness of the moment where I would change nothing at all. It's all that good.

(Kids, in the art room...)

(Sandpiper goes back for some more blueberries. The boy loves blueberries!)

We are lucky. We all survived the pandemic. Sure, Covid hit both young families in many, many ways (not the least is that they all had it in their households), but here we are, gathered, with old Ed and old me and if you ignore the occasional sneezes and runny noses, we are all so very fine!

(last play of the day: each older kid is "at work;" Juniper so wants to join in...)

And then the afternoon is winding down and they leave and the house is so... empty. But not for long. We may be done with the holiday weekend, but we'll all be together soon enough for the next series of celebrations.

For now, I attend to my own Christmas tree. While I tidy up,  Ed saws off the knotty stump, and then I spend a solid hour decorating it. It used to be small. Now it's... medium!

I have music in the background and images of the happy little ones and older ones from this weekend. My beloved young families: how hard they work, how beautifully they play, all of them!

(the two that started it all...)

In the evening, Ed and I eat Thanksgiving leftovers. He has said repeatedly that this was the best turkey he  has ever eaten, which sounds awfully much like a suck up comment, though honestly, since I've roasted more than a dozen Thanksgiving turkeys for him over the last years, he's comparing this to all my other good efforts to get a perfect bird to the table. It's just that this year, between the turkey itself and the method of preparation, we seem to have hit gold. 

The air is turning cold again. No matter. Tis the season. We are ready for it.

With so much love...