My definition of an interesting night: the power stays off, I go to bed feeling grateful for my Kindle, which is mostly charged. But just after midnight, I hear noises outside. The linemen are back. Lights flash, trucks rumble. One hour later, the power comes back on.
Of course, I don't want to get up and reset the (electric) clock. So it flashes an incorrect time at me all night long. Putting a pillow over my head helps, but by 5 a.m. I've had enough of it and I get up to fix the damn thing.
Ed hears me rumbling around. He suggests we aim for more sleep, and I do give it a try, but you know how those early wakes go: once you've established that you are awake, you're done. An hour later I am downstairs cleaning up the mess made by stacks of dirty dishes, pots, foods left out of the refrigerator (because we had no water and no one wanted to let cold air out of the fridge).
My sleepy guy floats the idea of going to the farmers market now, while it's still super early. I agree in theory, but once I step out to feed the animals I start clipping spent lilies. I can't help myself! I don't work on all the beds, but I do move through the ones with the biggest lily haul.
(the lavender wants to get in on the act)
(early morning wake up for the lilies as well!)
(a jambalaya of blooms)
(in my fields, where there is a lily, there is a phlox nearby)
(a fistful of colors)
Still, within a short while we are on his motorbike, heading toward the Capitol Square.
And what a jerky ride it! The motorbike dies, then comes to life, then putters and sputters, then heaves forward only to slow down again.
What the hell is going on? I do not want to be on this machine!
He pulls over to a gas station. Put simply, we had run out of gas and only sheer will and weird maneuvers enabled us to make it to the station.
We are at the market before 8, and Ed proclaims that it is too late. The crowds have formed. The slow strollers and gazers, the visitors and tourists have descended and though it wasn't (yet) elbow to elbow, it was a slow slog for us. (Short list today: carrots, blueberries, Door County cherries, mushrooms, flowers and corn.)
(a new vendor for me: nice to meet you! and your berries.)
(may be the last of the Door County cherries: uniquely delicious!)
(there are many flower growers that come to the market and there's much to choose from, but I am loyal!)
(Wisconsin in the summer equals corn)
And from there, we drive to Madison Sourdough to pick up some breakfast treats. I hadn't been there since before my trip and it feels strangely nostalgic to be buying croissants now: the pastries and breads are brining back memories of Danish bakeries!
How good it is to be sitting down to a fresh croissant for breakfast once again!
And now for a day of thinking. Sure, there is also a walk, and a lovely Zoom meeting with a friend. There is a check on the garden, an hour or two of internet surfing. But through it all, I drift off into what I regard as a luxury: the processing of ideas picked up randomly in the last weeks, the testing of new ones -- to see if they have value for me going forward. Do you ever do that? Does anyone have time for this anymore? In younger years, so much of your day is predetermined by commitments you've made that last a long long time. To your family. To your job. Those are the obvious culprits. To your book club maybe. To your friends. But in retirement you have an opportunity to rethink your direction. To reimagine your future, or at least a fragment of it. And even if you do nothing at all to alter your schedule, to manage your hours differently, giving yourself the chance to reconsider is huge! Your days become intentional. Your joys -- always securely in place, at the forefront, never neglected.
Yes, it is quite wonderful to be 70 years old.
with love... and flowers!
