Do you know these lines? Said by Juliet, on the eve of Romeo's coming to spend the night with her. Before you get all bothered about it, they're married already! Juliet, just shy of 14 years, Romeo -- likely to be somewhere between 15 and 17.
Juliet's anticipatory soliloquy (go ahead, read through it, as if said by a young girl!):
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a waggoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods. Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks With thy black mantle, till strange love grown bold Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night, come, Romeo, come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.
I am not at all a Shakespearean know-it-all. I know little of the analyses of his works, having studied only one of his plays in school (Hamlet, in Polish), but Romeo and Juliet was special to me because of the Zefirelli film that came out in 1968, when I was just shy of 15. And because of the fact that my kids participated in Young Shakespeare Players productions for several summers in a row. They were between 7 and 13. The last one they did was, in fact, Romeo and Juliet, exactly thirty years ago. The younger girl got the part of Juliet. The older one was Romeo. I was terribly ill when they were learning their lines (so many lines!) and I have vivid memories having my little nine-year old Juliet next to me on the big bed as we worked through her lines, repeating them until they stuck (and they stuck well -- she never forgot a line on stage).
This monologue of Juliet's stayed with me more than any other Shakespearean verse. In my mind, it's such a powerful evocation of the angst, the longing, the uncertainty, the impatience, the lust of adolescence.
* * *
I didn't get to sleep until very late. Yes, I was home around midnight, but shortly after, the phone rang and I had to deal with the fact that my mother was in the hospital. A phantom pain that bothered her enough to send her to the ER. Late this afternoon, after scans, tests and who knows what else, the doc determined that she merely pulled a muscle, except when you're 100, that can have severe consequences, because people that age simply cut out movement to make themselves feel better. And in that lies the problem. Without movement, they rapidly lose any remaining mobility and independence. Goodbye assisted living, hello nursing home. If my mom hated her reliance on aides in assisted living, I am sure she will hate even more reliance on care in a nursing facility. So my job is to see if she can turn things around for herself.
* * *
I wake up early, despite the late night. I like mornings. I believe in their worth. I dont mind being tired. I need to be up to witness the sun's first strong rays.
Except this day is rather on the cloudy side. More rain? Maybe. Storms? Maybe. There is uncertainty in the air, that's for sure.
(a drive to the store in the later part of the morning)
And still, this second day of May displays the same radiance as yesterday. The same beauty of trees in full bloom. Of lingering late tulips.
It's a little nippy at the outset, but still, we eat breakfast on the porch. I clipped some lilac branches, even though I know our lilacs dont have staying power once they're cut. Still, their scent, their evocative drooping flower heads are something that I cannot resist.
* * *
I read an article in the paper today -- no link for you, because quite frankly, I did not like it. But, it did get me thinking about why we grow flowers. The author suggested that too many gardens were born of the hard labor of many, for the use of the privileged few. That kind of a garden can be viewed "as a place to hide from reality in a private paradise." (Okay, fine: NYTimes, by Olivia Laing.) It's not that I disagree, but I would venture to say that this isn't the reality behind most gardens or gardeners. (And most comments to the article are with me on this.) Whether it's for physical nourishment (fruits and veggies) or the nourishment of the soul (flowers), most gardens are deliberate attempts to link our lives with nature in some fashion. And we do most of the work ourselves. (At the farmette, we do all the work ourselves.)
Having lived for many years in Warsaw, then New York, then Chicago, I did not have access to any land where I could grow things. The minute I could plant something (first time: on the balcony of an apartment in Madison), I did it, with a fury! And passion. Anxiety be gone! Let my life as a planter begin.
Today, I finally seeded the meadows and then I took stock.
(the meadow by the peach trees: Ed redid the strawberry experiment... looks way less funky now!)
(the meadow in the new orchard: this is where we planted the blueberries and it's where the apple trees are blooming right now)
Not much time for anything else. (Though Ed does some minor work around the garlic patch, which accidentally got established in the courtyard and there is stays...)
I'd moved grocery shopping to this morning to make for an easier Friday evening this week. That took time. And I visited my mother in the hospital so that I could give her a chance to air her woes (and she did!) in person. That took lots of time.
But in driving back and forth to all these places, I had a chance to think more about my flower fields. You can argue that clearing weeds and introducing flowers, only some of which are native to, say, Wisconsin, is not environmentally helpful. But I like to side with those who claim that just because it's beautiful and colorful and kempt, does not mean it is hostile to local insect or wildlife populations. Ask our groundhog families and the bees and insects that swarm around our blooming trees right now!
Gardens that are dense, scented, and colorful are invitations. Not only to us humans who seek refuge among the floral riches, but for all creatures and plants and trees who stand to benefit from the biodiversity presented, say, in a flower field.
(perfection: the fleeting moment when the crab apple and the lilac are both in bloom)
* * *
Here's an annual rite of passage: a trip today to the first of the season local farmers market. Typically, the spring ones are hard for me to get to because they fall on a Thursday afternoon and with two tired kids in tow, that can get tricky. But, I asked for a day off from childcare today, after a busy yesterday and in anticipation of a busy weekend. Things didn't quite pan out this afternoon, what with my mom being in a state of great agitation, but all this rearranging of schedules did allow me to pop into the market with Ed and it was grand!
John the cheese curd guy told us about his winter in the Philippines, Natalie the gardener/farmer, showed off her red hair which she claims comes from drinking iron-rich water. And the bakers who take in our rhubarb. And the farmer who always brings flowers to his stall.
Delightful people with a very positive attitude toward others. I suppose you wouldn't do markets if you didn't have the sweetly charming personality for it! Just about everyone at our market will happily share stories with you if you take the time to stop and listen. (Unlike the downtown market, which is so packed that there's rarely an opportunity to pause for a longer chat.) It's fantastic to be here once again.
* * *
Evening in early May. The house did not get cleaned. Weeding is at a pause. And yet -- how grand it is to crack the patio door and take in the sweet scent of the lilac just outside! It's a flower of my childhood, and of my stormy and steamy adolescence. Gallop apace... I cook up some soup, pour a kir vin blanc and exhale.
