cattywampus flumadiddle, rantipole and ninnyhammer

Ed often tells me -- you are so lacking in a true American education! He is correct, to an extent. Although I attended six years of elementary and middle school in New York, I'd say that my most formative years came later, after age 13 -- and those would be years that I spent in Poland. Years that I did not study American history (however it was presented in the 1960s), or the English language. And importantly, according to Ed, I missed the cultural icons of the period. But since I came back to New York at age 18, my "gap years" are a funny blank insert into an otherwise very American cultural immersion. Well, of sorts. Living then as I did with a wealthy New York family (as a nanny to their child) doesn't quite put me in the American mainstream. Still, I returned to school here, I had American friends -- it all rubs off, no?

So we play this game (he and I): I come across a historical fact or a word that is completely new to me, and I ask him if he knows of it. If he says "no," then I classify it as an esoteric little thing that many Americans would find odd or unfamiliar. If he says "yes," then I add it to my collection of "things I probably would have known, had I fully grown up here." 

This morning I came across one such word, and then another, and then two more -- all new to me. Once I learned their meaning, I saw that I could put them together to form a sentence that well describes action taken by our leadership at the moment! But putting that aside, I was interested in seeing if these were familiar to my all-American sweetie. So again I asked -- Ed, have you ever come across a cattywampus flumadiddle or rantipole or ninnyhammer?  And he had! But just one. Cattywampus. Slowly I'm filling the gaps I had by leaving the US as a teenager. Today I join the ranks of all Americans who know what it means to be a cattywampus flumadiddle, a rantipole or a ninnyhammer. Useful words, all of them and especially now, don't you think?

 

The reason I had time for mulling over less than familiar words is because I was supposed to go to the Biggest Outdoor Water Park Ever (or at least in America), which happens to be just an hour north of where I live. A couple of grandkids, their mom, some kid friends, and me. And slowly that plan fell apart. As a result, I went very quickly from having before me a full day, to having an empty day. Normally that would push me outdoors (weeds!), but unexpectedly, it rained. Well now, isn't that a signal for me to stay home and think about travel and in the alternative (because I have no trips coming up) words? 

The rain brought down what few flowers were still standing tall. Some will recover, but most will not. All the more reason to post a photo or two from just prior to the rain. Tomorrow's lot will be... slumped.

Ed and I ate breakfast inside. 

 

 

 

Because of the rain you think? No, because we finally gave up on trying to cope with the bugs and asked the mosquito guys to come spray some areas with their "natural whatever" -- stuff that keeps them away for about an hour. Well, maybe two. Ed thinks he's as allergic to their spray as he is to my Christmas scented candles and so he wont go outside until the air "settles." Of course, then the rain came and whatever was there to deter bugs got washed off by late afternoon. 

Tomorrow I will get moving again. TOday? pure couch potatoes, both of us!

with love... 

 

 

just your ordinary Thursday

Low motivation is a gardener's curse. You ignore trouble in your flower beds and before you know it, those flower beds are suffocating under a dense weed blanket. You let the weeds go to seed and you're guaranteeing an even stronger presence in the future. All this is happening under cover: you dont really see trouble until it's too late. And here's the thing: the threat of a jungle is not necessarily enough motivation to get you to do the needed work. For one thing, even if you devote many, many hours, days even, to clearing the gardens, it's not as if, to the naked eye, it looks better after all that work. The before and after sort of look the same, unless the weeds and grasses had shot up above the tips of the flowers (which, at this time of the year are spent, so they're never going to be splendid anyway, not until next year). And one more disincentive to getting you out there: the bugs. The wretched mosquitoes that have stubbornly stuck with us all summer long.

So, to weed or not to weed -- that is the question! 

At this time of the year, working hard outside is like taking a long walk in Paris: I don't necessarily set out to do it. I step out and see where the day takes me.

After my morning chores of course.

(this rosemary struggled inside during the winter; in the summer -- it grew into a bush the size of a bear!)

(phloxes aren't just purple...)

And after breakfast.

And today, the day took me into the thick of those flower beds, where I worked all morning long, slapping bugs left and right. And of course, I only made a dent. Nor can you see much in the way of improvement. But I do feel better about the care I gave to those plants that were put in with such affection and hope, back in spring, or in years past.

(I also did some path mowing. You don't see anything that resembles a lawn anywhere on farmette lands,  and you rarely see the western edge of the Big Bed, because we rarely mow there and so it looks rather messy. But today? Looks good enough to be in an ad for lawn services!)

 

 

In the afternoon, Ed and I venture out to our local market -- me on Rosie, he on his own motorcycle. There isn't much that I need today, but Ed is a regular trader (our eggs for John's cheese curds, our rhubarb for a Sugar River Bakery sweet loaf), and a total fan of a black walnut cranberry sourdough loaf baked by this guy: 

 (he brings just four loaves to the market...)

 

 

I go to say hi to Natalie, and check out the flowers.

 

I haven't raved about the weather, but I should. It really is beautiful outside: not too hot, plenty of sunshine. I've been taking walks daily -- nothing ambitious, just along the prairie and the new development, while Ed has been busy with his machine design. Those walks have been gorgeous! It's the ultimate luxury, really: to be able to step outside and find yourself on s path bordering a prairie, with the gold of late summer flowers, the breeze that blows across those fields, and the drying plant life all around me, giving me that first taste of autumn. If someday I have to move back to the city (and I may, because I can't count on being able to manage all that the farmette requires of us), I will miss this even more than the flowers that I grow in the flower fields: that ability to step out and walk along that path, or at our local county park, without the noise of traffic, or anything at all, inhaling deeply, taking in each new season as it slowly paints a new canvas for me of a beautiful day.

with love... 

 

adjustments

New weather patterns, new season, new school year, a new school for one grandchild, new friends, new schedules, new attitude toward gardening. Same old mosquitoes, still with us. Same old unheeded warnings leading to same old tragedies that we then read about in the news, shuddering at how broken we can be, not having the imagination and perhaps the will that would allow us to move forward on a better path.

I do appreciate the idea of being stuck. The seasons change, the kids grow up, the world changes and yet we hang on for dear life to habits and inclinations that we picked up that we have to know do not serve us well, do not serve anyone well and yet, here we are, stuck. In fact, I'll admit that Ed and I can be very good at getting stuck in patterns that suit us, ones that we don't much think about until something really pushes us to find a better way. They say older people take longer to change their ways. Oh how true! Ed's rules of conduct are rock solid and if you ask him to adjust to a new reality, he'll resist change even more. Me, I'm probably no better: I couldn't imagine a year without travel when I was 20, nor when I was 40 or 60, and surely not now, when I'm 72. In the past, when I ran out of money to do it, I took on extra work, organizing tour groups, baking in a restaurant, even selling creams and lotions for L'Occitane.  I'll probably be that person who breathes her final breath while sitting at a table in a cafe in some overseas destination, hard of hearing, with poor eyesight, but looking on anyway, and enjoying my glass of wine sans alcool.

Just like everyone, I'm much more in favor of getting others unstuck than getting myself out of a habit or pattern or belief system. For instance, I wish I could open Ed's eyes to the beauty of facing emotions (rather than, for example, curbing my own a little, so that we'd at least meet each other somewhere in the middle). I wish I could get Snowdrop to love brushing her long hair, and to inspire a yearning for fruits and veggies on the part of Sparrow and Sandpiper. My own rut, of loving a breakfast of treats from Madison Sourdough? Oh, I'll get around to fixing it someday! Not today.

(Ed is on a Zoom call, so initially it's just me and my Kindle)

My day, of course, did start with a walk outside, among the phloxes that are such a reliable source of color now.

It's a cool morning, but a fine day. I've designated the afternoon as "Snowdrop day." The girl has wanted time at the farmhouse and this afternoon, when her brothers are getting end of summer haircuts, seems the perfect one for it. I pick her up and we drive over to Stoneman's first. For the corn.And it is during this small errand that I see how much the girl has moved on the the next stage of her life. I take my usual photos..

("I dont see the point, gaga, but okay...") 

And as we then pick out the corn, I see that look of amusement but also embarrassment cross her face, as I say something to the Stoneman people that's slightly amusing and apparently more than slightly embarrassing.

I really love this age, with one hand into adolescence and one still clutching the playbook of childhood.

And straight from that playbook, late in the afternoon she asks me -- can we go somewhere? Like to Eugster's Farm? We haven't been this year! 

(... to feed the goats)

 

  

 

(and romp in the lavender fields)

 

 

(Boys, back at their house, after haircuts)

Ed bikes today. An old habit that is a good one to keep. I reheat chili made yesterday from our homegrown tomatoes and wait for him to join me on the couch.

with love... 

 

socially speaking...

Any literature professing to give you scientifically verified factors associated with a longer, healthier life, will include at the top of the list the directive to socialize. I've often wondered what this entails. Does it count if you chat up your grocery clerk? Or if you make gurgling noises to a newborn? Is it within the realm of socializing to Zoom, to correspond, to talk on the phone? How about if you sit in the same room with someone but say nothing (ha! a familiar situation)? When you're young, it's quite clear that to socialize means to engage with others, not over work, not over mundane chores, but in presumably a pleasurable way - to have fun, to exchange ideas, to share. When you're older this becomes more muddled. To socialize may well be simply to not isolate.

No matter how you slice it, I communicate. I talk. I listen. I do not isolate. But by those youthful definitions, I do not frequently socialize. For the fun of it. For the laughter, for the mere pleasure of letting go. I don't have time! If anything, I lack hours where I can isolate. Quiet time. Stay with my own thoughts time. 

But not too long ago, I connected with two friends of yore and we set up, quite unintentionally actually, a rotating breakfast. We take turns hosting. And the breakfast always runs into the lunch hour, because early morning hours don't give us enough time to talk about our days and our plans for the future. Yeah, you young people, we older ones do make plans for the future -- perhaps even more than you do. I suppose this is because we can assume that someday we may not have the presence of mind to make those plans. May as well address future needs and wants now. Interspersed with just pure enjoyment. Over good food.

This breakfast was on my calendar for this morning and so I was up very early, so that I could tick off farmette chores in good time.

(With a quick coffee boost before I set out downtown)

 

 

It was wonderful of course. We've known each other a long time and the comfort level is very high. 

 

 

 

And the food was really good -- a peach smelt sourdough cake (or was it bread or pancake?), fruits, cheeses, chocolate.

 

 

 

Both women are older than me and so I learn from them. I need those lessons! My aging mom wasn't a happy person. Even contentedness eluded her, and so I look elsewhere for role models in the art of achieving happiness.

But by noon, we all had to disperse We all have full calendars. Me, I have the young family coming over for a visit.

And my evening? Definitely quiet time. In the kitchen, cooking up a pot of chili. And then on the couch. With Ed. Well, and the cats. Does that count, by the way? To socialize with cats?

with love... 

 

cold

The way you can tell that we are in the thick of unseasonably cold weather patterns is to feel my nose. Seem like an ice cube to you? Well then it's cold. Too cold. I tell Ed -- time to turn on the heat. His response -- no it isn't. But he knows that in the end it will be my call. I moved to the farmhouse way long ago on the condition that I can set the temperature here. A low of 47f/8c tonight warrants a serious consideration of flicking the furnace on.

Okay, so it's cold. End of September cold at the end of August. It happens. It does put me in a September mindset. That, coupled with the fact that Primrose in Chicago began her second grade year in school today, and with the fact that I just came back from France, makes me think of plums. I have underestimated their beauty and their deliciousness for years now, Possibly because the store bought ones are good but not great. But this year I am on a plum roll, searching the internet for what plum dessert I want to make next. I think I have one! Ed's response -- can't you make an apple cake instead? More on all this later in the week.

How's the morning walk today? Well, it's early. I'm still up at around 5:30, because as you've already heard me say many times, my tock takes longer to adjust itself these days. I hold off on going outside (because of the cold), but eventually I put on my warmest hoodie and head out.

(hiding among the weeds)

(In the meantime, out front, where a maple had once stood, my meadow project is doing just fine. I have to thank all that rain for it!)

And yes, breakfast is definitely indoors.

 

And here's a place that is always oblivious to my yearning for warmth: the dental office. It's always freezing cold in there. Too air conditioned in the summer, too under-heated in the winter. Perhaps for that reason, the hygienists who work there are forever trying to warm up the atmosphere with friendly chatter. I do not want to be noted as the grumpy old woman who is cold as ice and refuses to talk about "what she is up to with the rest of her day," but at the same time, I do not want to reflect to this person "how my weekend went." I've reflected enough already, and I am done with the weekend, and don't have anything dramatic to report about the rest of the day. This means that when I have an appointment with a hygienist, I am, ahead of time, beset with anxiety. Do I mumble grumpy answers like I'm sure Ed does? Is that really kind to the poor soul who has to scrape gunk off your teeth?  

I write about this because today, I have found a solution that works! Before any cumbersome equipment makes its way into your mouth, you ask her (and it is nearly always a "her") about her life. I managed to answer her questions with my own, and as a result, I learned about what it's like to be a traveling hygienist, for mine was exactly that -- taking on six month stints all over the country. (After Wisconsin, she is heading to Virginia.) It really is fascinating to hear how this works for her. How, like traveling nurses, these professionals lead a nomadic life, meeting others, sharing living accommodations with others, only to move onto another place and then again another. Could you have done this when you were in your twenties? 

For all the travel drive that I have always had within me, I would not have been a good candidate for such constant shifts and changes. And this may surprise you, since I write so much about the details of my day, but the fact is, I am so very private at the end of the day, that I will avoid, if I can, any intrusion into my own space, wherever it may be. And I've made some questionable moves and choices to give myself that degree of privacy. For example, I loved being an au paire, I loved the girl I took care of in that position, but when my parents "followed me" to New York for my father's second job at the United Nations, I quit my work and moved in with them, even though we had a rough and not altogether pleasant family dynamic in those years. Still, I liked my own room, with a closed door to everything and everyone at the end of the day. And when I went to graduate school in Chicago and everyone, really just about everyone shared apartments with other students, I resisted that pattern and found a studio just for myself. I might add that one reason Ed and I are so well matched despite our huge differences is that he respects that need in me (and I in him) to shut out the outside world at will. We spend most of the day in the same room, in the same house, and we like it that way, but there will be periods of intense quiet, where I am with my thoughts and he is with his. And if either one of us wants to make a phone or zoom call, we leave the room and shut the door behind us. 

See what thoughts may be triggered by my mere asking of the hygienist -- and are you from Wisconsin? 

 

In the afternoon, Ed is in fact on a Zoom call, behind closed doors (which means the conversation is going to be long and about machines -- boring, and disturbing the peace of the living room). I decide I really should walk. In the new development, so not very ambitious. It gives me a chance to pull out some tall grasses from the roadside flower bed on the way. My, how hard I had worked in spring to get this flower bed tidy! And now, it looks like a tangle of everything, some good, some not so good. 

My walk is in fact lovely, because in the late afternoon it's not cold, it's autumn warm. Golden sun on goldenrod. Weeds in the yards of many homes. I take comfort in that. Messy loves messy.

And there goes the day -- I'd say it was the first solid reminder of autumn. You absolutely felt it. Colors, coolness, yellow jackets, golden rod. We are a week away from September and yet, here we are. I notice Ed is throwing a quilt over the couch. No heating yet, we're in agreement on that. But a quilt nonetheless, against the cold.  

with love... 

 

Aw, pShaw...

When did I become such a daylight person! Yes, my grandmother rose with the sun and went to bed when the first stars appeared in the sky. But she was a total introvert. She had family, and she got along with some people in the village who supplied her with dairy products and poultry, but as far as going to a social gathering? Not her. Not once in all the time that I knew her (some 40 years) did I ever hear of her expressing any need for socializing, and not once did I hear of her going out after dark. So, is it in my genes to love staying home once the fireflies come out in the summer, or the darkness takes over in those early hours of winter? Ed, of course, is a complete homebody, but it's not the night that keeps him shuttered, it's just that he always prefers the farmhouse over any other place (except maybe out in a boat in the middle of the ocean), at any time of day. So maybe that, too, rubs off on me a little?

When I was in Poland, I asked my friends in one of those "conversational questions" I like to throw out to the group, what time they go to sleep. It varied, from late to very, very late. Since I have given myself the task of finishing up an Ocean post in the evening, after supper and whatever show Ed and I pick for the night, I end up going to sleep close to 11, but were it not for the fact that we push everything into those evening hours, I swear I'd toddle up to bed at least an hour, maybe two hours earlier than that. So, I'm no party animal. More like a wet blanket after dark. And I've stopped going to concerts or evening shows. What's the point -- I'd probably doze off. 

However.

There are these grandchildren and they have performances. I've been skipping the school ones lately, because their time on stage is so short and there are plenty of people in the audience. But I do attend the plays that put both Snowdrop and now this year Sparrow, too, on the stage. They are full length productions, so it is a multi hour commitment, but really, if a grandmother wont show up for it, then what's the point of being a grandmother? 

The group they perform with is the Young Shakespeare Players and the plays are indeed mostly those written by Shakespeare, but every once in a while they put on something by Shaw. And tonight, they're putting on his Don Juan in Hell. Actually, it's the 3rd act of Shaw's "Man and Superman," and one drama critic described it thus: "(Don Juan in Hell) depicts a spirited conversation between Don Juan, the Devil, Juan’s former paramour Doña Ana, and her father the Commander, slain by Juan while defending his daughter’s honor. This chamber concert for four voices debates love, war, morality, and the eternal battle of the sexes with sublime wit and devilish charm." I would say it is rather an adult play and the Shakespeare group does invite older alumni of the program to come back and take part. But it is also open to young actors and Snowdrop plays Doña Ana, so it's not a small deal.

Unfortunately, her family is battling a bug, so neither parent can attend. This is sort of okay, because she already performed once last week, when I was in France, so they had a chance to see her then.  Sparrow insists on seeing it again and I, of course, despite my dislike of stepping out into the night, am delighted to see her play a "paramour" at age 10, so the plan is for me, along with Sparrow, to represent the family in the audience tonight. I'm drinking coffee as I write this, in the early hours of the afternoon.

 

The morning started off with rather cool temps. I'm forcing myself to pull weeds before breakfast, but I have to admit that I am now reaching the stage of gardening insouciance. I mean, it's the end of the season, control and order went out the door weeks ago! I tell myself it looks good this way -- overgrown, weary, subservient to the yellow heliopsis and eventually the purple asters. A tumble of spent summer stems and thriving early fall flowers.

(last of the August day lilies)

I feel it is too cool to eat breakfast outside on the porch. In early spring, a reading of 60f/15c would have sent me out there in a flash, but now my blood is used to a warmer air and a cool morning has me opt for the kitchen.

(false sunflower)

(real sunflower)

 

 

I had one more goal for the summer and it was to finish two photo books for the kids -- I did one before leaving for my trip and I had one left. I worked on that today. It's always such a huge project that it basically swallows the day and it did just that. By the time I was done, it was almost time to head out. 

 

*     *     * 

Okay, so how did the show go? This production, coming so close on the heels of the Midsummer Night's Dream, meant that there was a lot of work that had to be put in by Snowdrop to get herself up to speed with her lines. I needn't have been apprehensive though. She did brilliantly.

A cast of four: two young adults, two younger ones.

 

 

 

Sparrow was very proud! 

I had postponed supper until after the show. Ed and I always eat late in the summertime so it wasn't a huge deal to reheat soup after 9 pm.  

But ask me how peppy I feel right now. And how soon is my next foray into the dark world out there. (Not too soon!)

 

with so much love... 

 

market day

There isn't just one day -- Saturday -- for a farmers market in Madison. Ed and I always go to our local Thursday afternoon market, and I've taken to going to the reduced-in-size Wednesday market downtown, and there are countless others that we could easily reach on other days -- all within a short drive of the farmhouse. But of course the big one is this morning. Around the Capitol Square. 

I go back and forth on whether I love it or am mildly frustrated by it. Yes, I'm a fan when I go with family and we basically treat it as an outing for the kids, for all of us. Yes, I'm a fan when I go there early, say on Rosie the moped, then walk to my favorite stands, coming at them from the back to avoid the crowds. But for serious grocery shopping it can get overwhelming. It's a one-way movement of many people, most of them there for small add-ons rather than your basic food resupplying. And here's the other thing: there is a strict rule that all products must be harvested or made in our county, by the vendor, so that for example even the cheese maker Farmer John could not sell his cheeses there because he uses milk from farmers in and around the county.

Yes, okay, it's good to support local foods grown and produced by local farmers. But it makes for a very limited product base. Meaning, there is a lot of repetition out on the stands. When bok choy, or asparagus, or spinach, or apples are in season, there are very many stands selling them. You can spend a long time going around the Square looking for the very best bok choy or asparagus or spinach or apples, but then you have to go around the whole square again to get to the one you liked best. Is that really a good use of your time? 

 

 

 

And the limitation to our county means that products from elsewhere are not available, so you do have to shop for produce at the grocery store after all. In all the markets I visit across the ocean, there is a mix of local and not local. The vendors must put up signs if the products are from another country and you see a lot of "Spain" in the cooler months, but from the point of view of the shopper, it sure makes it easier to supply yourself with all your fruits and veggies all at the same time, from one market.

Still, when my daughter asked if we could meet up at the market today, I jumped. Because with her, and her kids -- the market is awesome. And what a beautiful day for it! Partly cloudy and mild -- which, by the way, appears to be the forecast for the next ten days. Stunning weather! It makes up for the sticky hot days of July. Now if only the bugs would retire for the season...

(around this time of the year, it's all about the phloxes, monardas, black eyed susans, and false sunflower; in other words, purple and gold)

 

 

(the green froggies find other flowers now that the day lilies are mostly gone)

 

 

(the roadside garden benefits now from the strawberries and cream hydrangeas)

 

 

(feeding the cats: three in the sheep shed, and as of recently -- all these guys, Friendly, Dance, and Pancake -- in the farmhouse kitchen)

 

 

Breakfast with a sleepy and not hungry Ed, on the porch. 

 

 

 

I think afterwards he went back to bed. Me, I drive down to the market.

Even before meeting up with the three kids and mom, I find such a stunning bouquet of flowers that I put my money down on them right away. It's not that it is the only nice bouquet -- this is the absolutely best week for dahlias! -- but I fall in love and there you have it.

And now for the best part of the market outing -- I get to see the kids again. Somehow they missed me (and I missed them) more than usual, so the reunion is joyous and long lasting. 

We do the whole market and it takes over an hour. My daughter has a veggie shopping list...

 

 

 

Me, I'm there to revel in the whole adventure of being there with them. And I have to admit it -- this big market is the absolute best for summer flower buying. The selection is huge and with flowers, that's important. 

(Sandpiper with my flowers)

 

 

(...then with her flowers)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Afterwards, they all came over to the farmhouse. The younger set plays with their favorites, the older set sits out on the porch. It is the perfect weather for it and of course, there is much to catch up on.

 

 

 

I'm over my post travel wobblyness (is that a word?) and I'm marching through the "just returned from vacation" to do list with great speed and resolution. And I make time for an outing. With Ed. A bike ride and a hike. 

Back at the farmhouse, we speculate how best to address the mosquito problem at the farmette. During our walk in the local park, we came across no mosquitoes or other annoying bugs. That's because the wind had picked up and these pests dont do well in windy conditions. But such winds rarely blow through our farmette land. The trees are tall and dense. A breeze here and there -- sure, we get that, but the big movement of air mostly passes over us. Moreover, the mosquitoes have plenty of spaces to hide, in the thicket of trees, shrubs and flowers.  Ed suggests we put up a network of fans blowing air onto the flower fields when I'm working  in them. But the aesthetics of that! -- I protest. You mean you'd find that to be ugly? Well, ugly is a strong word, but maybe "unattractive?" 

We eat dinner late. I don't know why. Reheated soup and a salad and corn. In the summertime -- and it is still summertime -- it's often like that. Supper with dusk. The mourning doves outside settle down, the chickens are put away for the night. We eat. With utter contentment...

And love.