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...