money well spent

Like perhaps so many, I have a hard time assessing if an expense incurred, whether with aforethought or impulsively, was worth it. For example, impulsively, I signed onto Britbox streaming last fall. We watched maybe one show the whole year I kept that going. So -- not worth it. How about Babbel's  French practice? Debatable. I bought a lifetime subscription and used it intensely. At the beginning. Now? Every few weeks. But here's one that I finally succumbed to after years of spending money on single song purchases for my music library: Apple Music. I signed on this summer after being impressed with my son-in-law's flipping of stations, playlists and programs. My standard playlist was long but played so often that it was getting really frayed around the edges. I needed an infusion of music, even if I rarely played it when Ed was around. So I purchased Apple monthly music streaming.

Better than any TV streaming! Better than my newspaper subscriptions (so depressing to read them each morning)! What a wealth of pleasure! I start the day with Apple's Joyful Classical and move from that to various lists put together by the ever intelligent streaming service, and I am set!

 

Breakfast? Surprisingly at the island again. I'm kind of getting fond of sitting there with my music and my reading material. Today I get through a whole book -- it's of poems by Judith Viorst. She has a volume on each decade of her life (starting with the 30s). This one is called Unexpectedly Eighty and yes, you're correct -- it's about life as an octogenarian. It's funny in a very sweet way.

 

Since this move is very much much about resetting everything to meet the challenges ahead of me, I also read the article in the NYTimes today -- A 102-Year-Old Yoga Teacher's Simple Approach to Aging Well (gifted for you). A delightful piece! I am always on the lookout for role models going forward since, as you know, my own family did not leave me with much to work with here. The woman in the article is French with the winsome last name of Chopin and yes, she does yoga. But she also lives with a smile and her favorite meal of breakfast: bread, butter and honey or jam, with coffee. 

After reading these pieces, I did some stretches of course, because that seems essential to good movement, and then I went out for a walk.

But where to, in this wasteland of commercial and residential space? I reminded myself that for most of the 14 years that I lived at the farmette, I couldn't just go out for a walk. I had to drive or bike to a park. It was only when the new development exploded next to us, that I found it easy to step out and walk among the new homes there. On sidewalks and bike paths. Here as well, the better walks require a short drive. But the ones I like so much -- the ones where you just open the door and walk -- aren't terrible! Two blocks, cross over to the other side of the highway (it forms a bridge over the road), and I am on my way to downtown Middleton. 

 

 

There and back, with a few pauses to look into shop and cafe windows. One hour total. No car required.

 

In the afternoon I pick up just Snowdrop today. And instead of going to the Edge, we get on the highway and head to the Dairy Expo. Ed joins us at a side entrance.

She and I have been coming to what we affectionately call "the Cow Show" for years! Ever since she was a babe and had never laid eyes on a live cow before. We missed some years when I was away traveling, but we are back at it!

(this afternoon's competition: the Winter Brown Swiss)

 

 

 

 

The Dairy Expo is a huge production. Maybe you recall -- when I was traveling along the northern coast of Scotland, I met a cattle farmer from Australia who regularly attended this event in Madison. It's a time for assessing what's out there -- be it machinery or cattle stock. I believe he bought bull semen in the course of his week in Madison (it's a central focus of the Expo). For us, the Expo is just a time to feel the essence of living in the dairy state.

(first place? from Wisconsin!)

 

Of course Snowdrop wants ice cream and she is lured to the souvenir stalls. We were too late for souvenirs: the shop closed at 5 and we were well beyond that. The girl settles for a lemonade.

 

 

We leave satisfied.

 

Ed returns to the farmhouse, I return to the Edge. In an earlier phone conversation, we again reiterated to each other our different visions for our senior years. But, in the end, he said -- we'll figure it out, gorgeous. And I'm pretty sure he is right on that one.

with so much love... 

easy weather

I do live in the city now. My building has an underground garage. There are elevators. The kids fight over who gets to press which button. The water is softened. There is concrete just outside my windows. I wonder if you've noticed that suddenly, in my writing here, weather is not a primary consideration each morning. I could go from my home at the Edge, to the grocery store (which also has a covered garage) and never step into "the elements." I find this to be utterly bizarre and disconcerting. It's not that I dont care at all about seasonal changes. I choose clothes depending on the temperature reading for the day (shorts, all last week and all this week!). I make plans for activities that require dry skies. But it doesn't hold the same weight. I don't start the day with an assessment of how nature is treating the landscape all around me. It's a huge shift for me!

Breakfast. Still at the island, but I'm thinking of shifting to the couch. Neither Ed nor I eat solo meals at the table. Habit takes us to the couch. But for today, while there are flowers up here -- the island.

Next on the agenda: lots of beginning-of-the-week chores. I muscled that extremely large beanbag into a box, and struggled with it to the car, where it just fit, after I put all the rear seats down. Time to take it to Fed Ex to be shipped back. And time to grocery shop. No deliveries for now. I dont see the point. The store is 12 minutes away. I can pick and choose. I can go in the morning and be back in the morning.

 

At about noon, Ed comes over for a swim.  There is a pool here and during the day it remains empty. (Actually I have never seen anyone swimming in it, ever.) I know the guy likes to swim so i suggest he try it out. I go down with him. The water is cold, but we get used to it. He does a few laps, I do a few laps, and then we try out the partly submerged chairs and I tell him -- do you know this is the first time you and I have gone to a pool together? Recreationally? For the heck of it? 

I feel like we're at some hotel, rooms angled to face the pool. I'm glad my unit isn't one of them. 

I take a selfie to commemorate this incongruous moment: us lounging at the pool.

 

 

Monday is pick-up-both-kids day. Both are in great moods. I have to think the fabulous weather has something to do with it, though on gym days, the girl comes out groaning: I do not like lacrosse! Ah, P.E. units. I remember those words coming from the mouth of their mom when football -- everyone's favorite, but not ours -- took its turn as the unit of choice. Cramming for a test on football rules. Hating every aspect of the game. School teaches you that all boring and yukky (in your estimation) subject will move on, and so will you!

Evening of leftovers. That's a Monday benefit, after a Sunday dinner, where I always seem to make too much food. Some things do not change, even if you've moved from one place to the next.

with lots of love... 

a new twist on a Sunday

This morning, I attacked my mortal enemy. I'd had battles with it before, repeatedly in fact. But it had been a losing cause. I was ill equipped to face the powerful onslaught of this menace. I had to admit defeat. I surrendered, making only halfhearted attempts to stand proud and raise my sword. Without question, I was crushed.

In my new home at the Edge, I came with the most formidable weapon of all: determination and resolve. It helped that I had the right equipment, that the terrain was easier to navigate, that my enemy was at the sidelines, taking a nice long pause, thinking that no battle was imminent. I caught them by surprise! And today, victory was mine. At least on this go around. We will see if I can sustain my fierce fighting spirit.

[I am, of course, referring to dust. It grew in layers, in corners, behind books, on surfaces where cats frolicked, and among the tangled cords of equipment, on lampshades, baseboards and walls, unused pots and neglected toys. Covering over mineral deposits from the well water, attacking everything in sight. And dont even ask about the porch, where its presence was frightening! To the visitor, farmhouse countertops and tables were shiny and bright. Spotless, in fact. An illusion of cleanliness, I assure you. Look deeper and you would see it. I would see it. When I moved, I swore I would not let it take over my space again.]

Breakfast, with a reward of a cinnamon roll.

And then I drive back to the farmhouse. 

(the new meadow)

We are slowly going over all that I left behind in each room. Do I really not want it? Do I want it maybe at some point? Or can we just trash it? Today, we focused on the bedroom. Oxycodone left in my nightstand from dental procedures that never quite required a zombie state afterwards. Free slippers from hotels, because I know that after you wear them, they toss them and some of them were quite pretty. And then things I just couldn't decide on. Like, the chef's coat from my work at L'Etoile. (I finally took a picture of it and trashed it.)

Mostly we just piled up the Goodwill stack and filled the recycle bin. If it didn't make the cut into my move, then why keep it at all?  I tell you, I have made life so much easier for my daughters who, upon my death, will have so little to contend with!

One room was enough for me. Our other goal for today was to go for a bike ride. Our favorite loop, with a prairie walk thrown in for good measure. By Ed's favorite oak.

And it was lovely! Really grand. 

And then I drove home, because I have a dinner to fix for the young family. At the Edge.

For this I have to pull out the table and put it right smack into the living area. There's no other way to do it. But it works!

I was curious how Sandpiper would find this new arrangement. Many of the toys he reaches for are in the closet. Kids his age dont take out hidden toys, they work with what's in plain eyesight. 

(here they come! excited!)

 

(me too!)

 

 He seems to have managed just fine.

 

(obviously I havent found a good angle for a photo yet!)

 

Evening: that quiet time that has been my period of peace and contentedness for so many years. I think Ed and I would like to take some of that back, to somehow replicate it even though the arrangement now is so not conducive to it. He talks about creating a space in the farmhouse for me to do my reading or writing. So familiar, from the days when I lived and worked in the city and he lived and worked at the sheep shed! But different now. We have a history. We've been through two decades together. I hope we are wiser now. I think we are.

with so much love... 

puzzler, explained

I've received now a bunch of emails from very confused readers: One day all is good, farmette life is the best, the next day you move out. What gives?

I realize that this is perplexing. I understand I dont provide details and so you're left scratching your heads. Was it good, or was it not good? So let me at least respond to that: the life that Ed and I built for ourselves was good. Very, very good. Happy. Brimming with contentment!

But it came at a price -- one that neither of us wanted to face, because what for? We understood from the very beginning that we were very different and that our bond was sort of strange. How many times did I have to repeat here that we have very little in common? On small issues we found ways around this. Neither of us are confrontational, both would rather adjust than push our own wants. In retrospect, we'd swept too many things under the carpet. And so when a big question arose concerning our expectations going forward (into our very senior years, as opposed to just senior years!), and I sensed that we would not be able to resolve this in the same calm way we've resolved other issues -- it's just too big, too ever present, too fundamental -- I moved out.

Since then, we have stepped back and we've put on the table this and all other things that we've neglected and refused to face. We've spent hours on sorting through them. On trying to see how far apart we really are. And of course, it turns out that we always come back to this: there is a platform on which we do stand together.

However, since I took this drastic step that in the end forced us to have these conversations, we've found that there is something appealing in creating our own habitable spaces. And especially for me -- there is something appealing in not living in an old house, and with endless dust and cobwebs and gardens and orchards and prairies and wood groves and cats and chickens and all the rest. In my very senior years, I know I cannot manage it all, and I do mind the chaos. I do not like losing control over the farmhouse and gardens. And I do not like spending so much time trying to keep it going. 

So where does this leave us? Well, as they say, at the heart, Ed and I are still together. The love is there. We still want to continue sharing it. But how?

No decisions need be made right now. Much can change of course (have you noticed??), but we're thinking that in a year, when my lease is up, I'll move much closer to Ed, but not to the farmhouse, so that we can go back and forth with ease and frequency. 

It is true that this was supposed to be the arrangement all along! He in his sheep shed, me in the farmhouse. Separate, but together. But then, he got comfortable (to an extent) in the farmhouse, and I got comfortable (to an extent) with having him there, and suddenly we were spending all our time in the same space, one that I couldn't keep up with, and one that he felt was too "not him."

It is unfortunate that there is now a 15 minute drive between our homes. And here's the other thing -- most of the stuff we can do together is closer to the farmette, because that's where we build our common interests. That's where we hiked, skied, biked. It's where we mingled with the feline beasts, where we found so much pleasure in listening to the silence of a gentler world while sitting on the porch. So you can see who is likely to be doing the commuting!

Time is precious when you are in your seventies. Really precious. It's tough to do a reset now and yes, I have wondered if I was right to force this on us. But if it had to happen, I think it's good that it happened now and not, say, when we were closer to 80. And the downsizing that came with it was fabulous! Do I miss him? Oh God, yes! In a million ways. I hope so very much that this year is a transition to something more stable, where we can live "together," but without total overlap. And that we both will be the winners for it.

Okay, did that help?

This morning -- so hot, so beautifully sunny, so... unseasonable! -- I am up and out rather quickly. Ed and I have made plans to eat breakfast together once again and then go to the farmers market downtown. I get to the farmette in good time...

 

 

 

 

 

 

...  but we dawdle over breakfast... 

 

 

 

 

 

And so we scoot over to the market at 10 -- meaning at its most crowded moment. Me on Rosie, Ed tailing me on his old Honda. We both have shopping lists in our heads. Same items! Carrots, peas, broccoli, potatoes, apples, pears. With an addition of flowers for me.

We confuse the vendors by asking that each order be split in two. Shopping together, but for separate kitchens. Yes, it felt weird. We are still getting used to this new arrangement. Testing it out. 

From there -- to Madison Sourdough. A little for Sparrow, a bit for me, a bit for Ed.  Gone are the days where we both chomp away at croissants in the morning. We're on an oatmeal and granola kick right now. Still, he likes the bread, I like the occasional bite of a cinnamon roll.

And at the farmhouse? He needs a beard trim.

 

 

 

And then I go home, missing him, but loving my home nonetheless. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have just one or two more deliveries coming in. One is entirely the fault of Sparrow who claimed the kid room/guest room needs a quiet corner, a.k.a. a bean bag! It is a huge mistake to do online shopping with the boy by your side, giving his opinion at every click. We had finally settled on what seemed okay from my point of view. The bean bag came today and it is huge! And frankly, the chances of the kids using it are... small (though on this point, I could be wrong). I write that off as my last purchasing folly. I've learned. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to try hard to fit that monster back into a box to send it back.

In the evening I finally make the soup I've been meaning to make since I came here. It's not the weather for soup, but I need to have something to reheat each evening, something that is actually nutritious, because the salad and cheese menu is getting a little old. And yes, I'll take some over to Ed tomorrow. It's not that I'm cooking for him, but so long as I'm making this, why not just put in a few more of everything for him? 

with so much love... 

a long Friday

Yesterday, Ed (remember him? we lived together at the farmhouse, until six days ago) went to an Ice Age Trail event, where the volunteers harvested prairie flower seeds for planting along the trail. He's a frequent IAT volunteer, and this isn't the first time he has picked prairie seeds. He returned in the evening excited about his afternoon. At least I sensed that as we talked on the phone: Gorgeous, there were so many bees! In fact, do you have time tomorrow? We could go there and I could show you the place where we worked. 

It seemed like a fine way to spend a brilliant and warm Friday morning. We didn't set a time, so I didn't linger over breakfast too long. But I did take it outside. I'm getting used to the absence of flowerbeds around me and I remain appreciative of my balcony flora and the trees below -- abundant, in strips and clumps, in between slabs of concrete.

No morning farmette chores means that I am ready to start the day immediately after breakfast. I sit down and review my writing ideas form months ago and wait for Ed to show up.

The writing ideas are iffy and therefore risky. You dont want to embark on a huge project now, only to find two years into it that it isn't working. Following a conventional path is safer and probably wiser. And yet... shouldn't I challenge myself exactly now, after putting out a book (so no pressure with the second one), after sitting on "what's next" for all these years, shouldn't I just plunge into it and see what develops?

I put all this aside for now and set out with Ed.

He was sweet to suggest it. To take me to a place he knew I'd like.

 

To put me in a quiet spot in the thick of autumn's wildflowers.

To smell the seasonal changes all around us...

To admire the butterflies...

To climb up, for the view on a trail we've hiked many times before...

But there is something on his mind. I can sense it. His mind is spinning. He wants to go back to the topic that caused me to pack up and move. Tomorrow afternoon. After we spend some time together biking or going to the market. He wants to explain himself to me.

This is not good. Of course, everyone deserves to be understood, but I find that most people when they want to justify their conduct, shift very quickly to explaining what they find troubling about your conduct. So I say no, we're not going to wait until tomorrow. I'll come over after the kids go home tonight.

 

In the afternoon, I do the usual rounds. Sparrow, whom I take home for a handful of minutes, then together we pick up Snowdrop. From there -- to the Edge (remember? I used to live at the farmhouse; right now I live in an apartment at the Edge).

Unquestionably, one of greatest benefits of being here is that it offers incredible convenience in terms of kid pick ups and drop offs. If you are going to be involved in care for your grands on a daily bases, living nearby is huge, or else you spend a chunk of time on the highway, worrying about the time and traffic patterns. 

In general, I have to say, for having acted so quickly, without a great search, without great contemplation, I did well by finding the apartment at the Edge. It fits my needs right now perfectly and I'm happy with what I could put together in less than a week's time. I like the way it looks, the way it feels. The space I wake up to in the morning, whether in travel or in the everyday is important to me. It's why I spent such a large number of hours each day at the farmette tending to the visuals all around me. And why it pains me to leave it in disarray. That I should be so lucky as to move now to a space that is satisfying, that doesn't cause me to groan every time I come back to it in the evening -- that's nothing short of a miracle and I am so grateful that I lucked out in this chaotic week of change. 

 

I leave my quiet and lovely (from my perspective) space and drive over to the farmhouse to listen. 

 

 

 

I dont feel compelled to explain, clarify, correct. A few lame "I cant see where that comes from," but otherwise, I just listen. Why pick on any of it, really. When people get together in their near retirement years, they inherit a lot of leftover baggage. He mine, me his. I always knew this and yet I thought we could be creative in the way we found common ground. And we were, and we did. Let's see if we can muster up some creativity to push forward! I'm confident we can. I think. Maybe.

with so much love... 

 

community

The Edge -- the place I live in now -- attracts renters by creating something akin to a residential community. The on-sight managers entertain ideas on what to sponsor -- there are game nights, movie nights, and of course music nights. I say of course because the owners of the building love music and have made this the theme of the place. Well, at least of the corridors. Here's my floor's wall art. (That's Keith Urban. Not that I would have recognized him -- a New Zealand country singer. I know nothing about country music except that Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton sang it.)

 

 

 

You can tell that some residents are really into this, and some are completely uninterested. I decided tonight to attend this month's music event to see who turns up.

But of course all that comes later. 

*     *     *

I wake up a bit too early, but to splendid golden sunshine.

And breakfast again on the island. 

And then I dig in a bit more into my neighborhood. The other day Snowdrop told me how nice Middleton is (that's the name of the town I now live in). How it's got everything you may need without being overwhelming. Well that's true, but on my side of the highway, it's pretty overwhelming. Apartments, hotels, office buildings, chain restaurants and outlet stores. You get the picture. But here's a surprise: on Thursday mornings, it has a farmers market.  I can walk to it -- a mere ten minutes on foot. 

It's small. Really small. But it has a steady trickle of regular customers. They drive over and then head straight for the one big produce stand (there's one more, but it's small; the rest of the vendors are of the prepared foods and unknown to me breads variety).

That one large produce stand is Natalie's!

We chat. She is one sweet friend! And as a bonus, she still has corn. 

*     *     *

Back in my apartment, I cant help feeling charmed by the sunshine pouring in. Yes, it does make the apartment warm, but in the winter it should be heavenly snug. I go out on the balcony and look at what I thought was a narrow strip of park, but actually it is a "Park," of the kind where you park cars. And after, a few trees and a randomly planted corn field. And after, more office buildings. I like the absence of windows anywhere at all peering at me, but I have to wonder -- what is that empty expansive parking lot? It seems not attached to much of anything.

So I ask at the front desk. Will there be construction there? What's that lot all about? The Edge person responds -- well, there used to be a restaurant there I think. 

Oh yeah?

And then it burned down.

So, are they developing it into something else soon? I mean, it seems prime land...

Well, I guess people think the space is jinxed, so they're not rushing. You know, people are superstitious.  

I suppose at some subliminal level we all are a bit spooked by things we have no business being spooked about (except for Ed, who is not spooked by anything). But to this extent? 

 *     *     *

Ed calls. Listen Gorgeous, I'm in the new orchard and there's golden rod in the meadow. Should I pull it out? 

Damn it Ed, why must you ask this only now, when I am no longer doing these hard tasks? I suppose he'd say -- you never asked. And I'd answer -- you never offered. And there you have it.

 

*     *     * 

In the afternoon I do the school rounds. First Sparrow then Snowdrop, then ice cream for both. Our weekly treat.

Both kids but especially Sparrow are still really upbeat about the Edge. They can't wait until Sunday dinner so that they can introduce the Edge to Sandpiper. At four years, I'm not sure Sandpiper fully understands what a move is. Having space at the farmhouse was important to him. How will he play here? We will see. 

 

*     *     * 

The evening hour (plus) of music is by Bruce Wasserstrom. He's a jazz and blues guy and I like both, but I'm not at all plugged into the local music scene here, being rather isolationist in my music listening habits. Still, today I go down.  

 

Maybe a dozen others are there, some coming and going. The ones that linger are... the older set. Well, okay, I'm older. Let's see who, from this demographic, lives here and why: an older couple -- they have to be at the extreme end. Both in their early eighties. Then there's  Ferdy -- I'd say fifties. Jess -- fifty-ish. But why choose this place? What drew them here? I hear a variety of reasons: lived at a senior housing place, weren't ready for the vibe there. Just came back from living in London because teen age son hated it there. Lived with daughter and her kids and was ready to downsize. 

And still, to me it felt strange to be there. Reminiscent of the year of my divorce when I was determined to meet people and branch out (and then I met Ed and I stopped meeting people and branching out). Two weeks ago I had no interest at all in going anywhere but to the couch after sunset. Here I am, socializing? It felt like I'd been plucked out of my life and placed into someone else's.

On the upside, the people were nice and we made plans to meet up on the rooftop soon to watch the sunset while the weather was warm. I'm sure I will feel exactly the same, but I tell myself -- I'm not really going out, I'm staying in-house. And hanging out with interesting people (one runs a construction firm, one does consulting, one used to be a Lutheran minister -- yes, I am bold enough to ask these things) is never a bad thing, right?

 

*     *     * 

Late evening. Did you know there is a bird migration alert? The Midwest is experiencing the highest levels of bird movement this week. 842 million birds were in flight last night over this part of the country. They say to turn out lights at night, as our night luminescence confuses them and kills not a small number. Today through Sunday, turn off those lights!

with lots of love...