Incongruous

It is to be a quiet day. It is to be a hot one. Some years back, it snowed on October 9th. True, we're one week short of that date, but today and tomorrow we're topping at 88F/31C. My south facing apartment has large windows and unless I pull the shades down, it can get quite toasty by early afternoon. One big part of me likes this. I imagine cozy winter days, the warmth and brightness of all that light streaming inside and I smile. Northern exposure is a killer in the Upper Midwest states. I feel trapped in it. A six month long gloom sets in and it's tough to think chirpy thoughts when all you can see are shadows outside. [The farmhouse had a couple of somewhat sunny rooms: the art room and play room had periods of sunshine when the tall trees let it through, but the kitchen and living room never quite got the benefit of it. There was plenty of light -- indirect windows everywhere! -- yet in the winter I'd find myself flipping the light switch on.] Southern exposure, on the other hand, is pure joy! But toasty on a day like this.

Though the early mornings remain cool, I take my breakfast outside today. Yesterday, I transplanted the huge rosemary at the farmette into a bigger pot. The plant had really grown dry and brittle indoors during the last                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           winter months, but as always, it had exploded with happy new growth once I put it out in late spring. It likes to reach down into the soil beyond the pot and yes, I had to pull those roots out of their comfortable summer home, and the whole plant looked pretty unhappy at the time of the transport, but I think it's recovering now and I wanted to keep it company this morning. (It's out on the balcony until frost sets in.)

All the years I lived on the farmette, I never thought much about how to fill my morning. I had appointments, and I had garden work. Everything else was stuffed between the two. I need only step outside and some big project would beckon and there would go the day. At the Edge, I actually thought about how best to use my time. A hike? A few hours with my book (the Director, about an Austrian filmmaker who lived and worked in the shadow of the Nazi occupation in Europe)? 

I settle for a neighborhood walk, targeting the farmers market -- last one this year in this area! -- where of course, I pause to talk to Natalie, the farmer/gardener who has supplied us with foods and flowers for years now. 

The last ears of corn for me, for Ed, a bunch of radishes, sunflowers. My loot for the day.

In the meantime, Ed is slowly working through my discarded stuff. Most goes to Goodwill, but some items he has picked out to sell on Craigslist. Like the guitar that I bought in anticipation of many singing hours with the grandkids. None showed interest. The guitar was put aside. Now for sale! Ed is incredibly wonderful in finding ways to move stuff along for others to use. That he should want to take the time to do this with my old dust collectors is ... well, quite remarkable.

 

In the afternoon I pick up the kids. Sparrow first...

Then Snowdrop.

It's not a perfect pickup situation. Sparrow is feeling a bit under the weather and so I take him home to rest with his mom, while Snowdrop and I return to the Edge to read. She hasn't played once since I moved here. It's been all about books. Ours together, hers alone. That she regards this as "special time" is so endearing...

 

In the evening I use up the rest of my garlic supply for a shrimp and broccoli stir-fry. With lots of leftovers for Ed. No, he doesn't ask for this. Yes, he does eat it anyway. At odd hours, in strange combinations I'm sure. On the couch, with lights out, and a cat or two clawing at him to share the good stuff.

with love...