from one place to the next

There's a lot of chaos and frenzy when you get ready to travel to a place that requires careful preparation. Did I remember the gifts for Primrose? My bag of just-in-case meds? Did I pack the right clothes? Get a thermos of warm tea ready for the drive? Is the car washed? Filled with gas? Are Henry's essentials all there? 

It is always a relief when you arrive, on time, and you know you haven't forgotten anything. You shift your attention to the events that really make all this worthwhile. Small things: a book read with a grandchild, a recipe discussed with your daughter, tree decorations admired, snatches of conversation, with all of them, but, too, a good listen to their own exchanges, with their friend, with each other. And big things: the Nutcracker, the birthday, meals together. I had recently said to Ed that this is what makes life worth living: those feelings of love that rush forward when you are with the people who are your everything. He still made the case for finding pleasure in solitude, but even though I, too, love solitary moments, and indeed need a good dose of them each and every day, the thing that keeps my wheels turning is lodged there in the in the lives of those whom I deeply love.

But then comes the departure. The sadness of leaving. Of heading away from my daughter's home. Sigh...

 

I wake up again on the late side. The Arctic blast will be receding today, but it's still darn cold outside. Many many degrees below freezing. 

 

Not that you can tell looking out at the blocks of tall towers, with people living one on top of the other. Wouldn't it be interesting to write a book of stories about the inhabitants of one such buildings? Do their worlds overlap? Or is it all a hodgepodge of disconnected universes? Bound in space, but not otherwise?

 

I wont see any of the young family today. They're off at work, in school, the usual Monday doings. I have one item on my list for today -- walk over to Eataly for a breakfast and a quick peak at the foods there.

I love this food emporium! Italy has the biggest number of these stores. Eataly headquarters are in the Piedmont (the northwestern corner of the country) and there are 14 stores in the bigger Italian cities. (The rest of the world has about 25 of them, spread over the continents; of those, 12 are in the US, mostly on the coasts and then this one in Chicago). Walking through the food aisles is a total pleasure, but I have a specific goal today: to pick out a panettone for the holidays. In years past, I'd ordered one online and indeed, you could argue that the very best one is actually made in Texas, but at a whopping price that I will not pay, so here I am looking at the authentic ones from Italy.

Oh, this one looks good! And on sale! The one to the right, with the Amarena Fabri cherries.

I put it in the basket. As I stroll, I notice that it was just one of many panettone displays.

The store is loaded with them, from every corner of Italy! Should I reconsider? Maybe the ones with pears and dark chocolate? Or orange peel from Sicily?

I stay with the cherries.

 

Now for a brisk walk back to the hotel...

 

 

 

I pass a long snaking line. 

 

 

It's so cold! What could they be waiting for? In postwar Poland, we always investigated long lines. What if there are lemons? Or better yet, toilet paper? So I ask these people -- what are you waiting to buy? 

You wouldn't believe the answer: a cup of coffee from the Ralph Lauren store. I can't help bugging them again. Just coffee? What so special about it? I mean, the paper cups are pretty, but really? Coffee? Why? (Notably, there are Starbucks all over the place. No lines.) The young women I badger think about this for a while. Because it's from Ralph Lauren... 

Did I miss the moment when it became super cool to drink coffee from a Ralph Lauren store? 

 

And then I drive back to Madison. Well, I Uber over to retrieve my car, and then I drive back. If it were warmer, I'd take the L train, but I'm still coughing away and the idea of a longer walk isn't doing it for me today.

I'm to pick up Henry at 4 and I've come to town a bit earlier. Perfect opportunity to stop over at the farmhouse and have something warming to drink.

(Maybe Ed's solitude isn't entirely solitary... Pancake now comes inside the farmhouse. So there are three cats that hang out here, and three that hang out in the sheep shed.)

 

 

 

I am of course anxious about Henry. Did he survive camp??

My sweet boy! To say that he is happy to see me is your understatement of the century. Henry is overjoyed. I let him jump all over me. Good thing I did not jump all over him.

Henry got a report card and I was eager to read their assessment of my pooch. 

There were no surprises. They saw him as a sweet, happy, well trained dog (!), a little shy, but with a tender temperament -- a dog who loved cuddles and of course, despite the weather -- loved his time outside. 

Now, you could say that this is a camp in the business of having you, the owner beam with pride, happy to do a repeat visit ASAP, because they love your dog so much.  Yet I think they checked all the right boxes for Henry Bean. Notably absent was a check in the "very talkative" box, giving him a "mellow" instead. Henry is mellow! And sweet! If a little shy.

Unfortunately, we cant go straight home -- he has a vet visit for a booster shot of something or other, plus a flu shot add-on, as the kennel requires it starting next year. I notice that there are benefits reaped from his camp adventure: he is more confident. The clinic? No problem! No hesitation. We walk right in. I want to weigh him. To get him on the scale? Not an issue! My pup is growing up! (Also getting bigger: he has gone from 51 pounds at the time of adoption two months ago, to 56 pounds today.)

Once all that is out of the way, we head straight for the Edge.

Home, for my happy Henry Bean. Never more than a foot away from my side all evening.

with so much love...