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...
