a new kind of Sunday

I Oh, Ed!

If you read yesterday's post, then you'll know that in the middle of the night, Ed wis to catch a bus that would take him to a destination where he will meet up with his sailing pals and proceed with them to the town and pier where a boat awaits them. Since coordinating the meet up of all involved is complicated, it's vitally important for him to not miss this bus. We both set our alarms for 2:25 a.m.

Are you sure that's enough time? You have to shower and we need to be out of here and driving by 2:50. I am the designated chauffeur.
Plenty of time.

And it is enough time. By 2:40, he is pushing in last minute stuff into his backpack. But then he asks -- do you suppose you could give me a hair cut?

Oh, Ed!

I had, in fact, asked him if he needed one a few days back, but he didn't leap at the offer and I didn't push it. I thought that perhaps, upon his return, I would see a weathered face of a sailor, with (and this would be exciting!) his long curly hair pulled back in a pony tail perhaps.

And now, here we are, seven minutes before the planned departure, with me plunging into both a hair and beard trim.





I have no idea how it all will look once his hair dries. It will be the quickest cut and shave anyone will have given him ever.

A selfie moment for the both of us.





And then I drive, though not too fast because you have to be on alert for deer here at night  We get to the bus stop two whole minutes before the bus shows up.

Off he goes. See you tomorrow! Or next week! Or in three weeks! Or three months! Love you, bye!


Later, back at the farmhouse, I try to resume an interrupted sleep -- a tough challenge as we have the world's worst mattress (on my to do list for when Ed's away: buy a new mattress!) and there is no comfortable spot anywhere on it, even when he is gone and I have the whole Queen sized thing to myself.

As I toss, I think about how to make this month a good one. I am so used to Ed being at home (he never travels and rarely goes out anywhere at all) that it is an adjustment to be in the farmhouse without him sitting right there on his favorite spot on the couch. In fact, it's downright eerie. So I try to come up with ideas on what to do to make this adventure, his adventure, an okay one for me. I don't want to just count the days until his return.

What can I do now that I couldn't possibly do with Ed at home?

This is a tough one: we don't believe in imposing restrictions on each other. We are together, but we do stuff we would want to do even if we were not together.

And then it strikes me: I can live, for however long he is away, in an immaculate house!

It's not that Ed is very messy. He's just not very neat. I had the idea last winter that I would nudge him to align himself closer to where I am in terms of tidiness. It was a horrible set of days. Not used to getting prompts (nags?) from anyone (and to be fair, he never prompts or nags me to do anything), he grew sullen and retreated to his sheep shed. I retracted, preferring his presence and a few odd pieces of ancient mail, chords for his engineering projects, and the occasional wood chip tracked in from outside, than having him go back to working in the shed.

But this month, all will be pristine!

I start start the morning with garden work of course, but there isn't a lot of it. I'd trimmed things yesterday and now, within 45 minutes, I'm done clipping and snipping.





















It is finally time for breakfast. Alone, but on the porch and with the company of flamingo and a magazine, the moment of sadness gets pushed back for another time.





Inside again, I begin the cleaning marathon by doing  copious amounts of laundry: off comes the blanket that covers the couch, the duvet, sheets, bathroom rugs, everything will faintly smell of lavender (my current favorite laundry detergent, derived from some plant based stuff, has a hint of that lovely purple flower). As I carry my loads down to the basement, I notice that the downstairs space feels emptier. I know why: Ed has finally thrown out many boxes of sailing charts. Navigational maps can now be loaded on a little Android.

He must have been in a hurry, because I see that the shelf by the washing machine has some leftovers from one of the boxes. And what's this? Nesting stuff and the stiff remains of a dead mouse.

Oh, Ed!


II Sunday Dinner


In the afternoon, all cleaning efforts must stop as I switch to cooking dinner for the young family. Here they come! I must hurry and finish it up!






But in fact I don't finish it quickly because I'm distracted and it's my own fault. When Snowdrop comes in I tell her -- I have something for you...

What?

 


It happens that I found in Chicago a little dance tutu (that girls actually wear as an everyday style, with a sweatshirt or jeans jacket) that I was sure she would love.

And she does love it. And insists on putting it on at this very second. And then she looks around.

Where is ahah?
 
I had mentioned some time ago that he was going off to sail a boat, but I guess it was a vague statement -- the kind you make a dozen times each day, not really paying attention to your own words. She had clearly forgotten. And now her mouth drops and she holds back tears. She picks up a picture of him that I keep in a line of family photos and says -- I'll just have to look at his photo and then I think I wont be sad.






In her case, it does work. Within minutes, she is listening to Swan Lake on her mom's iPhone and she begins to dance. When Snowdrop dances, the smile is never far away.






She loves partners in dance. I often play "the man," but tonight, she has someone who doesn't have to pretend to play the guy role.






An appreciative audience looks on.






Dinner is finally ready. It has all my daughter's favorites, as we're celebrating (belatedly) her birthday tonight.






There is a cake, of course. My daughter may indeed like it, but it is her own daughter that is hugely excited by it: the cake comes with macarons.






Snowdrop will pass on the cake, if she can only have the macarons.






(Sparrow does not yet appreciate the finer virtues of a macaron. Soon, little guy. Soon.)






A little music, a lingering moment...





And now the young family returns to their home while I attack the most difficult for me task -- putting away the cheepers for the night.


III Good night

The hens are variously distributed along the wall of the old barn. I climb the tires and try to find support in the hay bales...





Peach is nearly impossible for me to reach, but somehow I do get her down. And the others too, their flapping wings notwithstanding.

Will I have to do it again tomorrow? Darn chickens. This sailing trip had better be the ride of your life, Ed!

He's sleeping on the water tonight. Goodnight, goodnight. To my family south of me, to the one right here in town, and to Ed, rocking gently as the moon makes its own nightly voyage across the heavens..

transition

There came spring, then there came summer. And then came August, where everything just paused for a while. The garden puffed out magnificently last month and now it's slowly receding. Everything is still lovely, beautiful in fact, but the crispness is gone (perhaps in part because we have had no rain for weeks) and the sheer numbers of flowering plants goes down.

Ed tells me that for the week I was away, nothing was clipped and it all still looked terrific -- voluminous in part because the spent flowers blended with the unfolding ones so that the entirety seemed abundant.

I smile at that. He looks at the flower beds with a sweeping glance. I study them, take photos of them, remember where each plant lives. I see things he does not see.

(Looking out from the porch, before any trimming and clipping today.)






This morning, I am glad to be working outside again. Lilies depend on me to look their best. I like that.

 



And never forget any and every other flower that's full of dazzling color right now....





Still, it's an unusual morning -- unusual day in fact, because at the end of it Ed is off to sail a boat as a favor for a friend (and of course because he does love to sail). And so we had spent the night reviewing stuff that we both need to get done before he takes off. As a result, I'm tired. (I'm sure he's tired too, but he dares not complain, because he is off on a trip of leisure, leaving me with rather a lot on my plate.)

How long is his sailing gig? Who knows. Old sailing pals are joining him for it and depending on their whims it could be a day, it could be a month. Well, we do know this much: he has to be back before the evening that I go back to Chicago at the very end of August because there has to be someone at the farmhouse always to take care of the cheepers!

Or, we can let them be and cross our fingers.

I say to Ed -- will you hate me if I simply cannot manage to put them away and they get eaten by predators?
Nah... We'll just get new chicks next spring.

Well I might worry about putting them away each night. Ever since a predator invaded their coop about a year ago (and took one of them for his supper), they never retire to sleep there. They fly up to a barn beam and doze on it until Ed comes, all 6 foot 4 inches of him, with arms at least the length of a yardstick, and lifts each one in turn, and places her in the coop. I can't reach those spaces, so Ed has placed old tires for me to climb so that I have a better shot at it. But when you disturb their dozy time, the cheepers flap their wings and become enormous and hard to hold onto. Plus they could use a visit to the nail salon.

I can but try.


Ed's not sailing across any ocean or sea, but he may as well be, because he wont be reachable. A million and one things require our attention at the farmette. When I go away, I coach him nearly daily on my stuff. It gets done. More or less. But his own tasks -- stuff I need to do in his stead -- that's more challenging. And we're in a month where I'm not exactly looking for additional challenges.


We have an early breakfast -- our last one until, well, I don't know when. This week? Next month? You cannot pin down people who are on a sailing adventure.


 



We then start squeezing stuff into the remaining hours of this day.  We start off with an early morning meeting with a community gardens expert of sorts. We need to get the ball rolling on the planning process for the park allocation next to us. Right now it looks like it will be developed as a gardening space. All nine acres of it. To make this work well, you need people who have done this before. We listen, take notes and resolve to get on this once this month, this transitional month is behind us.


And then I take a wonderful pause from the current farmette chaos and meet my daughter and Snowdrop at the farmers market.

We are in the thick of vibrant market colors! Tomatoes, of nearly every hue!






I stock up on brussels sprouts, bok choy, peas, corn, eggplant, tomatoes. My suppers are likely to be eggs and veggies for the next month. I love to spend time cooking more elaborate meals, but never just for myself. Dinner preparation to me is an act of love. When I do it just to feed my hunger, the creative edge grows dormant and I concentrate on other things, like simplicity and creating something that is "merely" fresh and honest.

As for Snowdrop -- she is radiance supreme!

Oh, I am so reminded of another mom (my younger girl), just a few days back, snuggling her own little girl as if the world depended on it.






I take far too few photos today. Snowdrop rolls on the grass, climbs the gazillion steps inside the Capitol building, she romps, jumps, spins and grins and all I have for you is this picture, showing off her tomato filled cheeks.

(Tomatoes! Grandma, are these purple or pink??)






Oh, and here's a playful shot of Snowdrop slouching in her stroller, sunhat in place. Again, I am reminded of cousin similarities. Same blue eyes, same love of outings and adventures.






The rest of the day is a whirl of consequential and inconsequential tasks. Grocery shopping, packing, mowing, clipping, watering, washing, plugging, cooking, cleaning, downloading, searching (have you seen...?).. and so on. And the garden blooms on... (I especially love now the tall lilies on their thin long stems: they look like butterflies dancing in the breeze.)






In the middle of the coming night I will drive Ed to the bus stop. Stay safe and be back soon!

Friday in Chicago

Just a handful of days ago, I was waking up to my first full day with Primrose. So much about her was still a big question mark for me. All children change all the time. Where was she at, this sweet four month old child?

Today I'm waking up to my last day with her. Outside, the predawn sky is showing off for me. It will be a beautiful Chicago day again!






And now I am at my daughter's house. Before she sets out to work, she fixes breakfast for the two of us. Primrose is asleep, we enjoy these few adult moments together.






And now the little girl is up. I dress her and I smile to myself because from texted pictures, I see that this is the same dress that Snowdrop wore yesterday. Cousins indeed!






With parents gone, I spend some time playing with Primrose on their bed. Shh! Don't tell them we did this!

"Yes, but where are we going for our adventure, grandma?"






Eventually we do go out. My daughter suggested for me an even longer walk south of where they live. Wonderful! Primrose really is a terrific stroller baby!

We go to a cafe called Milk and Honey. Here it is:





It's on Division Street, which, in this set of blocks, is lined with a string of eateries and cafe-bars.

I am not the only toting along a little one. The cafe is popular with young families. (Gulp! Am I the only ancient grandma here?) Before I dig into my soup, I take the ever patient Primrose out and play around with selfies. I do about five and they're all silly. I suppose my expression says as much, because a sympathetic mom takes my camera and shoots this pic of the two of us. Fine, it is much better than my own timed release ones, where I'm either wiping Primrose's face or taking her fist out of my soup bowl (it's a cold soup).






I eat, we leave, but surely we're not done adventuring! There's a children's store across the street. Want to go, Primrose?

I don't wait for an answer.

At the store she watches me look at this rack and that shelf. There is a wee bit of a reward for her:  Primrose, look! Something for you to chew on! I told you the day would come soon when I would buy you a donut!






It is true that I've pushed her a little on this walk. It's a hot day and we've now made two stops, none of them especially magnificent from her perspective. As I study her serious face, I say somewhat sheepishly to the clerk -- this grandma just wanted this walk to last forever. I may have over-adventured her...
It's when the going gets tough that they grow, the clerk smiles at me, at Primrose.





And of course, Primrose gives her the most beguiling look.

Later, at home, I make it up to the sweet child by playing her a Polish folk song on the guitar. It was a lovely moment. Primrose is not old enough to do what Snowdrop does when I take out the guitar -- ("Can I play? Can I please play now?). She listens, understanding perhaps the message in the melody, if not the words.






Mom is home now. Lots of happy hugs. Mom with daughter, then granddaughter saying good bye to grandma, daughter saying good bye to this mother and then we do it all over again!






It is, of course, hard to leave. It's always hard to leave people you love to pieces. On the upside, I'm returning to people I love and as for Primrose and her parents -- I'll be seeing them ever so soon when I come back toward the end of August for one more week of Primrose play before she starts her own "school" in September.

In the meantime, let me just leave you with a simple photo of a simple painted message on a building I pass every day on my way to Primrose's home.





Really, isn't it what moves us forward each day? And brings out all those beautiful smiles on a child's face?

With such happy thoughts I catch the late evening bus back to Madison, where Ed is waiting to take me home.

Can I make you some corn? -- he asks as we come into the farmhouse.

Thursday in Chicago

Kids get you to think about stuff that is outside of your own self. You can't afford to be distracted by your own nonsense. They bring you around quickly to their issues, engaging you fully in their mishaps, joys and explorations.  I notice that when I leave the hotel, I give a glance at the morning stampede of people hurrying to work and I admire the morning light on the old buildings in the neighborhood and then I drop all thoughts that had been ruminating in my head and focus on the child who will be in my charge for the next nine hours.






Goodbye irrelevant stream of issues and nagging reminders. Hello, Primrose!






It is early (I arrive at 7:45), but she is already cycling through her first hours of eating and playing. Indeed, she is soon ready for her morning nap. And I'm ready for my breakfast, with an eye toward the sleeping child.






And now comes our time to make something of this day. Primrose is an enthusiastic participant. "Whatever you suggest, grandma! Let's do it!"






"I'm waiting!"





Time for an adventure!

We go out, passing the park and of course, I see the predictable congregation. All women. Mothers, caregivers. Perhaps grandmothers. Will the day come when a park like this will be, on a weekday, gender balanced? (My second thought is that I am seeing some impressive strollers in Chicago!)






There are any number of murals in the city and I rarely photograph them, as I'm so much more drawn to the street scenes that include people. But this mural really is impressive, so I pause and take note.





Primrose and I enter the cafe that is on the other side of that wall -- Ipsento. It's a hot and muggy day in the city and the cafe's cool air is a welcome relief. The little one has been angelic on these adventuring expeditions. I tell her that one of these days, a little donut like this one can be hers. But not today.






(I take a pic of someone else's coffee and plate of little donuts. It looks much more interesting because there are three. My orange-honey one soloing on a plate looks puny by comparison.)






Whenever we enter a store or cafe, I do take the babe out of the stroller. We practice sitting and selfie taking!






And now we're home again, happy to be in a cool place, excited about doing an occasional roll.






And soon enough you glance at the clock and notice that it's time for the parents -- first mom then dad -- to be returning from their downtown jobs.  Time to walk out toward the commuter train stop to greet mommy. Oh, that looks of joy on these two faces!





My time with the little one isn't quite done yet. After dinner I stick around while the young couple goes out on a "date." But Primrose is a superb night sleeper and so I do little more than occasionally glance at the monitor to make sure she asn't leapt out of her bassinet and ran away.

You can tell, of course, that these Chicago stories are all about my time with the little girl. She becomes my focus. And that's such a fine thing.

I sometimes wonder when I watch older people smiling at children if they're enjoying the shenanigans of the little ones, or maybe they're simply enjoying a break from their own pesky thoughts and ruminations.