Monday

Just a few minutes ago, I said to Ed -- I am so sick of my life! And I meant it. He didn't bat an eye. In fact, I think he smiled a little over there, in the corner of the couch.

Of course, I'm not talking about my current life! Never that. What I am tired of is editing the book I've now (sort of) completed (is any writer ever done?), which has rehashed too many details of my childhood, with too many years spent in the writing of it all, and way too many edits and re-saves and new files opened and closed, because, well, you know, I'm never going to be totally satisfied with the thing.

I have started exploring the options that I have (very few) in terms of publication and distribution and this of course requires more reading, cutting, pasting, sending, consulting -- all about those damn childhood years that seem now comically childish because, well, at 68, I am wiser than I was, say, at 7. You try writing about your thought processes at maybe age 11. Classic tween stuff. See how good you feel about yourself when you put those years under a microscope.

At least when you blog as an adult, you dont worry too much about sounding immature, because in the here and now we always believe our heads are screwed on tight and our brains are functioning at full adult capacity. But way back then? Yes, I admit it, I really said that and sounded that juvenile! Earnest, but horribly young.

 

*     *     *

We have a chain of stunning days and I am deeply grateful for that Adirondack on the porch, otherwise, given all the writing I've been doing, I'd feel the beautiful weather will have passed me by. I do, of course, spend a handful of early morning hours in the flower fields. I think I snipped a record number of lily heads today, but somewhere in the middle of that project my thoughts drifted and suddenly I forgot if it was number 287 or 387 or maybe even 487, so I stopped counting and concentrated on whistling, which the cats and chickens find weird, but I'm not going to worry about pleasing them. Whistling is always gratifying, because it brings another layer of sensual joy to the rather repetitive work. But of course, the colors and the delicacy of each day-old bloom (against a backdrop of false sunflowers or purple phlox) are are the real stars for me. See if you don't agree.

With breakfast on the porch.

And then I stay on that porch and work. All day long, until, looking up, I saw a very pretty sunset. Worth greeting on a moped.

Goodnight sunset, goodnight prairie grasses everywhere!

 

a different kind of Sunday

We are capable of being weird with our schedules. Just because we tend to sleep at night and work during the day doesn't mean that we always have to proceed in this way. Similarly with dinner: if you think Sunday family meals necessarily take place on Sundays, well then consider this: why not move it around every now and then? Like for example this week: why not have Sunday dinner on, say, Tuesday?

And then there's the level of activity: on beautiful days (we are indeed having a beautiful day) Ed and I tend to be physically active. And indeed, I do spend a handful of early morning hours working in the flower fields and I supplement it with cleaning the house (one needs to clean occasionally, no?), but we don't do our usual: we don't hike, we don't bike, we don't boat, we don't go anywhere at all. Ed is designing new machining stuff and the guy always works in long spurts, usually in the middle of the night and so our schedule, if you can even call it that, looks exceptionally weird this weekend. Me, I seize this opportunity to work on the last sentences of my Great Writing Project. I dare say that by the end of the day I am sort of kind of done. Ish. But I wont admit to it because then you'll ask me -- now what? -- and I have no answer to that. 

So let's go back to the safe territory of the morning hours, where I am enjoying snipping away at (more than 600 today) spent lily heads and loving the morning colors in the flower fields. Take a look:

By the time I do as much as I want to do today, it is close to noon and Ed wakes up and joins me for breakfast. On the porch. Without chickens. Thank goodness.

And now comes the weird part where I take my laptop to my new chair on the porch and Ed sequesters himself with his big computer in the sheep shed and we work away on this gorgeous day without thought to anything else but moving our own projects along.

That means that you get no more than just this short post from me. I'm all out of words. But hey, you must admit that the flowers are gorgeous. Enjoy them! I surely did from my perch on the white Adirondack. 

Wisconsin riches

I imagine that if you go to a luxurious resort, somewhere perhaps on the Seychelles or Tahitian islands, eventually you'll stretch out in some comfy outside space, maybe by a pool, pick up a glass of something cool and refreshing and say -- this is the life! You'll have paid a fortune, so actually it isn't The Life at all, at least not for anyone I know, but still, I imagine there is a contentment that flows from feeling so pampered by the comfort of your chair, the cool drink, the sea breezes, the warm sun!

Well, I admit to feeling that way today. Pampered, not by beaches and massages and tropical drinks, but by the utter richness of our foods at the market right now, pampered by splashing in the kiddie pool with the grandkids while their mom entertains me with life stories, pampered by stretching out on my newly arrived and assembled porch chair -- an Adirondack with a foot rest. The cushion for it isn't here yet, but we have plenty of pillows and I'll make do.

The whole day is just so full of my Wisconsin bounty! The weather is grand, the flowers are in full bloom, the market is overflowing with July foods. This is the season for blueberries! This is the season for Door County cherries! This is the season (starting right now) for corn that you eat the same day that it's picked! And if you have never eaten hours-old corn, well, maybe you'll be lucky enough to come up to Wisconsin sometime in late July or early August. Go to the market or a local grower (we have one about a mile away!) and pick up a few ears and eat it for supper that night! Unforgettable.

So I'm feeling very rich indeed. Perhaps one Adirondack and an ear of corn and a splash with kids isn't your idea of Tahiti or Seychelles, but it is mine. This, indeed is The Life!

Now, let's go back and relive it with pictures:

Morning snipping brought in 580 spent lily blooms. Not a record, but I'm thinking it may be this year's average at the peak of the lily season.

(ruby red!)

(morning light)

Remember? From Purcell? Always in my head when I see these proud tall summer girls!

Nymphs and shepherds, come away,

In this grove let's sport and play;

For this is Flora's holiday,

Sacred to ease and happy love,

To music, to dancing and to poetry.

Your flocks may now securely rest

While you express your jollity!

Nymphs and shepherds, come away.

(eye popping colors!)

(She looks like she's surfing!)

(Unie, following ...)

(looking at the new side bed where two trees once stood: it's gettin' there!)

Breakfast, with Ed, on the porch. 

 

 

 

Wait, not only with Ed!

Unie, our 5 month old chicken often thinks she is a companion dog. She follows us around when we work the fields, and Ed swears she kept him company when he was fixing a machine by perching on his toolbox and following his every move.

I'm okay with a lap chicken. I'm not okay with a chicken exploring the porch. (We kicked her out quickly enough.)

Now comes the market. I went alone, to pick up some flowers and beans and to check the status of the corn. It's here!

So, too, are Door County cherries. Not the sour ones but the sweet. I get those. And french green beans, carrots, flowers and blueberries. Wisconsin riches.

 

 

 

 

 

I was to meet my daughter and her older kids at the community pool, but it's closed this morning for some racing stuff. The kids chose to substitute our time at the pool with this, over on the deck of their home:

You might ask -- what's in it for me? Oh, the cool water! The laughter! 

With my daughter sitting nearby with Sandpiper, keeping us company.

(Refreshed, after water play)

(ready for a book)

(an eye opening kind of day!)

And back at the farmhouse porch, Ed has built the chair and now I have an afternoon of continued bliss.

And a a supper of corn. With chicken brats, but those are a sidekick. It's all about the fresh corn. A fine marker of a Wisconsin summer.

proud

You watch your kids grow and each day your pride grows: their character, earnestness, good hearts, dedication, the list is long. I'm sure you feel that way with yours, no? It's not about accomplishments, it's about who they are as human beings. And then if you have grandkids (or spend time with cool youngsters), you get to see it all over again: the character, earnestness, good hearts -- I really mean it when I tell them -- I'm so proud of you!

And Ed -- big frame, occupying just a small space on this planet and in the house -- always the same corner of the couch, thinking through one thing then the next, inventing, ever inventing and correcting, so that whatever project or company he puts his effort to keeps moving forward, benefiting so much from his ideas and patient efforts to implement them. (He's working right now on proposing a huge shift for the company into which he has put most of his efforts in the years since I've known him. Clever ideas are always percolating inside that quiet head of his that is never really quiet inside.)

The cats? Well, sure. From feral to sweet. A great leap. Good job, guys!

Chickens? Okay, fine: I suppose even chickens. They keep themselves safe and work hard to clear the land of ticks and as a bonus, always leave a few eggs behind. 

 

 

 

The point is, you need only look across the table or over your shoulder to spot magnificent effort and earnest desire to do well by others. And today, I looked over my shoulder and across the table and I felt a surge of pride! 

Speaking of pride, my friend visited me this morning and commented on my pride socks -- you know, the ones from Bombas where the left foot is one color and the right -- a different one. I tried to take a snapshot of the socks, but then changed my mind and photographed my friend instead. It was so good to see her here when the garden is in full bloom!

When I learned she was coming, I sprung to action, snipping away at hundreds of spent lilies before her arrival. I mean, I so wanted her to walk through cleaned up beds. And she did.

 

(I dont group lilies by color: yellows, pinks, reds, oranges, they all coexist. together. best pals!)

 

(there are very few places in the garden where you wont find a day lily or a phlox)

 

Breakfast, with her, on the porch.

 

 

 

Immediately after I went to Snowdrop's summer French camp. It was the last day of the program and family members were invited to sit in during the final hour. (Her dad and I came; her mom was busy with the two other kids and visitors.)

Of course, it's safe to say that in one week of French camp Snowdrop learned absolutely no French. What words she picked up will quickly be forgotten. Too, the levels of French knowledge in the class varied. Some kids couldn't put a sentence together if you paid them (Snowdrop belonged to this category) while others came from having spent years in France. On the one hand, I felt a whiff of sadness that schools here did not teach foreign languages from grade 1, on the other hand, I was proud of the little girl for reaching out to new friends and for trying hard to participate, despite the obvious obstacles.

Here, she is singing (with others) a French song about pirates finding treasure. Because she is wearing a mask, I couldn't actually tell if she was singing anything at all!

And there you have it: I have in my life so many for whom I feel such great pride. From head to toe, from inside and out.

(The last photo is from an evening walk Ed and I took among prairie blooms in our local county park. We were barefoot until we stumbled upon a patch of thistle. Ed continued barefoot. I was glad he'd stuck a pair of my sandals in his shorts pocket.)