Thursday

My vacation from childcare continues for one more day and therefore I give myself time this morning to snip and once again -- think in the rambling fashion one does when the flowers are beautiful and the bugs are only slightly menacing.

I think about the Barbie movie, about the Karen story that flooded social media, and about Karolcia. I'm sure you've been following the analysis of the movie (it's sufficiently "of our time and age" that I will one day watch it. In flight, once it makes its way to airline pics). And perhaps you caught the furor over the e-bike grab in New York? (The story is not so much in the incident, where either a white pregnant woman took a bike that a Black youth felt was his, and then threatened to get the whole pack of youth in trouble, or the Black youth grabbed a bike from a white pregnant woman and harassed her -- it's unclear which version is the true one and it hardly matters, because the story, I think, is in the condemnation that followed.) I'm sure you know nothing about Karolcia. I'll get to her, so that I can weave these three into one thread for you, the thread that was running through my head this morning.

I first read about the Karen story today in the NYT, having missed the whole social media hullaballoo over the incident. My immediate reaction was to think -- wow, two victimized demographic groups (Black youths, middle aged women of any race), caught in a fracas, while the populace roars. Ed had a different take. You know, the white woman isn't going to get put in jail or held down in a chokehold for causing trouble. Yes, but her life is all messed up as a result of the social media posting!  Here we are, arguing who has been dealt a lousy hand! [In the article, the author tells us which one she believes was culpable. This was, in my view, a mistake. People jumping to conclusion and spouting opinions without being in possession of all the facts is at the root of so much of what's wrong with us today!] 

Essentially Ed is correct, of course: the Black youths are at greater risk of being held accountable for any alleged misstep and indeed, in the comments, most readers are quick to condemn the young guys, even with an absence of all the information. But this should not lead us to dismiss the gender issues that continue to plague that demographic. Black men get shot. Women face aggression and omission.Youth gangs can spell trouble. White women accusing Black men can cause trouble. Both are in untenable positions! 

Recently, in reading comments to the Barbie discussion in the press, I've picked up this new optimism in forward thinking men, often dads of daughters. They write of their "strong girls" with pride. Fiercely independent young women who wont put up with any bullshit! Oh yeah? Have they been tested? And why is it that women need to be strong anyway? What if they're weak? Don't they deserve a decent life? Not everyone is primed to fight just to stay afloat. It all reminded me of how so many were convinced that we were done with racism when Obama got elected president. Ha.

Which brings me around to a kinder, gentler world of Karolcia. It's a Polish book (published in 1959), gifted to me sometime when I was 6. I lived in Warsaw and in those years (or perhaps just in my family), we weren't in the habit of going to bookstores to pick out books for kids, but somehow Karolcia ended up in my hands and I read the book many, many times (and not only because I had few others to devour). The story is simple and lovely and just a tiny bit sad: a little girl finds a blue bead. It has magic powers. It grants wishes. An evil woman tries to steal it from her, but Karolcia is smart. Chapter after chapter, she perseveres. She hangs on to the magic blue bead. But as soon as Karolcia is done with wishing impulsively for small trinkets and dumb add ons, she notices that with each wish, the magic fades. As does the color of the bead. Until it is almost bereft of blue. She has only one wish left.

Karolcia is generous with this one: she asks that everyone has their wishes come true. Sick children heal, the playground is full of happy little ones.

I never really believed that beads could have magic powers and yet, I thought hard about wishing and granting wishes and whether Karolcia could have had greater success by simply wishing for an extended life of the bead. Wishing for more wishes. Or is that greedy? Perhaps more importantly, this book was my first introduction to a spunky storybook character who did not stay home, twiddling her thumbs, but instead leapt from one adventure to the next without hesitation or remorse. In this way, I wanted to be like Karolcia. She was my modern Barbie from the movie. Capable of dismantling patriarchy if it came to that!  

And maybe in some ways I was like the girl chasing the blue bead, and in other ways I was stumped by the enormity of the obstacles along the way. In the end, surely luck played a huge role in the outcomes: I did not get pregnant at 16. I could have, but I didn't. I never really needed to call out for help. I'd walk the streets of south Chicago in the middle of the night and I never was assaulted by anyone. Luck. On a grander scale, I managed to find rewarding work that also allowed me to raise kids. I almost flopped on that one, but in the end, it came together. And, at the end of the day, I responded to that first email from Ed and now here we are. Lucky clams, spending every day in each others company.

Still, I have many memories from being young, that young. Reading and rereading Karolcia, wondering if I could knock down evil people, whether I could make a playground a happy place. 

And here's my heap of flowers from today!

(phlox in full bloom: now lining the right side of the path to the door)

(phlox in bloom: this bed really belongs to them in late summer!)

(this true lily is one of the last to bloom -- it's a welcome sight and scent in late summer)

(Dance and I both want to know: why do the hens do their morning groom on the picnic table?)

(this is what midsummer looks like!)

Hot today. Possibly the hottest day of the year for us. I put on the fan on the porch for breakfast. (Cornflowers from our new meadow.)

(from here!)

And sometime late in the afternoon, I take the bike out again. This time with a purpose! To market!

It is beastly hot and humid, but when you pick up speed, you're flying! 

At the market, we pick up cheese, give over two dozen beautiful stalks of rhubarb, and purchase a beautiful tomato! Oh, and flowers.

(rhubarb delivery to these guys!)

(tomatoes from this guy)

(flowers for this person!)

I fly back on my e-cycle. Ed, with greater sense, rides his motorbike. We have a quiet evening in our air conditioned home. Lucky indeed.

Wednesday

I think of this day as one with the threat of storms. The clouds were there, the thunder rumbled, warnings were issued. I scrambled out of bed quickly to beat the heavy rains, snipping away at a mad pace, taking fewer pictures, rushing to get ahead of... nothing much.

I thought it would be cool to be done with yard work and to enjoy the rains over breakfast on the porch. We enjoyed the breakfast (well, these days, Ed is trying out a different eating schedule so we sit down together, but I'm the one that's stuffing my face with foods). But not the rain. Drizzle, drop, drizzle, drop. More rumbling, more warnings. a few more drops and then, by early afternoon, it all moved away to Michigan and the sun came out and bugs came back and the plants said -- you call this rain? -- and that was it.

The nice thing about the threat of rain is that you aren't obligated to push yourself to some herculean efforts outside -- either biking, hiking or working in the flower fields. I mean, there are warnings! I listen to warnings! So, I stay inside and Ed does too and only when he goes off to a meeting do I tentatively venture out. The skies are looking good. Time for a ride on the e-bike. On buggy and humid days, this has to be the world's best outdoor activity. You move fast, you feel refreshed, the workout is as good as you want it to be. 

We live in a good place for looping around. There are bike paths. There are quiet roads. You can take detours, add segments and it all feels so unrushed, unforced. At some point, I'm sure my love for e-riding will simmer down to a mild infatuation, but right now, it is my most perfect form of hot summer movement.

And afterwards? I try out the bar that opened up just across the street from the bike station. I have a mojito  mocktail -- freshly squeezed lime juice with mint and seltzer. Refreshing! 

In the evening Ed is out for his real bike ride of the week. I make soup. Rumor has it that on the hot days of a Sicilian summer, a steaming bowl of soup will both hydrate and cool you down. I can't quite see the logic of this, but no matter. I have kale, I have corn, I have onions and carrots and some peas that could do with a de-podding. I have a couple of frozen tomatoes from last summer. A little garlic, a little chopped rosemary. Cannellini beans and we're set. Soup it shall be!

I feel cooler already.

with love...

words

We all have words that, when heard, cause us to bristle. I have one that I know others, too, shudder when they hear it (I'm thinking of you, shuddering out there, near Ann Arbor!): should have. They should have. You should have. I'd be okay if it was stricken from conversation forever. Forget about banning books! Ban "should haves!" The word implies that the speaker knows better than you, or the person under judgment. That she or he holds a moral superiority over us plebeians. It always makes me wince when I hear it.

And yet, it's so easy to be that person, throwing out the words that you yourself are loathe to hear. For example, my daughter texted to let me know that Snowdrop had a fever. I started to text back "maybe you should..." Damn! I was going to suggest a Covid test, even though there is no reason to do one and if there was reason for it, she would have surely done it. What is the matter with me?? (Luckily I caught myself.)

I write this because in being a grandparent, you learn this very quickly (and if you don't learn it, don't expect friendship out of your offspring or grand offspring!): you do not possess superior knowledge about the human race. You lack information about the most basic principles of existence. You are not of the next generation, facing their problems and their struggles. You are a bystander, there to learn, to help. Never to judge, never to instruct what steps should be taken.

These were my thoughts while snipping 460 spent lilies this morning (you do it with one hand: hold the flower at the base with your thumb and forefinger, and let your middle finger snap it off).

You already know from my introductory words that Snowdrop is sick, which is a shame because today was going to be our day -- hers and mine. Full on, to go beyond the rushed routines, to splash, play, read, maybe bake, maybe not. Another time.

Breakfast, just with Ed.

Afterwards, I get him to enter my flowerbed -- one that has the usual collection of my favorites. Except this year, I tried something new in between the lilies, phloxes and false sunflowers. It's a tender annual, sold in small bulbs, to be planted in spring. And it blooms late summer into early fall. Here it is:

Gladiolus Murielae ("Peacock Gladiolus").  It's beautiful! 

There aren't many flowers that are suitable to Wisconsin that I haven't seen or read about in my forty plus years of growing flowers, but I do have an itch each year to try something new. I have been avoiding putting annuals into perennial beds (even though each time I go to Giverny, I notice that what makes those gardens magnificent is exactly that kind of a mix!), apart from an edging of nasturtium here and there, but I took the plunge this spring and I may be hooked on more such experiments going forward! 

I had this day cleared for the little one, but since there is no Snowdrop, I decide it's time for me to move beyond the usual. I ask Ed -- would you like to bike over to Olbrich Gardens with me? You on your regular bike, me on a B-cycle.

The Gardens require that we bike first downtown and then veer east. Google tells me it's just under an hour each way. True, I haven't ridden great distances since the knee surgery, well, in fact for years now, probably since I retired, but it's Ed who is hesitating today. The heat. It'll hit 90F (beyond 32C) and, too, there is the question of air quality. It's not horribly smokey, but we aren't in the healthy category either. Nonetheless he agrees, and shortly after breakfast we set off. 

We stick to bike paths out here, in the countryside...

(a young one!)

... switching to quiet streets once we're in Madison proper. 

Of course, I do have an easier time of it than Ed. I stick to minimal assist, but it's a heck of a lot better than no assist at all. In the heat. Mostly without shade (this, according to Ed, who is far more allergic to excessive sun than I am). Even though my beloved is a terrific biker, I worry that I may have pushed him too much on this one. (He would never complain. Ever. He'll drop dead before griping about being overburdened.) From my vantage point though, it was a terrific ride!

We didn't linger in the Gardens too long. (Did I mention how hot it was? And that the air was suspect?) But I took note of some pairings of flowers. I'd say their ratio in the flower beds was more like 3 (annuals) to 1 (perennials). If you want nonstop blooming all summer long, that's the way to do it.

On the ride back, we paused at Madison Sourdough. It's on the way and I could not resist!

An almond croissant for lunch! Mmm!

I have to say, I loved the whole excursion. Early on, this is what Ed and I would do every spare hour we could find, until he gave up on travel and I gave up on biking: we'd explore. True, Olbrich Gardens isn't a new destination for us, but the effort to get there was its own reward. 

Hot and happy -- a wonderful summer combination.

hot, humid, hazy

This is our week here, in Wisconsin and from what I can tell -- in the rest of the country as well: the hottest one yet, with air quality issues once again. How do you prepare for it? 

For one thing, ditch the excuses to complete indoor projects. I had a big one and I promised myself I would get it done this summer (a photography thing -- nothing worth detailing here). Today I worked all day on it and voila! I'm done!

Then, too, be grateful for any AC in your home. We have one, it works. We keep the farmhouse at 78F (25.5C) in the summer months. The point isn't to chill the air, it's to take off a few degrees from the excessive heat. (The upstairs, unfortunately, never quite gets down to a tolerable level. We've added a fan. It helps. On the hottest day, we sleep on the floor or couch in the living room.)

And get to your garden cleaning early! 

I failed on this one today. Still, it wasn't too bad. Yet.

Indeed, we ate a (very late) breakfast on the porch, though we did click on the fan to move the air around a little.

And then I worked and I was not done until close to dinner time.

Tonight is Snowdrop's last softball game. I was going to stay away from this one: enough people would be there that she wouldn't really notice one absence from her fan club. But in the end, schedules got messed up by various airline issues and so I did go to fill in for missing friends and family members.

It was a late game and I decided to pack my supper and take it with me. And that was okay as well: leftover seafood in a tortilla, with trimmings. The boys were post dinner, so they munched on protein cookies.

So this was my day! Honestly, I need to do something outdoorsy tomorrow, despite the expected heat and haze. A summer day on the couch just doesn't feel right! But for now, good night and stay cool!

  

Sunday

I was thinking this morning how it would be very cool and very useful to know how we are remembered once we are no longer around. I suppose it's a little like the script of Carousel, where Billy can look down at the world he left behind, except for him, poor schmuck, it's too late. It's not as if he can make corrections to his life's script (his one effort to do good seems so ridiculously paltry that I hardly think it counts, even though in the movie, it buys him a spot in heaven). I have a chunk of luck in this regard: I left my UW teaching job just as my daughter was launching her career there. In the ten years I've been away, new people have joined the faculty, but many of my former colleagues are still there. Occasionally some of them will tell her something about my years there and good soul that she is, she'll pass their words on to me. Sure, if someone felt aggrieved by something I did, she wont hear it. People aren't stupid -- they're not going to tell my daughter where they think I may have erred. But I do believe these spontaneous comments of an appreciative nature have been genuine and they allow me to see where I did okay, where I left a good mark. And since I'm not dead yet, they're not like a eulogy.  I can take these encouraging statements to heart and use them to imagine an even better path forward in my encounters with friends and even with strangers. Billy never has a chance to build on the good. But most of us still have a few good years for an all-out effort! [Of course, in his case, post mortem regrets about beating up his girlfriend and pulling a knife on someone in an attempted robbery makes me think that his good deeds were well hidden. I would guess that most of us are not out to rob, steal or beat up anyone. Our very correctable misdeeds are so often simple omissions: the kind words and inquiries into the needs of others, time given to someone who needs a sympathetic ear, a ready smile to a stranger -- that kind of thing.]

Lily snipping makes you thoughts run in interesting directions.

Breakfast. We haven't done a selfie in a while!

And then I watched a Lincoln Center production of Carousel. Just because I could. 

Carousel the movie came out just a few years before I moved to the U.S. (temporarily, as a diplomat's daughter), but it was one of the first films I saw in this country. I loved the music and later, in my years of teenage angst, I'd play "When you walk through a storm" and weep as only a sixteen year old can weep. The subtleties of the story (which is actually not American at all, but Hungarian!) were far less relevant to me then, though I appreciated the fact that you could be in love with someone whom you knew was not good for you and who would ultimately make you unhappy. Julie (in the story) and I shared that!

So this was my afternoon. In the meantime, the young family went to our Dane County Fair. They sent me this photo (with Snowdrop, I'm told, being one of the passengers):

"Yes, but did she like it?" -- I texted.

"Amazing! Loved it!" -- was the response, proving that our children and grandchildren are not exactly spitting' images of ourselves. (Thank goodness!) Me, I was happy spinning around on the rural roads and bike paths with Ed, on my e-bike of course.

In the evening, the young family comes here for dinner.

(I have a rotation going: today its time for pasta with shrimp and scallops.)

The day's not too hot, not too cool. Perfect porch weather.

A summer evening like so many others here, at the farmette. Fireflies too numerous to count. Chickens getting sleepy up on the beams of the barn wall. One lily fading, the next one getting ready to open up. Ed and I, on the couch, with a happy exhale.