a different kind of Friday

Well, the young family is down with a bug. All of them except for Sparrow, who notably had this same bug earlier in the week. So far, Ed and I are unaffected. Cross your fingers!

It does mean that my plan for the day changes. 

Not the get-up-early-and-feed-the-animals-in-the-gloom-of-a-November-morning part. That stays the same. There is color though: the red crab apples still dazzle.

But after my morning walk -- you could say that the day oscillates and moves under the power of the full moon. It is unpredictable. It has a bit of magic too.

First, the mundane. An eye doc appointment. Yawn...  So long as I am in the area of my favorite grocery store, I restock afterwards. With sunglasses on because the glare from the appointment stays with me way too long.

All this means we eat breakfast... after 11. That is significantly late for me. But I do get Ed at the table, and a hungry Ed at that. Both of us devour our sweet rolls.

The skies clear. Yes, it's chilly, but I do not have kids here today and so when Ed proposes we go for a bike ride, I throw him a thumbs up sign. When he suggests that we bike over to the town of McFarland and get a late lunch/snack at the cafe there, I go for double thumbs up. It's a splendid idea!

We set out in mid afternoon, but of course, the mid-afternoon in mid-November leaves us with few hours of daylight. No matter. It's a forty minute ride to the cafe.

We linger there. A long time. So much to review! His machine design work, the elections, travel. They're all related! We want to step back from politics, but we cannot. The mind keeps spinning back to November 5th, when most of Americans voted for what we have now. And so small business owners, instead of discussing product development and technological upgrades, are scrambling to figure out how to remain afloat. In planning my next travel, I tell him I'm rethinking the way I go about my decisions on where and when. If I avoided countries with extreme political regimes in place (either in past decades, or now), I'm thinking -- wait a minute. That's who we are now!

Eventually we bike back. The long way.

The sun is almost down for the day. Deer in the harvested cornfields, ducks settling on the still waters of a pond. Lovely stuff. And eventually, we spot the moon.

It's a super moon: full at its closest orbit to the Earth. The beaver moon. A beautiful sight. Makes you feel hopeful somehow. Reassurred. The next super moon comes in October 2025. Between now and then, there will be laughter, there will be love.

even grayer, wetter, colder

Of course I'm glad it's drizzling. Yes, we need that rain to counter the drought that hit us in the late summer and fall. But just because something is good for us, doesn't mean we necessarily have to like it. I consider this to be yukky November weather. Need I say more? (And equally dismal is the forecast for this winter in Wisconsin: cold, but with less than the average amounts of snow. It seems that we are slated to have yet another winter with little of the white stuff. Groan...)

Breakfast, however, is always lovely. Oatmeal, of course. Cold and wet outside, oatmeal inside.

Ed asked me if I would go with him to the Expo Center this morning. It's a day for Robots and Brats. Tormach -- the company he has been involved with since its inception -- is putting on some kind of machine demo (among many other robotics demos). He wants to go, and for some reason he seems to want me to tag along as well. He tells me I may get some good photos. This is of course nonsense. To take a good photo, you have to know your subject matter. I have been to machining shows with him before and have always come back disgusted with my pics. Nonetheless, he rarely ventures out and rarely, therefore, asks me to go places, and so I agree. 

And predictably, I come back with lousy photos. Here's one from his team, talking up the robotics arm and the milling machine. And though you see a woman listening in, I bet she was not there to get robotics info. Maybe a friend of a friend? The room was pretty much 50 guys to every female. His team pushed back when I talked about the absence of women in the field, but honestly, the proof is in the pudding.

They're serving brats to the attendees and my non-red meat eating guy stands in line with the rest to get his brat. Handed out with onions and chips and Mello-Yellow or Coke. Tell me what in there sounds tasty let alone healthy to you? The chips maybe. I take a bag home with me.

 

Home briefly and then I am off to pick up the kids.

Gaga, it's ice cream day!

Ice cream day?? You have got to be kidding...

But they're correct: Snowdrop had her choice treat one day this week (french fries), Sparrow gets his choice of treat for the week. 

 

 

 

 

 

And the little guy always picks ice cream even on this grayer, wetter, colder day. And yes, he is still wearing a tie and she is still refusing to wear socks. Kids!!

 (At home, Snowdrop claims Ed needs a back pounding, aka a back massage...)

So ends another November day. With leftover fish chopped up over a salad for supper -- that's how much cooking enthusiasm I had in me today. (But it was good, so there's that!) 

It really is hard to believe that the election was just last week, isn't it? I no longer read the analyses because they seem more fueled by emotion and bias than by any observable reality. One person says this, the next affirms or disagrees and so it continues. I did look at ratings outside our borders and I noted that more than 75% of French people disagreed with the choices made by Americans this November.  I have to think Poland's numbers would skew even higher. Leaders who claim friendship with that guy to the east aren't typically admired in countries to the west.

Ed and I watch a movie -- a not especially good one. We've been on a movie losing streak lately. But the chocolate squares that I bring out for it -- winners all! 

There is a bright side out there! Always. Well, nearly always.

With love...

classic November

It's cold enough outside that if you are not yet used to winter cold, you shiver with every step. It's gray. The leaves -- except for the big maples -- are mostly gone. The flower fields should be trimmed and shaped for winter but I'm not in the mood for it. The county park paths that we normally love so much do not beckon. Yes, it's the kind of day where you can enjoy the quiet and warmth of a cozy space, except that you know you should not sit all day -- you should be moving. But tell me who in November feels like prancing around outside? Okay, you can always find a sucker out there, but really, she or he will be the exception.

A walk to the barn and back...

Then breakfast -- now that is in fact cozy. And warm. And lovely.

But then I sit down and start reading. Still pulling at post-election threads. Still wondering -- why aren't most voters concerned about, talking about, thinking about climate change? Of course, I understand the answer, but it makes me uneasy: if we can't ever act collectively to protect ourselves from an even slightly distant danger, if it's all about today's price of gas at the pumps, then what hope is there for any of us?

I go out for a walk. A brisk walk. It's not especially enjoyable, but it does give me a surge of good feelings afterwards (of the type where I am thrilled that I'm done with movement for the day and I can now stay home).

Both kids are at the farmhouse today. Everyone's healthy and happy. 

Sparrow has taken to loving ties, Snowdrop still comes with her summer shoes -- no socks, just shoes. You could say they have moved her straight from the August swimming pool to the crispy days of November.

I ask her -- aren't your toes cold? Gaga, these shoes are hot! The girl has an internal thermometer that I completely do not understand.

 

(he couldn't decide whether to go with this classic tie or whether to pull out his bow tie... he loves them both so much!)

 

 

It's no longer good biking weather and so Ed stays home tonight. Good. I bake fish, asparagus. We watch a show about lions. Perfect for a cold November night. Tomorrow? Likely more of the same. But you do get used to the cold. In a few weeks, this weather -- hovering just above the freezing point -- will seem downright balmy.  

Ah, November! You do test one's love for the four seasons! But you haven't broken me! I'm still looking forward to winter. 

too fast

You'd think that speed (of the "moving fast" kind) is something only the young crave. That when you get older, you join the ranks of the turtle squad: slow and steady, crawling to your next activity, and the one after, with great pauses in between. 

So why did I get a speeding ticket on my way to the bakery this morning?

(Can I blame the elections? Maybe!)

Would you believe it -- it's only my second one ever, and the first was decades ago, in a speed trap where I dared go a few miles over the posted 25 mph.  Yes, it's true -- I am a cautious driver. I keep my eyes open for children, bicyclists, deer, cats, squirrels, and police cars. I rarely go over the speed limit in urban areas -- that kind of driving carries with it too many risks. But, I have a different metric for the rural roads which surround us. When there's no way in hell anything can come at me, when the signs says 40 mph and the stretch of road is long and unobstructed, when there's a hill going down, down down...well, I tend to speed. Not when kids are in the car (for one thing, the oldest always questions any reading on the speedometer that is over the speed limit and what kind of an example do you want to set for the future drivers of America?). But when I am alone, when there seems to be no one, not even a police car, well, that speedometer can crawl up. And up.

This is how early today, after feeding the animals...

I set out for the bakery -- it was just on the hour and I was glued to the news on the radio (you see! it's the elections!), thus not too attentive to the possibility of hidden police cars -- and I pushed the foot too far down on the gas pedal. I realized that I was way over what was permissible and braked, but it was too late. He had seen me and he pulled me over.

I wish there was a good moral to the story (besides the obvious one: don't speed), but the thing is, speeding to appointments, meetups, events (today I had a doc's visit and so I wanted to be quick about going for breakfast treats first) -- this is so ingrained in our culture that honestly, if I only drove the speed limit everywhere, people would give me the finger and honk. Or, worse - throw me pitying glances, the kind that are telling me that they think I am ancient. Go back to your wheelchair, lady! -- that kind of thing.

The cost of today's croissant: $4.50 + $98.80 = $103.30.

While the cop was checking my documents, I get a phone call on my cell. There's a company board meeting that Ed is supposed to attend (on Zoom) and they can't get him to pick up the phone. Assuming that he was still snoozing under the quilt and that I was there as well, I'm asked - could you nudge him please?

I've just been stopped for speeding! I cannot! Damn it.

That is my morning. 

On the upside, and there is always an upside til the day you or your loved ones are stardust, the doc said my neck (which many have observed can look weirdly lumpy) is fine and the sun came out and I sat down (alone, because guess what, Ed had a board meeting) to a lovely meal of a fresh croissant with milky coffee. And fruit.

The morning went by quickly. I dont know why. One minute it was 10, the next it was time for me to pick up my granddaughter at school. I say granddaughter because her brother is out sick today. So, just Snowdrop.

The girl is always concerned about time passing too quickly. If I take a few minutes to attend to something, or if she wastes time goofing around on Ed's computer, she'll ask anxiously -- will I still have time to play? Will we still have time to read? For her, her after school hours always go by too fast.

Time. You know and I know that it drags when you're hating what's happening to you, or when you're bored, and speeds when you're enjoying yourself. I suppose when you're older, you've had too many stretches of wasted boring stupid unpleasant time and you tend to want to get to your moments of quiet, of bliss, of contemplation, of pleasurable comaraderie, of tasty treats quickly, so that you can stretch these out into a span of infinite time (well, as close to infinite as you can manage). You speed in a car so that you can slow down elsewhere. Though not me, not anymore. I'm putting the brakes on. That delightful and delicious croissant this morning proved to be just a little too expensive for my taste.

with love...

Monday adventures

Ed's quotable (and dated) saying for today? 

Gorgeous, there's nothing so bad that you can't run away from it. (It came up as we discussed, still upstairs, under a quilt, the stresses that hit working parents these days.)

Sweet one, I never heard you say it! 

Maybe because you never needed to hear it? (He implies nothing terrible befell me.)

No, maybe it's because I have, all my adult life, had an easy time abandoning bad situations. Or at least perceived by me to be untenable. College majors, countries, parental dysfunction, relationship, homes -- you name it, I've been known to pack up and move away from the epicenters of trouble. But I never considered this to be virtuous. It's more of a self-preservation mechanism that I was born and bread to have firmly in place. Though maybe it is virtuous, because self-preservation, we have learned over time, is virtuous. You put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others. 

 

Ed and I do not have breakfast together. Indeed, after our chat, I go out and feed the animals (what's this -- chickens on the loose, so early? Did we forget to lock them up for the night? Oops! I blame daylight savings time changes!)...

 

 

 

And I go out to meet my good friend who happens to be in town.

And in the few hours we spend together, we have so much subject matter to cover that we never even get to a discussion of the elections. And that's just fine. 

I do have to cut off our morning a bit, because Ed has scheduled a meetup with a guy who is selling his old truck. The guy lives south of here and we are to drive down to the small town of Evansville, where Ed will inspect the newer old pickup. Believe it or not, he's doing it for me. His current truck is about thirty years old and not only is it rustier than any machine out on the roads, it also smells of mice and dead animals. I refuse to ride in it. Ed needs a truck just a handful of times in the year and he cares not at all about any of these things, but recently the need for mechanical updates have steered him to Craigslists and FaceBook Marketplace -- websites where newer old trucks are put up for sale. This particular pickup is twenty years old and it's a beautiful sparkling red color, with only slight rust on the door's edge.

The town of Evansville has a new coffee shop ("Allen Creek"). It's lovely and it has all that I need for a pause: milky coffee, a scone, sunshine. Ed's out inspecting the truck.

Upshot? My own coffee shop pause was delightful but the truck is a no go. Engine makes some noises that made Ed frown. Damn. I loved that color! Shouldn't people pick their vehicles based on appearance? 

 

The kids are home from school today -- a teacher workday perhaps, I cant keep track -- but we stay with the regular schedule. Monday is Snowdrop day and she comes to the farmhouse for the afternoon.

From there -- to ballet, and in the evening hour, as she dances, I meet up with her mom for a catch-up moment. I know we had one yesterday, but we're approaching the days that require a lot of coordination and planning. We coordinate and plan.

Evening quiet. I am still reading analyses and opinion pieces on the election. I notice that many in the mainstream media have shut off the readers comments. Perhaps they are tired of hearing the same disparaging reactions. Perhaps they're simply tired. Ed will still listen to me talk about it all, but just barely. There's too much to worry us if we allow ourselves to worry. Businesses with which he is intimately involved may have to shut down. And that's just the tip of a very big ice berg. Maybe we're in something more akin to an Ice Age? 

He'll say again and again, falling back on cliches that he loves -- you cannot predict the future. No use in trying. Let's just continue. Sort of a "carry on" message. So, we carry on.

with love...

Sunday rain

It's the kind of rain you love, so long as it doesn't last for too many hours, or (gulp) days. Steady, with a definite sound as it hits the skylight, the house panels to the west. We had a drought, now we have rain. That just has to feel good.

I don't get up immediately. After waking, Ed and I remain under a quilt, for an hour, maybe longer, talking about taxes. I had a question about a tax strategy (I should add that many older people have questions right now, as we may be experiencing lurches and swings in the economy) and for better for worse, Ed is your well-read source that can either answer basic stuff or can direct you to the proper publication. Well, more than one publication. It was a simple question and suddenly, my inbox is filled with stuff I should be reading.

This was perhaps a nice distraction. I did not get around to reading pundits on the election until much later. It's not that I read the relevant tax publications (and there are just as many tax pundits out there as there are election pundits), but the two of us did spend a good bit of time moaning and groaning about the complexities of our tax system. Absurdities abound. If you can get yourself to laugh about it, I consider that time well spent.

Do chickens get annoyed? If so, I'm sure these girls were plenty miffed at me. I did not feed them until maybe 9:30. A two hour delay. How dare I!

Breakfast, healthy again. I'll say this for November (and I am always looking for good things to say about November, because there are so few...) -- on cold mornings, I am much happier with oatmeal than on lovely summer days. A porch breakfast begs for a croissant. A kitchen breakfast? Oatmeal's just fine.

Afterwards, I return to the elections. Kill me for it (and especially for writing about it here!), but they are still on my mind and I do find the discussions interesting. There are many who blame specific behaviors of one person, maybe the current president, maybe his VP, sometimes random others for the Democratic party's loss. There are some who blame the language of the Democratic platform of the past decade (see my words on this yesterday). There are even more who blame Fox News (that's a tempting one for sure!), or Elon and his recently cozy relationship to the Republican candidate. And of course, one can't help but wonder about the demographics. White male, black female -- there's so much to speculate on that issue alone. I usually spend the day with one handful of claims and mull them over, trying to see if anything really fits, or if it's just a writer posturing, perhaps to preserve a reputation, perhaps with an "I told you so" behind it.

Today, I actually liked one article more than the others. It's from the Economist -- a British publication that is both centrist and not especially committed to pushing an agenda that I can figure out. The digital editor Adam Roberts put this (see below) in my email inbox. Insofar as I can smile about something so serious as the election results, it made me smile. At our naïveté. At our susceptibility. At our feverish belief that some one person out there has most if not all the answers and will fix things for us. Here's a fragment of what Roberts wrote. (Skip it if you're avoiding post-election speculations. It's in red to make it easier for you to jump over.)

My hunch is that no incumbent candidate, of either sex, could have won this election: voters the world over are in a surly mood and mostly want to throw out the ruling bums. (...)

Why are voters everywhere so furious? We are living in an era of grouchiness. (...)

The answer, I think, lies in trends that are common to all democracies. I look at the lingering effects of covid lockdowns and of previously high government spending that must now be rolled back. Voters see they are paying high taxes but their public services, too often, are falling to bits. They suffer prices that have surged for years and remain high (whatever official inflation rates might say), especially when you factor in the cost of renting or buying property, or paying for education. Wages may have risen too, but every individual believes he or she earned their pay rise. That will never make up for prices being high.

Add to that the uneasy feeling among many voters (maybe small-town ones especially, and perhaps men and older voters more) that the world is moving too fast. Cultural change, such as having to face new ideas of sexual identity, or how to talk about race, or about climate change, is deeply unsettling for some. All of the above can then be summed up in a simple idea, such as that immigrants, especially illegal ones, are to blame for everything. And who is to blame for letting in those foreigners? Why, the government of course. 

So, welcome to the era of grouchiness. It, too, may pass. Let’s hope so.

Funny because it's true.  Catch that grumpy mood, give the people a target (it's the pool table! -- for fans of the Music Man) and we're off!

 

In the later afternoon, I turn to Sunday dinner. I hadn't done one for a while. I'm gone, they're gone, one sick, the other is unwell. Today -- everyone is here, everyone is well. 

(liking the cleaned up space)

("yes, but can I still eat cheese and crackers here?")

("where have you been hiding these awesome crackers?")

I have no illusion that the play room will retain its dignity and order for long. I suppose if you have a young child who longs for organization with everything in its place, you've got yourself a problem. Indifference to mess is a valuable trait when you're young. It's only when the consequences of that indifference begin to roll in (usually in school, as you forget where you put your homework, your pencil, your brain...) that you come to understand that efficiency and progress are greatly aided by good organization. You hope that your child will embrace it then. And that it's not too late. But today -- all remains organized, arranged, orderly.

Dinner, en famille...

They return home, I tidy the kitchen and sit down to a late night viewing of something fun. Please, something that will make us chuckle. Nothing comes to mind? Okay, maybe a movie where people kill each other for profit and personal gain? No, nothing there either? How about one about a little guy fighting a big corporation where the little guy wins? ("Flash of Genius") Yes? Great. With a square of chocolate and a heart full of hope for a saner week ahead.

(this, from today...)

organization

Get up late. That's a good thing, no? It means I stayed in that dreamy morning sleep later. No cats bothered us. One went out, the other kept to herself. Wonderful.

In those last minutes of half-slumber I thought about two things: first, about arguments I've read this week, jostling for prominence, all addressing the issue of why we have the president-elect that we have right now. Why the Democratic party lost. Many arguments in the weekend press are focusing on condescending speech. The turn-off that comes with being talked down to. Of course I agree with this -- no one likes a wagging finger pointed at them. And yet, listening to the rallies and speeches, weren't condescending words coming from the winning side? How does that work exactly?

I remember a friendship I had when I was still teaching -- with a colleague, a fellow blogger who encouraged free expression on her political blog. Those who read Ocean then will nod their heads, remembering it too, I bet. We blogged side by side -- me avoiding politics, she jumping straight in. She and I may not have agreed on politics, but it didn't matter. We were friends anyway. 

Until I could not read her posts anymore. Because they incited a hatred toward one side that was so in your face ugly that it made me shake. If this was free speech -- fine, but it wasn't for me. I stopped reading her work and slowly our friendship fizzled. 

Is it condescending to think hate is vile? 

It seems to me that speech is just a smokescreen. Labels insult disadvantaged communities (communities of color, economically depressed communities, LGBTQ+ communities ) not because of some fragility felt by those addressed by them, but because of their unrecognized disadvantage. And openly hateful speech? Can we all agree that this insults everyone? That no one should ever use it, not in a blog comment or on a political platform? 

So that was one thing I thought about in my half-sleep this morning. The other? Well, that Thanksgiving was around the corner and there would be lots of family here and that I haven't really bothered to dust, or tidy, or organize, or clear out the kids' playroom (or more accurately play space) in months. Perhaps years. The two big kids come here every day and they settle into their favorite play area and I let them at it. On Sundays, when all three are here, I am almost always left with a mess afterwards, which I do sort of organize, but in a haphazard way, pushing play foods in one corner and lego pieces in another. And some spaces I don't even bother with. I figure the next day it will all be messy again. 

It's time I took action! That I dusted, vacuumed and sorted. That I removed stuff they hadn't played with in a long time. That I neatly organized that which they still returned to.

And so, right after animal care...

 

(three trees -- the maple, the crab and the willow -- talking to each other, and a silo, silent) 

(wow! my climbing sweet pea, in bloom still in mid November!)

And breakfast...

I attacked the play room. 

This took FOREVER. I did not finish until the later afternoon. And to you, it may still look imperfect, but to me, it looks gloriously in order.

And I thought how on a daily basis, I do not want to tidy in this way. I love order, minimalism, empty spaces. But the work that it requires is just too much for me. [One reason why I like a nice fresh hotel room is because it represents the kind of neatness and order that I cannot grant for myself back home. And so I luxuriate in it when I travel. You should see how beautifully I arrange my toothbrush and face cream in the bathroom then! It's one magazine picture worthy set up! At home? Well, you can't have it all. I strive for cleanliness. And if you run your finger over a picture frame, you might argue that even that effort is sometimes lacking. Time is precious. You have to set priorities.]

In the very late afternoon Ed and I head out for a walk. Do you know how long it has been since we walked?? November proved to not bring with it a new era of healthy movement. Quite the contrary! But, I can do better! Maybe in December.

He wanted to show me a new path he'd discovered on one of his lengthier bike rides. It crosses a state Wilderness Area, hugging the Bad Fish Creek, maybe twenty minutes south of where we live.

It was okay. On the upside, in the near evening, the light was just sublime,

The creek was a nice asset, until you were reminded that this is the same creek where Madison dumps its sewage. Not on the weekends, but still, every once in a while, if you took a very deep breath and if you are sensitive to smell, you'd notice. And here's another issue that might detract some (us!) from hiking here in the fall: it's hunting season. We wore blaze orange, but still, the hunters, shooting for pheasant were both audible and at least once, visible. Rifles and all. You lose your connection to nature a little when you're distracted by gunfire.

 

 

Nonetheless, it was a lovely time of day to be out and we did our three mile loop briskly, enjoying the walk and the newness of the trail.

And then we sped like mad to get back home before it was totally dark. The chickens must be locked up by 5 these days. We were a tiny bit late, but luckily, so were any evening predators.

Speaking of chickens, isn;t it time to scramble up their eggs for supper? It is. With stirfriend local spinach, and a few squares of chocolate for dessert. Perfection!

with love...

end of the week

And what a week it has been! 

Are we done yet??

Perhaps not. On this sunny morning, I walk buoyantly (because it's cold!) to the barn and back...

... I feed the animals and return to fix breakfast. We're back to oatmeal. Sooner or later I was going to wise up and return to at least the occasional healthier morning meal. It wont last though. I'm too old to worry about the white flour/sugar/butter content of a pastry in the morning. Go ahead and take away my wine (a killer they say), my dark chocolate (infused with arsenic), my fatty cheeses (they're fatty), but leave my morning pastry alone! But, today we eat oatmeal.

And we don't talk about the election because Ed has said that he will not stress himself by engaging at length in a review of the political horror show du jour. However, he works in tool and machine design and he is never going to not engage in a review of what happens next in the evolving drama in global production that is about to hit us all, but especially those who rely on Chinese components in the manufacture of their stuff. And it is this drama that we talk about, because it's not at all certain what exactly will transpire and us writers know that the highest level of drama happen when you don't know what comes next. 

So we speculate. About the costs of spreading production among other countries, the costs of stockpiling right now, so as to squeeze in some sales before any tariffs (who knows what, and for how long) are seriously on the table (will it be "not today but tomorrow," or "yes tomorrow but gone the next month," or "only on goods manufactured by those who do not play golf in Florida," or something else altogether? ). I doubt that there is a single person in a (small scale, I'm not talking about Fortune 500) manufacturing leadership position that isn't doing some serious math right now, wondering if she or he will still be in business doing the same math next year.  Did I mention here how much manufacturers hate uncertainty? We feel for them.

After a while, my head is swimming and I retreat into my world of future travel dreaming. It's my escape into la-la land where the sun is always shining through a window that always comes with a great view. I have a very fertile and completely optimistic take on what future trips should be like.

A brief detour to a medical appointment, and off I go to pick up the kids after school. Usually, Friday pick ups are fun. They're on a pre-weekend high. Today -- meh. Sparrow is fragile and this rubs off on  Snowdrop who then needs a break from everything and everyone. 

You could say it was the stress of a busy week. Or of busy parents. Of too little rest maybe. Or, of the elections hoopla? (You have to excuse me for calling our elections "hoopla," but to a child, our behaviors and emotions surrounding it are, perhaps, hoopla.)  I let them have a quiet car ride. 

By the time we get to the farmette lands, they are fine.

 

Toward evening, there was still a slight uptick in excitement as half the house goes dark on us just when we need the light. I know I blew a circuit, but I cannot get it to reboot for me and Ed is out biking. Once he gets home, we struggle together and all I can think is that  I'm just a tiny bit glad that he had a kidney stone and therefore is not out on a sailboat in the middle of the Atlantic right now.

Eventually he dibbles and dabbles and fixes the circuit breaker (something to remember: never, ever, plug in the toaster oven for the kid croissants and the tea kettle for my sanity at the same time). We now can turn on kitchen lights and reheat the chili and proceed with the evening.

But honestly, I'm glad the week is behind us. Are you still going to tell me that November is a pleasant month, up there with May or June? You and I have to agree to disagree on that one.

with love...

the day after the day after

I'm beginning to think that my processing speed has slowed down. Remember my posts when I traveled to Poland? When my mother died in September? It took me a while to get a grasp on how these events, journeys really, affected me. Clarity of vision is a youthful thing. You see things and you immediately compartmentalize the data into your ready-for-it brain. You spit out a position. You hang onto it.

With age, you ask yourself questions. You recall other stored information. You hesitate. [The conventional wisdom is that older people are set in their ways. Don't believe the conventional wisdom. I think young people are set in their ways. Although I may change my mind about that. Give me a few days...]

Yesterday, I read a lot about the election. By the time I saw the kids in the afternoon, I was ready to offer a general explanation of why the Democratic Party lost its appeal to so many of the people in this presidential race (or, looking on the flip side, why the Republican candidate appealed to a voting majority). Luckily, they will probably not remember much of what I said because by today, as I read more, and think more, and talk to Ed more (who is in manufacturing and knows a hell of a lot more about outsourcing and lowering prices of goods so that Americans can order even more stuff from Amazon cheaply -- even though he does not sell anything on Amazon -- than most pundits who are sounding off on the subject), I begin to wonder -- what if the loud discussion of why one party lost and the other won is... well, mostly off the mark?

Ed loves to throw out little sayings at me that date back to an era where people went around quoting movie bits. His offering today is from the Marx Brothers and Duck Soup -- who are you going to believe me or your own eyes? I stay with that for a while. This genetic trait we appear to have -- to band together around a series of questionable and irrational beliefs. I may play around with it on the drive home from school today. (The grandkids engage in more serious discussions with me almost exclusively during the 20 minute car ride home.)

Elections are on Snowdrop's mind for sure, because today she had round two of classroom elections. (She had round one last month: she ran, she did not win then.) She had prepared a new speech. Today, her classmates found it convincing. It spoke to them. She got to be a classroom rep (for the month). She was ecstatic. I asked with a grin if gender was at all at play in school elections. Gaga, in the fourth grade, more girls than boys tend to win.

It's sunny outside. This is important. The world looks gloriously brilliant out here, on farmette lands.

The crab tree is ruby red, against a backdrop of glittery golden leaves. It's so pretty, and yet I feel my camera completely misses the mark. You have to see it to believe it. Or, maybe even in seeing the reality of that stunning tree you'll miss the mark? Perhaps preoccupied with other thoughts, perhaps feeling moody and despondent... Cant be bothered with the truth of that tree... Hmmm....

Ed sleeps in and so breakfast is annoyingly late. I finally shout up to him that I do not regard a first cup of coffee past 10:30 to be an acceptable start to the day. He lumbers down. We eat, we talk about the election. And the Marx Brothers.

The kids are usually more tired on Thursdays than on the other days. Both have late evening activities on Wednesday, and, too, it's nearing the end of the week without actually being the welcome end to the week. So we take it easy. Play time, food time, reading time. In that order.

I drive them to the meet up point. I return home. And my thoughts go back to a time I was a student in Chicago. We partied in those days. Not crazy dancing parties, but eating and drinking parties. I remember one such gathering that was actually around my birthday. I was then in graduate school, so maybe 22 years old? Everyone was having a great time and I thought to myself -- wow, I have never in my life felt so alone. It took me a long time to understand that I prefer solitude and very small groups to big gatherings and large congregations, even if they're of like-minded people. Ed and I are the same in that way. Here we are then, liking the intimate quiet of an evening at home. Bliss....

with love...