music to my ears: a Chicago and Henry day

How could I neglect to tell you that the eleven finalists of the Chopin Competition were selected yesterday! Among this noble group you will find two Americans, one Pole, just one of the favored Canadians, four women and among them -- my own "I'm rooting for you" favorite -- the 16 year old Tianyao Lyu from China. All eleven will play (along with the Warsaw Philharmonic) one of the two piano concertos and a Polonaise. It's going to be a tense weekend!

But not for me. I have four things going and they're huge! But not tense. 1. There's the Chopin to listen to, especially tomorrow, after Tianyao plays; 2. There is Chicago: I scheduled a visit with my daughter and her two girls (dad's away) and it's a good thing that I did! It fit in well, given the weeks ahead; 3. We are coming onto Ed's 75th and our 20th, this Monday. We will be celebrating for sure. Though he wont admit it because, you know, every day is a birthday and anniversaries are silly. 4. Today I adopted Henry.

Henry??? Who is Henry???

Well, one of the local shelters wrote to me late yesterday -- do I still want Henry? He is a black lab/retriever mix. That's Goose's combo too and indeed, Henry also comes from Texas -- abandoned there, sheltered and transported to Wisconsin just a week ago where again he found shelter in a shelter.

Henry was born in March and I gather he has never known a home life, so he remains somewhat of a mystery. Is he house-broken? Who knows. Does he know how to walk on a leash? Um, ask me later in the week. What I do know about him is that he has a temperament that I think fits well with mine: he is chill. Seemingly not excitable. Quiet. Cautious, but cuddly. That's all that the shelter knows about him and I confirmed much of it today when I went to meet him.

 

 

 

Here's how that happened: as you know, I expressed interest in about ten rescue dogs that I can pick up within 100 miles of here. Out of literally hundreds whose profiles I studied. Some had detailed descriptions, some, like Henry, had only a few sentences, because what more could you say after only a one week shelter stay. Out of my ten picks, by this morning, three had responded. Henry's shelter wrote to me first. And the application for him was the shortest. Clearly the place (which we know well, because it is where Ed takes the feral cats to be spayed) wants to find homes quickly so that they can make space for the never-ending stream of mistreated and abandoned dogs.

By midnight last night I pretty much knew Henry would be coming home with me (at the end of the weekend, because, well, right now I am in Chicago!).

I spent a chunk of the night, making lists of needed supplies and getting Amazon to hightail them over to the apartment by Saturday. They are so good at that! And I made an appointment to visit Henry at noon.

This morning, well, there was a quick breakfast...

I packed for Chicago, and went to Mounds to get a crate for the guy. Amazon cant quite promise one that quickly. I had the feeling that I would like him, so I even ordered a tag with his name before I met him.

With all those swirling questions and mysteries, I knew that the thing that mattered most was that he should be really mellow with people. That he isn't totally freaked by them. That he would like kids. And that he wouldn't be a barker, because I do live in an apartment. He sweetly checked off all those boxes and I signed the adoption papers then and there.

 

("do I have to sign anything?") 

 

("do I at least get a treat for being such an adoptable dog?")

 

 

And then I did my grandkid-pick-up routine. First one, briefly at home with his Goose...

 

 

 

...then the other, and both to the Edge.

In the evening, I drove to Chicago -- not my favorite time to drive, but I need to be here tomorrow morning and with the demonstrations and traffic I decided that it was better to drive at night and get here today rather than the risk it and travel tomorrow.

I surprised them with my early (meaning Friday rather than the usual Saturday) arrival! As always, I parked by their home. The traffic wasn't terrible so I got to see the two sweet girls before they zonked out for the night...

 

 

 

 

 

... and I grabbed a quick supper at their place and visited for just a brief while with my daughter before Ubering over to my hotel downtown (the Sofitel)where I landed a fabulous twoffer deal, in a room that I swear is the same as last time, with the same view...

So, it's a busy weekend, agreed?

But I should write a few words still about the nature of this leap into dog ownership. It's not as crazy as it seems. I love having a dog at home (I dont love all strange dogs with their varied personalities, just as I dont love all people with their varied personalities), but a dog always had to take a back seat to everything else that was going on in my life: adolescence, marriage, family, work. Farmhouse cats. I always knew that if I had to live alone, I would be now, in my retirement, tempted to take care of a needy dog. As I told Ed -- we are still together, but I live alone and you dont really like it when I worry about you so now I can worry about the dog instead.

Perhaps that's a simplification of the progression in my thinking, but it is also true that if I am to care for a dog, I cant wait much longer. It wouldn't be fair to the poor pooch. As it is, I hesitated about taking in an animal who requires exercise, because who knows if in ten years I'll be even mobile enough to handle him. But my best guess is that I can do this. Now. When you are a senior, you really do need to make decisions quickly because big-time long-term projects are not going to hang around waiting for you. If you dont lose your memory or your mobility you can still grow just too tired to handle something like... a big dog!

Okay, I need to catch up on sleep. From flowers to Henry. I think it's a good pivot! But now, let's focus on my Chicago trip. With the tall buildings and the awesome girls.

and so much love... 

 

invisibility

You've heard this complaint before: older people claim they are invisible (in this country). Most youthful types out there would like to ignore them, try hard to ignore them, work on it fastidiously, because, well, you know, the age of the elderly might rub off on them. I never found this to be terribly disturbing. Being ignored by young people is fine with me. It's not as if they're able to offer you life's wisdoms that only come with age. Besides, they live in a state of perpetual frenzied stress. You don't want that to rub off on your nicely aging state of calm. So we're good, right?

Well, along comes this day. I was up past midnight, fixated on this idea that perhaps I should train a dog to be a support animal (see previous post on that one). I have the time and patience for it. And there are lots of dogs that have been abandoned in this country (and probably everywhere else: many humans have been notoriously mean to animals). I could work with them. Especially the big and gentle ones. Like Goose, only not Goose because Goose is happy in his new surroundings.

Try putting in an inquiry for a dog when you are 72 years old. Go ahead, just try it. Pretend you are and fill out the forms. I can promise you that the phone will not start ringing off the hook. You will not get instant messages or emails asking for details of your situation. Basically, you will be ignored.

Now, I get that. If you take in a young pup at 72, she or he will likely live when your frail self will be pushing 87. And what if you get sick or die, what happens to the dog then? Everyone imagines that the ideal placement for an abandoned dog is a happy family with kids and a fenced back yard. But tell me -- who has the time for an animal in need of time, a young family with working parents and school aged children or... me?

Anyway, now you know what I did last night and this morning. I studied pages upon pages (hundreds of them) listing abandoned dogs, with histories that would make your hair stand on edge. Before breakfast, with breakfast,,,

 

... after breakfast. 

It was the day for me to go to the farmhouse...

I should have put in a few dozen more bulbs, but instead, Ed and I sat on the couch and he helped me fill out forms where forms needed to be filled out (he is quite supportive of any care any human wants to give to any animal; he's also very good at filling out pdf files for free).

And still, in the end, nothing came of it. So far, anyway. 

 

And then it was time to pick up Sparrow... (and to say hello to Goose)

Then Snowdrop...

And bring them home to the apartment for a while...

 

 

 

 

 

After returning the two big ones home, I come back to my Edge apartment and wonder about this world of people and animals and how it all hangs together, but just barely, with not necessarily a happy outcome for very many. At least not all the time. But one can hope! I haven't given up -- on humanity, or on dogs.

with so much love... 

 

destiny

Destiny, belief in a supernatural guiding power, divine decrees -- all these concepts are foreign to me. [An insert here: might they be increasingly foreign to others as well? A couple of days ago, Snowdrop said that kids in her class were tasked with writing an essay about themselves. The teacher suggested mention of religious preferences. Snowdrop said several kids asked "how do you spell atheist?"] I just don't subscribe to them (though I certainly respect others who think differently here. After all, half of my family attends church services on a regular basis). I'll stick with concepts such as nature, science, love, community and a whole bunch of unknowns that we have yet to discover.

However...

I do think it's eerily interesting that I woke up at 5:23 this morning. I've been sleeping very well in the past couple of weeks, catching up on much needed rest every night. And here I am, awake with the knowledge that I could be (should be?) doing something right now.

Yes! The Chopin Competition! Tianyao Lyu had been scheduled to perform at 12:25 Polish time (5:25 CST). I bring my computer to bed and turn on live streaming.

I should have checked on that time, because I see that actually she began playing at noon. Five my time. Not sure if I got the schedule wrong or if they moved things up. In any case, I heard her live, for at least two of the pieces, and I caught up with the rest over breakfast.

It felt like destiny.

Lyu very much reminds me of Olivia Hussey, who played Juliet in the 1968 movie Romeo and Juliet. Olivia was British-Argentinian and Tianyao is Chinese, but there is a physical similarity. And they are both 16 when put on the world stage. And their emotional depth is intense. I was mesmerized by Olivia. I was just 15 when I saw her on the big screen and it utterly transfixed me. I went to see the movie a dozen times in one month (in Warsaw -- I was living in Poland then). I can't say that Lyu's playing has that effect on me -- at 72 you dont get transfixed by much anymore -- nonetheless the girl (young woman?) really has had an impact on me. I can't help but wonder what goes through her head and soul when she plays Chopin. When she plays anything at all.

 

The day is wet. Rain at last. May it keep coming down all day long. (It doesn't, but in the morning, I have hope.)

I have two events scheduled for this day (which is a lot for me!). One is life changing, the other -- not so much.

Let's start with the not-so-much one: the Edge apartment complex strives to create a community among its residents. Every week or two they organize events where people can meet and spend some time together. I admire this effort quite a lot. Community is something I do believe in and I notice an unusual amount of respect and courtesy among the residents here, which, I think, is not unrelated. People hold doors for each other, they greet and pet each others' dogs. It's just a very polite place! Today they have a "pumpkin and dessert" event, where you can sign up to decorate (with paints I believe) pumpkins -- they supply them! -- and eat desserts -- you supply those. I dont have any pumpkin decorating skills so I signed up for bringing a dessert. I thought I'd bake, but I changed my mind at the last minute. I noticed on the sign-up sheet that many were bringing cookies. No one wants yet another cookie if there are several dozen to choose from already. So I drive over to Bloom Bakery to see what they have there that would be more unusual. A lazy person's approach to be sure!

I pick a combination of salted caramel brownies and yes, cookies -- their rich cherry chocolate chip oatmeal ones, and a maple apple danish, cut up into small pieces.

And then I am back, because I have an appointment for my second event: I am, for the first time in my entire life, about to hire a cleaning service. Just once a month. Honestly, my apartment is immaculate right now. I have fussed exceptionally hard to keep it that way. But I am terrified of a slide, because at the farmhouse there was indeed a slide. It was tough to vacuum under the bed, around the cords, so I did less and less of that. It was tedious to dust off the baseboards, so I didn't bother. After a while, it showed. In the apartment, I dont want to climb up and dust off the cabinet tops. And washing the floors? How often should that be done? Not often enough at the farmhouse. Again, I'm so traumatized by the slow deterioration of the farmette lands and spaces that I want to put up some guardrails going forward. I will spend the money to have a person come in once a month for an hour and clean all the places I'm sure to neglect. Even if s/he is starting with a very clean apartment!

I'm excited. I had to ask around -- who do you hire? How do you tip? Do you clean before they come so you present as a neat and tidy person?

My team comes... as a team. A crew of four! Oh my. By the time they enter the apartment it is crowded in that wee space. I go downstairs to the lobby to sit out the hour. 

After they finish, the place looks really clean! Even cleaner than it was before they showed up! Oh, I know how that goes -- you may have thought you did well by your spaces, until someone comes and does it significantly better.

I am hooked.  

 

The pumpkin and desserts event is well attended. I pop in for all of ten minutes. That's how social I'm feeling today! 

There is one encounter, however, that is quite interesting. I meet a woman and her dog, Oscar. He, too, is a rescue pup. Well, at 11, not really a pup anymore.  

(super good with people)

The owner took it upon herself to train him as a certified support dog. He's a regular at our local hospital, as much for the stressed-out staff as for the patients. 

I've heard how difficult it is to train a dog for this. It took her four years of intense work, both in obedience and in working with people. At this point, he's one of those dogs where you can place a steak in his doggie dish and he wont touch until you give him permission. Of course, he has the temperament for it, but only partly so. There's a border collie mix in him and you know the intensity of those dogs!  

I'm getting too old to take on a dog (aren't I?), but I always thought if I lived without Ed I'd consider it. Because it is a project, and at all other dog-owning times, it was a drain to work with the animal, but now, maybe it wouldn't be such a drain. A dog, instead of frequent travel. But then, am I really living without Ed? Or is this temporary? And if it's temporary, how will our not-temporary time look a year from now?

Or maybe it's my destiny to rescue a dog and to go with him or her to hospitals and soothe frazzled nerves. 

Choices. When you are approaching the most senior of senior years, you have, more than ever before, choices.

with love... 

it gets complicated

Simplicity reigns in my apartment at the Edge. I get up at more or less the same time, I eat breakfast in more or less the same place.

 

Familiar steps now, as each morning I do my early rounds to get the day going. Since it's still October, and Stage III of the Chopin Competition has just begun, I forgo listening to the news in favor of listening to Mazurkas and Waltzes played by this morning's contestants. There are twenty finalists and I hope to get around to hearing them all, though honestly, I am not able to distinguish at this point the finer qualities of one over the other, especially since I treat the music as a cocoon, a blanket around my day, rather than as the primary focus. I cast a glance at the faces, the hands that, without theatrics, still put emotion into each note, I smile, then move on to my next task.

Somewhat early in the day I drive over to the farmette. 

 

 

 

I really want to put in some bulbs, but "want to" is far from "am sure to." I don't easily slide into garden work anymore. I'm not sure what, if anything, I can do about the gardens' inevitable shift to a wilderness of weeds and saplings. And if I do nothing, will I be able to come by and witness it without emotion? Ed, of course, doesn't mind the changes, in the same way that he doesn't mind what has happened inside the farmhouse, but of course that's him, not me. Still, I don't want to bludgeon him with this issue, just as I don't really want to point out that the musty old farmhouse smell has returned, and the bare spaces show off their need of paint and a thorough cleansing. If anything, I want him to love what he has created for himself. I worry that at some point he'll just give up on the farmhouse and retreat back to the sheep shed, where he lived before I moved in with him at the farmette. I disliked that shed space so much (sh! dont tell him!), that I balked at spending any time there at all. In response, he had a separate shed go up -- the so called Writer's Shed -- so I could come down to my own space. That project stands unfinished and that's a good thing. It was poorly done and now that trees have overwhelmed it, it's downright gloomy inside. Is that going to be the fate of the farmhouse as well? Snowdrop said the other day that she hopes to sometimes have a wedding at the farmette. I did not want to burst her bubble, but I know that in another few years, no one in their right mind will want to have a wedding at the farmette.

I dont mean to imbue tragedy into the evolution of this land. When I worked alone in the flower fields, I would sometimes think about other secretive gardens I have come across in real life or fiction, most notably in a movie I loved from the first moment I saw it when I moved to the US as a young adult -- the Garden of the Finzi-Continis. There lies tragedy. In the book I'm still reading, the Director -- there lies tragedy. In the drama that unfolds right now as people's lives are upended in this country -- there lies tragedy. The farmette is more of a love story with a complicated plot twist. And no, I do not know its ending.

I put in two dozen bulbs. 

(here are the ones that remain)

 

 

The soil is so very dry that it's hard work, so I stop and put off the rest for another time. (What other time?)

Ed and I go for a walk. There is never a walk together that we do not enjoy, even when, as today, it is full of words on the topic of why now and what now.

 

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. 

 

 

 

Yesterday the kids were off from school. The district has a Monday staff day every four weeks, so parents are left to scramble then. The two I look after are old enough to fend for themselves while a parent works remotely. But today we are back with our normal schedule and the girl has her coveted quiet afternoon at the Edge.

(yes, Goose is large)

I return then to my Chopin. I think I listened to, at least in part, all seven contestants scheduled for this day. No, no favorites (though I must say, Hyuk Lee's playing of the Sonata in Bminor was heart wrenching; my Warsaw friend tells me that Hyuk and the second Lee in the program --Hyo -- are brothers and have lived in Poland for three years and have learned to speak Polish quite well... that's one way to get into Chopin's head!). I save my judgements for tomorrow.

with so much love... 

Fall, the mid-section

There really isn't just a "Fall." The season is actually three rolled into one: the first month that is so close to summer you hardly notice the difference, the second part which is the most beautiful if you find beauty in the drying leaves, and the third, which a friend recently said is something akin to hell -- the worst of the worst, spanning the weeks of late November all the way until winter solstice and maybe beyond, alternating between brittle cold, dank dark blustery wet, with maybe a hint of snow but not really, and a landscape devoid of any tones except for "earth tones," which sounds good when applied to your autumnal wardrobe, but in reality is nothing short of drab.

We're in the middle section of Fall. This should inspire joy. The colors. The crispy spent smell of grasses drying. The flight of birds. Ed wants to take out the kayaks and have us go down the river. Just for a short run! He so wants to do this and I so do not. Any project that requires many steps or stages seems overwhelming to me. This is what happens when you've accomplished too much in a short period of time. You rebel against every complicated enterprise going forward. Simplicity has charm. Effort? No thanks.

First thing's first. Breakfast. 

 

I listen to NPR's interview with the guy who was hiking in Norway this summer and fell down a mountain and waited for six days to be rescued. (He happens to be from Wisconsin, just down the road from Madison, and he was hiking in the region I visited this past August.) What was it like to wait with broken bones, knowing that your only way out of this pickle is to have someone find you? That's what everyone wants to know. Me, I would like to hear what it's like afterwards, when you're mending, both physically and mentally. In the period right after the fall, you do all you can to keep your mind from unraveling and your body from freezing. Afterwards? It seems to me that this is when things get really complicated.

 

*     *     * 

I have a haircut today. I've been going to this same person for decades. She is close to downtown, close to the farmette, not so close to where I live now. I tell her -- this is the last time you'll have to strip my hair of the mineral buildup from the well water. I am no longer on well water.

I decide to go short. Why not. May as well shuffle things around some more!

 

 

*     *     * 

And now I am at the farmette. 

 

 

 

We will (finally) have rain this week. I had purchased seeds for the meadows. No matter how I feel about garden work right now, I'm not about to waste them. I seed the new meadow out front. I should do the two older ones in the new orchard and peach orchard, but I run out of seeds. Oh well.

I also had purchased some bulbs. As always, a lot of bulbs. With all those acres of land -- well, you can never have too many bulbs. And now here I am, away from farmette lands, and there they are, the waiting bulbs. Not to anthropomorphize them, but I do feel sorry for them, for the potential they present, for the waste I have made of it all. Next time I am here, I'll plant some. 

The farmhouse is rapidly getting closer to a state that pleases Ed, less so me. I try not to mind. It's not for me to decide what's right for it now.  And at the same time, there lives my same old Ed. With the same old Ed-like qualities that I have grown to love. 

He had picked up an old dog travel crate a few months ago. Off the curb -- his favorite place of procurement. We take it to the courtyard and clean it up with a hose and rag. Maybe this one will work to contain Goose when he needs to be contained. 

 

*     *     *

In the afternoon I go out for a walk with pooch and his new fam. To the Pheasant Branch Conservancy.

 

 

 

 It's a lovely afternoon for it. Autumn at her best.

 

 

The dog (aka Goose, a name given to him by the rescue team) has formed a strong attachment to the whole lot of them and mopes terribly when they leave the house without him. Last night they crated him when they came to dinner and somehow he broke loose. He follows them from room to room and loves nothing more than to romp on the bed with everyone, ending with a good snuggle at the close of it all. A rare gentle big dog. 

His friendliness is definitely a gift, but it comes with a cautionary note. He is one of those dogs that will happily bound over to anyone. The kind where he'll go up to your terrified kid and the owner will say "dont worry, he's friendly." Well no, that's not the point. Not everyone wants to be greeted by your "friendly" (meaning untrained) dog. Too, as we have been warned, Goose has never met a dog he did not love. He is strong, and so until he's gone through a good period of training, he's better off being lead by an adult with a firm hand. Still, what a dog he is! Love oozes out of his eyes. I have to say, it's been a long time since I met a dog that pulled so much at my own heartstrings. And I'm not the only sucker. The two big kids and my daughter are also totally smitten.

*     *     * 

This is a break day for the Chopin Competition in Warsaw. Those who move on to the next stage I'm sure are at it, working on their next performance, which will include Mazurkas, Sonatas, maybe a Scherzo. [Tianyao Lyu, the 16 year old, plays on Wednesday at 12:25 Polish time. 5:25 my time. Would I wake up for it? No, I would not. It's too stressful. Better to click onto the recording later. I can hear you puzzling over this one -- stressful? For you and me? I mean, there will be a winner. Someone deserving will sail to the top, and with that gold medal performance, they will have their careers solidly in place. That's what they all want. Surely all the stress is on them. True enough, and it's precisely because the stakes are so high that I dont want to hold my breath, in the fear of witnessing a disappointing performance.] 

It's fitting that October 2025 should be my Chopin month. To me, his music is always melancholy and wistful. So fitting for my mood back in 1970. So fitting for my mood now.

with so much love.. 

thinking gets you nowhere

It's an essential part of the day for me, now in my seventies: thinking through stuff. I do it a lot and if I haven't the time for it, I feel stressed. In the morning, before getting up -- awake, thinking. Finished breakfast, Chopin playing in the background -- sorting through the possibilities for that next step. 

 

 

And so on. Mental exercise. Until it's bedtime, whereupon once more I will be in bed, staring into space, not reading yet, just... thinking.

As with everything though, excessive thought feels like a time suck. At the end of the day, if all you've basically done is think about stuff, you feel that one twenty-nine-thousand-two-hundredth of your life (assuming you live til 80) went nowhere. If you only have about 29 200 days of living, shouldn't each one count? 

I go back to Oliver Burkeman's writings (see yesterday's post), wondering if this is something he addresses in his posts on time management. And he does, here, in a piece titled Getting Physical. If, like he says, the centerpiece to a feeling of well-being is knowing that you had an impact on something or someone, well, thinking about it doesn't get you there. It may lay down the path for future action, but it seems to me that it's the action, the physical steps taken, produced, created, however trite, that make you feel accomplished. Or, at least more accomplished than had you spent the day not producing anything.

I force myself to get up and out of the too comfortable apartment. I need to walk. And perhaps this is why we're so obsessed with counting steps. The number, no matter how small, allows us to feel accomplished.

If the walk to my right takes me past hotels and corporate offices, the one to my left puts me right in the thick of an outdoor mall of sorts, with factory outlets of known brands. You'd think this was really pathetic. Why not get in the car and drive for a few minutes to something better? A park? The Arboretum? Owen Woods? Well, it's because I find it hard to find pleasure in driving in order to walk. The two don't fit well. I'll take a lesser walk, so long as I can omit the driving part. And besides, it's fall. And there are trees, and they are pretty, even in this world of concrete sidewalks and corporate blocks.

As I walk between parked cars and apartment buildings where too many people seem to like to have their shades drawn, I think about my flower fields: isn't it better to spend the day productively, clearing the weeds, planting the fall bulbs, digging the soil, spreading the mulch? Do I not miss that?

I ask myself those questions and come up with no answers. I know I miss the farmette stability. The comfort of knowing what the day will bring and how it will end. Change always follows the same pattern: at first it's exciting, then it's uncomfortable. I remember when I returned to New York as an 18 year old to work as an au pair and finish college there. I missed just about nothing about my life back in Warsaw. I had a messy parental situation, a boyfriend who was about as consistent as the weather in March, a field of study I hated. And yet, the plunge into a life across the ocean, with a different everything, felt gloomy and strange, despite its freedoms and the wealth of my surroundings (the family for whom I worked was quite prosperous). Nonetheless, I am somewhat of an advocate for change. Ed isn't but I am. I feel you grow with disruption and with a good shakeup now and then. The traveler in me is always looking for novel vignettes and takes on life. Nonetheless, I wont say that it's easy to pivot and take on something completely new, because it's not.

 

The young family is here for dinner today.  

 

(a long corridor is an invitation to race)

(for some.)

Although it's permissible to host or even keep dogs at the Edge, it's too early to introduce Goose to still different surroundings. That dog has had more change in his lifetime than you or I are likely to ever experience in the course of one year. From gutter to rescue to foster to now his new home. All in nine months. I look forward to having him visit, but not just yet.

 

 

 

 (parmesan cheese calls for a vacuum cleaner afterwards... I have two willing helpers)

 

 

Throughout the day, I've returned to the Chopin Competition. This is the last day of the second round. My friend in Warsaw is rooting for Tianyao Lyu -- a young Chinese pianist and I mean young! Would you believe 16!? (Watch and listen here. We listened at dinnertime!) 

And in the evening -- our early evening and Warsaw's very late evening -- they announce the pianists who made it to the third stage. We are down to 20 now. Three from Poland, two from the U.S., the two Canadians some believe to be favorites, six from China -- including yes, the 16 year old Tianyao Lyu. She is one of only four women who made it to this third stage. Remarkable!

with so much love.. 

 

... the last of the flowers

My overnight guest this time around was a little more demanding of my attention than my previous one! Dinner last night was late, we watched our favorites on TV even later, and eventually went to sleep, way past midnight. Up around 6, because Ed does not live by the clock, but by an internal mechanism that allows him to pick and choose at any moment whatever task pulls at him then and there. He is a person that aligns well with the premise of the book I am currently reading -- Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman. In case you've never heard of Burkeman, he currently writes for the Guardian and he says this about himself: "Twice monthly I publish The Imperfectionist, an email on productivity, mortality, the power of limits, and building a meaningful life in an age of bewilderment." If that still leaves you somewhat mystified, just scroll down the list of his recent posts. They bear such titles as "The three or four hours rule for getting creative work done" and "What if you never sort your life out?" and "Treat your to-read pile like a river not a bucket." That last one would be apt for me, as I am currently in the middle of three books and counting. 

 

The morning is sunny and beautiful. We eat breakfast sort of together.

I tell him he doesn't have to pull up a chair next to me, given that he is just a few feet away anyway (lately he hasn't been especially hungry in the mornings), but eventually he does join me, because he thinks (correctly) that this would please me.

We are somewhat limited in what we can do together today as he has the animals waiting for him to shake some food out into their various dishes, but he does readily agree to come along to the Westside Community Farmers Market -- about a ten minute drive from the Edge.

This is pure nostalgia for me. When Ed and I first came together to form this most imperfect and yet perfectly sublime union, I had just moved to an apartment in downtown Madison, having abandoned the suburbs for good (so I thought). But I didn't like my chosen place nor its location and besides, I thought I should invest in property that would carry me through my retirement, so I purchased a condo on the west side of town. Ed famously hated that condo. High rise, and steps away from a mall, and surrounded by concrete. Still, he dutifully traveled to it every day after work and spent the evening, night and morning there with me until it was time for us to go to our respective jobs. On Saturdays, we would cross the street and shop at the Westside Community Farmers Market, which had and still has a bit of a cult following in Madison. Eventually the market got kicked out of its parking lot, and in any case I moved in with Ed at the farmhouse, and the trips to the market were wiped from out weekend repertoire.

And now here we are, me in an apartment again, with the Westside Community Farmers Market in a new parking lot, still on the west side, and Ed has come up to spend time with me in a place that isn't his cup of tea, and on Saturday morning we are at the market. We are nothing but caricatures of our old selves.

The market is even bigger and better now, but in fact, I'm not a total fan of late fall markets. Fresh produce is slowly replaced by root vegetables -- the kind you'd store in your cellar if you had a cellar. And though Ed always finds cheeses and apples to purchase, I'm just as happy with the ones I pick up at the grocery store. Nonetheless, I am delighted to see that Madison Sourdough has a stand here! Ed purchase a pain au chocolat for me, while I look for flowers. And I find some! The last week for these:

And believe it or not, there is still corn to be found. We get that as well.

After we cart the stuff home, well, to my home, he stuffs his share in a backpack and I give him half of the leftover chili and he rides his motorbike to his home and I seriously think I need a nap.

 

Lunch? I sheepishly eat the pain au chocolat. And I look at this last bouquet of flowers that will, of course, remind me of this morning's outing all week long.

Later, in the afternoon, I meet up with my daughter and the kids and Goose for a walk to downtown Middleton. 

The dog is so affectionate and kind with humans that we all want a piece of him, his heart, his indiscriminate love. (He spent his first night sprawled out on the bed with my daughter and her husband, which, considering his size, must have been interesting.)

So far, only Sandpiper was (initially) scared of this big animal that likes to get very close to his humans. As one parent says -- it is the first and only animal that hasn't run like mad away from the little boy. (All the other pets have been rightly terrified of Sandpiper's rather fast movements and tugs and unpredictable tumbles.)

(pause for a treat for the kids at Hubbard Avenue Diner; Goose and I wait outside)

 

 

 (he is so happy to see them, and they him)

 

 

I'm back at the Edge now, reading and thinking. I let go of two novels (for the time being) to pursue some of the themes pulled out by Burkeman. They are so obviously ones that were written with me in mind! Me, the one who thinks resolutions for self-improvement in all of life's domains are a good thing, even as they are impossible to really implement. Me, who just the other day bemoaned here on Ocean, the fact that I suddenly am left without the safety (held onto for 14 farmette years) of having "tons to do" in and around the farmhouse, feeling now naked and exposed to my own choices and priorities (what are they, anyway?). Me, who thinks the end result is enough to justify devoting a life to achieving it, even if you dont much like the tasks required to get there. I click on his essay titled No Such Thing as a Fresh Start (!!) and follow his link from there to Joan Tollifson's book with the engaging title of Death: the End of Self-Improvement, from which he pulled out the Zen quote "What makes it unbearable is your mistaken belief that it can be cured."

And yet, here I am, at the Edge, away from my life at the farmhouse with Ed, thinking just that: it can be cured, improved, a fresh start is possible. 

Evening: a quiet one, with my music, my books, my leftover chili, my bits of chocolate, my thoughts.

with lots of love... 

 

sleepover2

My overnight guest wakes early. This is a good thing. She's of an age where grabbing extra wakeful minutes in bed is a splendid luxury. And so she rests while I get myself and the day off to a good start. 

I fix breakfast just for her. I remind myself of my own Babcia (grandmother), who never once ate breakfast with us. She hovered, we ate.

Snowdrop eats three of my blueberry muffins and many chunks of pineapple. And of course, there's her beloved honey straw, to end on a sweet note. 

Again I think back to my own childhood -- I never cared for breakfast when I was young. But at my grandmother's I ate as if it were to be my last meal. Everything she fixed was awesome! I'm sure it wasn't just the food that made the difference. It was the beauty of the moment: at the table, with my favorite fruit bowl with the dainty flowers, and of course, my Babcia, hovering. Making sure the honey jar was open and ready. Encouraging, tempting, with a satisfied tight lipped smile as I ate.

And even after this rather large for her breakfast, Snowdrop is still left with about half hour to kill. So I tell her about Chopin and the Chopin Competition taking place in Warsaw right now. We study the 40 stage 2 finalists. We listen to some of them. And suddenly I have this gift of a partner in my month of Chopin music. 

 

(packing up her lunch, ready to go)

 

 

School is a five minute drive for us. I drop her off a couple of blocks away from the entrance. Not for a middle schooler the hovering grandmother at school time. She wants to walk in on her own.

 

I return to the Edge and sit down to my own breakfast. With Chopin.

A walk! I need a walk! Mustn't get lazy! Once again I do a neighborhood loop. It's better on a weekday -- not so deserted. I actually pass not one but two other walkers, probably on their lunch hour, racking up the steps. And so am I. Once again we have plenty of sunshine we have gotten a tiny fraction of the rain we usually get in September in October. I'm glad I'm no longer worried about the flower fields. (Am I no longer worried about the flower fields?)

 

And now it's back to the routine of picking up Sparrow...

Then Snowdrop.

A brief stay at the Edge, and I hustle them back to their home, in time for the arrival of Goose, the great big abandoned mutt of a dog. The new member of their household.

(one of the cats is hiding under the bed, the other is up there on the mantle)

 

 

 

 

Me, I have my own date, for another sleepover at the Edge, this one with Ed. And it is equally special -- I make our old chili for dinner and we catch up with our favorite streaming shows -- wonderful moments of pure exhale!

with so much love...