puzzler, explained

I've received now a bunch of emails from very confused readers: One day all is good, farmette life is the best, the next day you move out. What gives?

I realize that this is perplexing. I understand I dont provide details and so you're left scratching your heads. Was it good, or was it not good? So let me at least respond to that: the life that Ed and I built for ourselves was good. Very, very good. Happy. Brimming with contentment!

But it came at a price -- one that neither of us wanted to face, because what for? We understood from the very beginning that we were very different and that our bond was sort of strange. How many times did I have to repeat here that we have very little in common? On small issues we found ways around this. Neither of us are confrontational, both would rather adjust than push our own wants. In retrospect, we'd swept too many things under the carpet. And so when a big question arose concerning our expectations going forward (into our very senior years, as opposed to just senior years!), and I sensed that we would not be able to resolve this in the same calm way we've resolved other issues -- it's just too big, too ever present, too fundamental -- I moved out.

Since then, we have stepped back and we've put on the table this and all other things that we've neglected and refused to face. We've spent hours on sorting through them. On trying to see how far apart we really are. And of course, it turns out that we always come back to this: there is a platform on which we do stand together.

However, since I took this drastic step that in the end forced us to have these conversations, we've found that there is something appealing in creating our own habitable spaces. And especially for me -- there is something appealing in not living in an old house, and with endless dust and cobwebs and gardens and orchards and prairies and wood groves and cats and chickens and all the rest. In my very senior years, I know I cannot manage it all, and I do mind the chaos. I do not like losing control over the farmhouse and gardens. And I do not like spending so much time trying to keep it going. 

So where does this leave us? Well, as they say, at the heart, Ed and I are still together. The love is there. We still want to continue sharing it. But how?

No decisions need be made right now. Much can change of course (have you noticed??), but we're thinking that in a year, when my lease is up, I'll move much closer to Ed, but not to the farmhouse, so that we can go back and forth with ease and frequency. 

It is true that this was supposed to be the arrangement all along! He in his sheep shed, me in the farmhouse. Separate, but together. But then, he got comfortable (to an extent) in the farmhouse, and I got comfortable (to an extent) with having him there, and suddenly we were spending all our time in the same space, one that I couldn't keep up with, and one that he felt was too "not him."

It is unfortunate that there is now a 15 minute drive between our homes. And here's the other thing -- most of the stuff we can do together is closer to the farmette, because that's where we build our common interests. That's where we hiked, skied, biked. It's where we mingled with the feline beasts, where we found so much pleasure in listening to the silence of a gentler world while sitting on the porch. So you can see who is likely to be doing the commuting!

Time is precious when you are in your seventies. Really precious. It's tough to do a reset now and yes, I have wondered if I was right to force this on us. But if it had to happen, I think it's good that it happened now and not, say, when we were closer to 80. And the downsizing that came with it was fabulous! Do I miss him? Oh God, yes! In a million ways. I hope so very much that this year is a transition to something more stable, where we can live "together," but without total overlap. And that we both will be the winners for it.

Okay, did that help?

This morning -- so hot, so beautifully sunny, so... unseasonable! -- I am up and out rather quickly. Ed and I have made plans to eat breakfast together once again and then go to the farmers market downtown. I get to the farmette in good time...

 

 

 

 

 

 

...  but we dawdle over breakfast... 

 

 

 

 

 

And so we scoot over to the market at 10 -- meaning at its most crowded moment. Me on Rosie, Ed tailing me on his old Honda. We both have shopping lists in our heads. Same items! Carrots, peas, broccoli, potatoes, apples, pears. With an addition of flowers for me.

We confuse the vendors by asking that each order be split in two. Shopping together, but for separate kitchens. Yes, it felt weird. We are still getting used to this new arrangement. Testing it out. 

From there -- to Madison Sourdough. A little for Sparrow, a bit for me, a bit for Ed.  Gone are the days where we both chomp away at croissants in the morning. We're on an oatmeal and granola kick right now. Still, he likes the bread, I like the occasional bite of a cinnamon roll.

And at the farmhouse? He needs a beard trim.

 

 

 

And then I go home, missing him, but loving my home nonetheless. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have just one or two more deliveries coming in. One is entirely the fault of Sparrow who claimed the kid room/guest room needs a quiet corner, a.k.a. a bean bag! It is a huge mistake to do online shopping with the boy by your side, giving his opinion at every click. We had finally settled on what seemed okay from my point of view. The bean bag came today and it is huge! And frankly, the chances of the kids using it are... small (though on this point, I could be wrong). I write that off as my last purchasing folly. I've learned. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to try hard to fit that monster back into a box to send it back.

In the evening I finally make the soup I've been meaning to make since I came here. It's not the weather for soup, but I need to have something to reheat each evening, something that is actually nutritious, because the salad and cheese menu is getting a little old. And yes, I'll take some over to Ed tomorrow. It's not that I'm cooking for him, but so long as I'm making this, why not just put in a few more of everything for him? 

with so much love... 

a long Friday

Yesterday, Ed (remember him? we lived together at the farmhouse, until six days ago) went to an Ice Age Trail event, where the volunteers harvested prairie flower seeds for planting along the trail. He's a frequent IAT volunteer, and this isn't the first time he has picked prairie seeds. He returned in the evening excited about his afternoon. At least I sensed that as we talked on the phone: Gorgeous, there were so many bees! In fact, do you have time tomorrow? We could go there and I could show you the place where we worked. 

It seemed like a fine way to spend a brilliant and warm Friday morning. We didn't set a time, so I didn't linger over breakfast too long. But I did take it outside. I'm getting used to the absence of flowerbeds around me and I remain appreciative of my balcony flora and the trees below -- abundant, in strips and clumps, in between slabs of concrete.

No morning farmette chores means that I am ready to start the day immediately after breakfast. I sit down and review my writing ideas form months ago and wait for Ed to show up.

The writing ideas are iffy and therefore risky. You dont want to embark on a huge project now, only to find two years into it that it isn't working. Following a conventional path is safer and probably wiser. And yet... shouldn't I challenge myself exactly now, after putting out a book (so no pressure with the second one), after sitting on "what's next" for all these years, shouldn't I just plunge into it and see what develops?

I put all this aside for now and set out with Ed.

He was sweet to suggest it. To take me to a place he knew I'd like.

 

To put me in a quiet spot in the thick of autumn's wildflowers.

To smell the seasonal changes all around us...

To admire the butterflies...

To climb up, for the view on a trail we've hiked many times before...

But there is something on his mind. I can sense it. His mind is spinning. He wants to go back to the topic that caused me to pack up and move. Tomorrow afternoon. After we spend some time together biking or going to the market. He wants to explain himself to me.

This is not good. Of course, everyone deserves to be understood, but I find that most people when they want to justify their conduct, shift very quickly to explaining what they find troubling about your conduct. So I say no, we're not going to wait until tomorrow. I'll come over after the kids go home tonight.

 

In the afternoon, I do the usual rounds. Sparrow, whom I take home for a handful of minutes, then together we pick up Snowdrop. From there -- to the Edge (remember? I used to live at the farmhouse; right now I live in an apartment at the Edge).

Unquestionably, one of greatest benefits of being here is that it offers incredible convenience in terms of kid pick ups and drop offs. If you are going to be involved in care for your grands on a daily bases, living nearby is huge, or else you spend a chunk of time on the highway, worrying about the time and traffic patterns. 

In general, I have to say, for having acted so quickly, without a great search, without great contemplation, I did well by finding the apartment at the Edge. It fits my needs right now perfectly and I'm happy with what I could put together in less than a week's time. I like the way it looks, the way it feels. The space I wake up to in the morning, whether in travel or in the everyday is important to me. It's why I spent such a large number of hours each day at the farmette tending to the visuals all around me. And why it pains me to leave it in disarray. That I should be so lucky as to move now to a space that is satisfying, that doesn't cause me to groan every time I come back to it in the evening -- that's nothing short of a miracle and I am so grateful that I lucked out in this chaotic week of change. 

 

I leave my quiet and lovely (from my perspective) space and drive over to the farmhouse to listen. 

 

 

 

I dont feel compelled to explain, clarify, correct. A few lame "I cant see where that comes from," but otherwise, I just listen. Why pick on any of it, really. When people get together in their near retirement years, they inherit a lot of leftover baggage. He mine, me his. I always knew this and yet I thought we could be creative in the way we found common ground. And we were, and we did. Let's see if we can muster up some creativity to push forward! I'm confident we can. I think. Maybe.

with so much love... 

 

community

The Edge -- the place I live in now -- attracts renters by creating something akin to a residential community. The on-sight managers entertain ideas on what to sponsor -- there are game nights, movie nights, and of course music nights. I say of course because the owners of the building love music and have made this the theme of the place. Well, at least of the corridors. Here's my floor's wall art. (That's Keith Urban. Not that I would have recognized him -- a New Zealand country singer. I know nothing about country music except that Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton sang it.)

 

 

 

You can tell that some residents are really into this, and some are completely uninterested. I decided tonight to attend this month's music event to see who turns up.

But of course all that comes later. 

*     *     *

I wake up a bit too early, but to splendid golden sunshine.

And breakfast again on the island. 

And then I dig in a bit more into my neighborhood. The other day Snowdrop told me how nice Middleton is (that's the name of the town I now live in). How it's got everything you may need without being overwhelming. Well that's true, but on my side of the highway, it's pretty overwhelming. Apartments, hotels, office buildings, chain restaurants and outlet stores. You get the picture. But here's a surprise: on Thursday mornings, it has a farmers market.  I can walk to it -- a mere ten minutes on foot. 

It's small. Really small. But it has a steady trickle of regular customers. They drive over and then head straight for the one big produce stand (there's one more, but it's small; the rest of the vendors are of the prepared foods and unknown to me breads variety).

That one large produce stand is Natalie's!

We chat. She is one sweet friend! And as a bonus, she still has corn. 

*     *     *

Back in my apartment, I cant help feeling charmed by the sunshine pouring in. Yes, it does make the apartment warm, but in the winter it should be heavenly snug. I go out on the balcony and look at what I thought was a narrow strip of park, but actually it is a "Park," of the kind where you park cars. And after, a few trees and a randomly planted corn field. And after, more office buildings. I like the absence of windows anywhere at all peering at me, but I have to wonder -- what is that empty expansive parking lot? It seems not attached to much of anything.

So I ask at the front desk. Will there be construction there? What's that lot all about? The Edge person responds -- well, there used to be a restaurant there I think. 

Oh yeah?

And then it burned down.

So, are they developing it into something else soon? I mean, it seems prime land...

Well, I guess people think the space is jinxed, so they're not rushing. You know, people are superstitious.  

I suppose at some subliminal level we all are a bit spooked by things we have no business being spooked about (except for Ed, who is not spooked by anything). But to this extent? 

 *     *     *

Ed calls. Listen Gorgeous, I'm in the new orchard and there's golden rod in the meadow. Should I pull it out? 

Damn it Ed, why must you ask this only now, when I am no longer doing these hard tasks? I suppose he'd say -- you never asked. And I'd answer -- you never offered. And there you have it.

 

*     *     * 

In the afternoon I do the school rounds. First Sparrow then Snowdrop, then ice cream for both. Our weekly treat.

Both kids but especially Sparrow are still really upbeat about the Edge. They can't wait until Sunday dinner so that they can introduce the Edge to Sandpiper. At four years, I'm not sure Sandpiper fully understands what a move is. Having space at the farmhouse was important to him. How will he play here? We will see. 

 

*     *     * 

The evening hour (plus) of music is by Bruce Wasserstrom. He's a jazz and blues guy and I like both, but I'm not at all plugged into the local music scene here, being rather isolationist in my music listening habits. Still, today I go down.  

 

Maybe a dozen others are there, some coming and going. The ones that linger are... the older set. Well, okay, I'm older. Let's see who, from this demographic, lives here and why: an older couple -- they have to be at the extreme end. Both in their early eighties. Then there's  Ferdy -- I'd say fifties. Jess -- fifty-ish. But why choose this place? What drew them here? I hear a variety of reasons: lived at a senior housing place, weren't ready for the vibe there. Just came back from living in London because teen age son hated it there. Lived with daughter and her kids and was ready to downsize. 

And still, to me it felt strange to be there. Reminiscent of the year of my divorce when I was determined to meet people and branch out (and then I met Ed and I stopped meeting people and branching out). Two weeks ago I had no interest at all in going anywhere but to the couch after sunset. Here I am, socializing? It felt like I'd been plucked out of my life and placed into someone else's.

On the upside, the people were nice and we made plans to meet up on the rooftop soon to watch the sunset while the weather was warm. I'm sure I will feel exactly the same, but I tell myself -- I'm not really going out, I'm staying in-house. And hanging out with interesting people (one runs a construction firm, one does consulting, one used to be a Lutheran minister -- yes, I am bold enough to ask these things) is never a bad thing, right?

 

*     *     * 

Late evening. Did you know there is a bird migration alert? The Midwest is experiencing the highest levels of bird movement this week. 842 million birds were in flight last night over this part of the country. They say to turn out lights at night, as our night luminescence confuses them and kills not a small number. Today through Sunday, turn off those lights!

with lots of love... 

 

back at the farmette

Morning walk...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Garden assessment...

Oatmeal breakfast, after a coffee pick up at Tati's...

(photo bomb by Dance!)

 

 

I know what you're thinking: she's back there? Is she nuts? Was it a dream? A sleight of hand? A mirage?

No no, I still live at the Edge. But Ed and I had a date this morning, to eat breakfast together, and to go over some of the remaining dust collectors at the farmhouse, and finally to talk. The first took fifteen minutes, the second -- 45 (but we're not fully done yet), the third -- two hours (and here, too, we are not fully done).

Perhaps normal people would have discussions first and move-outs later, when an agreeable resolution could not be reached, but we are not normal people. He and I do things differently. And we're not yet on the same page, but nearing some possibilities. In any case, we both want to get to a good outcome and since the discussion was hard (why else would we have avoided it for all these years!), at the end of it (which by now was early afternoon), he proposed that we walk our favorite trail at our favorite local park.

 

And that felt really, really good.

It seems that many aspects of this abrupt change of direction require a settling period. Eventually I'll be able to write about other things, to think about other things, not just The Move. For now, we are all in the adjustment phase. Ed said today that it will take him a year to recharge after this entire period of complete togetherness. 

 

 

 

I think that at this point, we both feel that trying something different is good for us. Both of us are trying very hard to be very level headed and caring. And that feels great.

with so much love... 

climbing

It's a good analogy I think: I have the image of me digging out of a mess I found myself in and climbing to some higher space. And I make improvements as I go along. First and foremost -- to my sleep. This night, I added another hour to what I've had going the past week. That I'm not yet at my destination goal of seven hours tells you how low I sank to in the days of the move.

I promised my friend that I'd spend at least 45 minutes doing nothing and I did that this morning. In bed, just looking out at the sky. And I thought to myself: I can actually spend the whole morning doing... nothing!

That felt weird. I got up and fixed breakfast instead. 

I decided I liked, for now, eating at the kitchen island. This time with flowers.

And speaking of flowers or more generally nature, I am hearing through the open balcony door the sound of birdsong. Not clear and crisp, but there nonetheless. American Robin, Cardinal -- the usual suspects. I look out and I do see so many trees! I realize how spoiled I am. But they dont feel right, here in the land of parking lots and corporate headquarters and hotels of the kind you find at the edge of every American city. I remember feeling this way when I lived in New York. I'd want to go out to the country for the day on, say, a Sunday. But what is the country exactly? Is it when you cross the river and you see more trees? Even though tall apartment buildings pop out around you? Is it Bear Mountain State Park -- just a half an hour upstate from the city, after crossing the George Washington Bridge? The park where half the city seems to empty out, to make use of the large public pool there in the summer? None of this felt natural to me. In New York, there was no escape. Trapped in an urban sprawl that continued forever. Here, it's different of course. I could walk my way to any number of nature preserves. And, I remind myself, out my windows are all those trees...

 *     *     *

Ed calls. He picked a bucketful of tomatoes and is continuing with the freezing operation. This is funny of course. I used about a gallon bag of tomatoes a week when I cooked for us. The freezer now has upwards of 40 gallon bags. Will he make chili out of all those tomatoes? We shall see.

I pay bills, set up online accounts, take care of paperwork. And then I think about what Ed told me: gorgeous, write your novel. The world needs your novel.  He uses the funniest words to support my writing projects, but they do make me smile, because sense I his sincerity. And I tell myself -- maybe tomorrow I'll reopen my writing files.

But today I take a walk. Just to explore nature that comes close to where I now live. I choose Pheasant Branch Conservancy. The closest trail in that wooded park is an 8 minute drive from the Edge. (I could have gone to Owen Woods which has more of an up and down, and is also 8 minutes, though in the other direction, but I know Owen like the back of my hand and Pheasant Branch is fairly new to me -- Ed and I have walked there maybe twice. Since my life has just taken a sharp turn into the unknown, it seems appropriate to go with the new.)

(the creek)

 *     *     *

Tuesday is Snowdrop day and she always finds this to be a special time. 

 

 

 

We read, she reads, she eats. 

 

 

 

We dont quite have the lengthy car ride to review life's pressing issues, but still, I get a sense of where the girl's head is at.

*     *     * 

Evening: I defrosted some shrimp -- to cook up with broccoli and farmette garlic. It's my first use of the stove -- electric. Possibly my least favorite for controlling cooking temperatures, but still, it's a fine transition to whatever comes next. 

 I do a lot of solo restaurant dining. When I travel, it's just me, alone, in that eatery packed with jovial pairs and groups of friends. I dont mind it. But preparing food for myself? That's a different story. I dont much care then if the flavors are right, if the presentation is good, if there are ingredients missing. Dinner is not special. It's just a meal that fills you up because you're a bit low on fuel and your limbs are dragging. Maybe I should change that? Try harder? I order the book "Cooking for One," though I doubt that it will transform me. In eating, older people have very fixed habits.

Tomorrow, kids are being picked up by parents. Me? Now when do I ever announce what happens next! (As if I knew...) Ask me then. And sleep well tonight!

with so much love... 

Monday

The things we learn about ourselves when we move! The things we find buried in our souls or buried in stacks of papers! 

I found this in my move-out: it was painted by my father's friend, in the year I moved away from Warsaw to New York, to work as an au pair and to finish college. 1972, so I was 19. I dont know what to do with it! There is no way I want to hang a painting of myself anywhere within eyesight. Yet, tossing it seems so wrong. It stays in the last banker's box in the hallway, there with about a half dozen items like this one. Things that have no obvious home. I showed it to the kids later in the day and had them guess who it was. It took them a while to suggest that it might be me!

Once again I wake up too early. I'm still buzzing. The apartment may be settled, but my head isn't yet. I heard the other day on NPR that the verb "to ruminate" isn't really a word, but we use it because, well, it's so useful! To think deeply about something. I woke up feeling deeply about my move, the uncertainty going forward. (Will I stay here beyond the year's lease? Will I move again? Where to and why?) And so I did what I usually do when I "think with deep concern." I wrote down my thoughts and sent them to the person who could, if he wanted to, offer some insights on the matter.

And then I got up and tested the new shower and it was so grand! (Water pressure at the farmhouse is very poor upstairs and, too, dont even get me started on the mineral levels in the water. Think: calcium encrusted everything, only I don't know if it's even just calcium. We should retest the well water ever couple of years. We did it only once in the 14 years I lived there.) Next, a breakfast, not outside. Ed and I speculated if perhaps eating breakfast together would be easier going forward than eating dinners together, given the animals and the distance. But not today. He has his machining project and, too, the house cleaning to do, so that the farmhouse leans toward a man cave. Or something. 

My own breakfast at the Edge is more challenging to photograph. You're not lulled (and neither am I) by a morning walk to the barn. Outside, I hear the distant noise of traffic. I can see myself sitting on the porch alone to read on a warm spring day, but I cant see myself taking breakfast out there regularly. What for? The view is meh, the sounds are uninteresting. I'm trying out the island. As you can see, it's huge, and it needs flowers!

(with a view toward my marching band, all lined up neatly!)

And speaking of found objects, does anyone remember the key chain with a piece of woven fabric I got at the Venetian weavers' workshop? I bought it because it was the cheapest item there and then I put it aside. I found a use for it! House keys.

 

 

Then I work on technology. There is always something, isn't there? My phone was losing its charge faster than a wild turkey on the run, so I finally decided to replace it. Doing data transfers, etc etc took up the better part of the morning. As did canceling cable service. I knew I would lead a more interesting life going forward!

Next, I scrubbed the fabric on the chair in the bedroom, and thought about groceries. Ed will do his own delivery of course. I am still thinking: should I shop? Should I test delivery here? Door delivery at the farmhouse was easy -- you got your bags at the door. In the apartment, you get your bags at the door as well. The building front door, which for me is a hefty walk away from my unit. I see some people have little wagons for grocery movement whether from car to unit or door to unit. I am not spending money on a little cart! So I ruminate. 

 

And in the afternoon, I pick up the kids. One, then the other.

 

 

 

And then home. My beautiful home. (Today I asked the management if I was actually the first inhabitant of the unit, given that the whole complex is just two years old. They said no. I was shocked. It is absolutely spotless! I want the name of their cleaning service for when I am old and incapacitated!)

The kids are in good spirits. We are establishing old routines within a new setting. They have gone from suspicious, to skeptical, to enthusiastic about my new place. Eventually they will land on "indifferent." 

(Sparrow has been charmingly curious about everything in the new space. He opened every door, every cabinet, every drawer  to see how I had organized things.)

Toward evening I take them home and then drive down to the grocery store. I need something for dinner that is other than a salad and cheese and crackers! 

I pull in late.  

(drama in the skies, as seen from my windows...)

 

I knew I would miss the farmhouse endings to a day and I do. But, on the upside, I do not mind the serenity here. The "everything is in its place" feeling. The gentle jazz as I fix my supper of... well, salad and cheese once again! With hummus thrown in for good measure. And a non-alcoholic beer. And another. Hey, it's a large salad!  

with lots of love...