transition

There came spring, then there came summer. And then came August, where everything just paused for a while. The garden puffed out magnificently last month and now it's slowly receding. Everything is still lovely, beautiful in fact, but the crispness is gone (perhaps in part because we have had no rain for weeks) and the sheer numbers of flowering plants goes down.

Ed tells me that for the week I was away, nothing was clipped and it all still looked terrific -- voluminous in part because the spent flowers blended with the unfolding ones so that the entirety seemed abundant.

I smile at that. He looks at the flower beds with a sweeping glance. I study them, take photos of them, remember where each plant lives. I see things he does not see.

(Looking out from the porch, before any trimming and clipping today.)






This morning, I am glad to be working outside again. Lilies depend on me to look their best. I like that.

 



And never forget any and every other flower that's full of dazzling color right now....





Still, it's an unusual morning -- unusual day in fact, because at the end of it Ed is off to sail a boat as a favor for a friend (and of course because he does love to sail). And so we had spent the night reviewing stuff that we both need to get done before he takes off. As a result, I'm tired. (I'm sure he's tired too, but he dares not complain, because he is off on a trip of leisure, leaving me with rather a lot on my plate.)

How long is his sailing gig? Who knows. Old sailing pals are joining him for it and depending on their whims it could be a day, it could be a month. Well, we do know this much: he has to be back before the evening that I go back to Chicago at the very end of August because there has to be someone at the farmhouse always to take care of the cheepers!

Or, we can let them be and cross our fingers.

I say to Ed -- will you hate me if I simply cannot manage to put them away and they get eaten by predators?
Nah... We'll just get new chicks next spring.

Well I might worry about putting them away each night. Ever since a predator invaded their coop about a year ago (and took one of them for his supper), they never retire to sleep there. They fly up to a barn beam and doze on it until Ed comes, all 6 foot 4 inches of him, with arms at least the length of a yardstick, and lifts each one in turn, and places her in the coop. I can't reach those spaces, so Ed has placed old tires for me to climb so that I have a better shot at it. But when you disturb their dozy time, the cheepers flap their wings and become enormous and hard to hold onto. Plus they could use a visit to the nail salon.

I can but try.


Ed's not sailing across any ocean or sea, but he may as well be, because he wont be reachable. A million and one things require our attention at the farmette. When I go away, I coach him nearly daily on my stuff. It gets done. More or less. But his own tasks -- stuff I need to do in his stead -- that's more challenging. And we're in a month where I'm not exactly looking for additional challenges.


We have an early breakfast -- our last one until, well, I don't know when. This week? Next month? You cannot pin down people who are on a sailing adventure.


 



We then start squeezing stuff into the remaining hours of this day.  We start off with an early morning meeting with a community gardens expert of sorts. We need to get the ball rolling on the planning process for the park allocation next to us. Right now it looks like it will be developed as a gardening space. All nine acres of it. To make this work well, you need people who have done this before. We listen, take notes and resolve to get on this once this month, this transitional month is behind us.


And then I take a wonderful pause from the current farmette chaos and meet my daughter and Snowdrop at the farmers market.

We are in the thick of vibrant market colors! Tomatoes, of nearly every hue!






I stock up on brussels sprouts, bok choy, peas, corn, eggplant, tomatoes. My suppers are likely to be eggs and veggies for the next month. I love to spend time cooking more elaborate meals, but never just for myself. Dinner preparation to me is an act of love. When I do it just to feed my hunger, the creative edge grows dormant and I concentrate on other things, like simplicity and creating something that is "merely" fresh and honest.

As for Snowdrop -- she is radiance supreme!

Oh, I am so reminded of another mom (my younger girl), just a few days back, snuggling her own little girl as if the world depended on it.






I take far too few photos today. Snowdrop rolls on the grass, climbs the gazillion steps inside the Capitol building, she romps, jumps, spins and grins and all I have for you is this picture, showing off her tomato filled cheeks.

(Tomatoes! Grandma, are these purple or pink??)






Oh, and here's a playful shot of Snowdrop slouching in her stroller, sunhat in place. Again, I am reminded of cousin similarities. Same blue eyes, same love of outings and adventures.






The rest of the day is a whirl of consequential and inconsequential tasks. Grocery shopping, packing, mowing, clipping, watering, washing, plugging, cooking, cleaning, downloading, searching (have you seen...?).. and so on. And the garden blooms on... (I especially love now the tall lilies on their thin long stems: they look like butterflies dancing in the breeze.)






In the middle of the coming night I will drive Ed to the bus stop. Stay safe and be back soon!

Friday in Chicago

Just a handful of days ago, I was waking up to my first full day with Primrose. So much about her was still a big question mark for me. All children change all the time. Where was she at, this sweet four month old child?

Today I'm waking up to my last day with her. Outside, the predawn sky is showing off for me. It will be a beautiful Chicago day again!






And now I am at my daughter's house. Before she sets out to work, she fixes breakfast for the two of us. Primrose is asleep, we enjoy these few adult moments together.






And now the little girl is up. I dress her and I smile to myself because from texted pictures, I see that this is the same dress that Snowdrop wore yesterday. Cousins indeed!






With parents gone, I spend some time playing with Primrose on their bed. Shh! Don't tell them we did this!

"Yes, but where are we going for our adventure, grandma?"






Eventually we do go out. My daughter suggested for me an even longer walk south of where they live. Wonderful! Primrose really is a terrific stroller baby!

We go to a cafe called Milk and Honey. Here it is:





It's on Division Street, which, in this set of blocks, is lined with a string of eateries and cafe-bars.

I am not the only toting along a little one. The cafe is popular with young families. (Gulp! Am I the only ancient grandma here?) Before I dig into my soup, I take the ever patient Primrose out and play around with selfies. I do about five and they're all silly. I suppose my expression says as much, because a sympathetic mom takes my camera and shoots this pic of the two of us. Fine, it is much better than my own timed release ones, where I'm either wiping Primrose's face or taking her fist out of my soup bowl (it's a cold soup).






I eat, we leave, but surely we're not done adventuring! There's a children's store across the street. Want to go, Primrose?

I don't wait for an answer.

At the store she watches me look at this rack and that shelf. There is a wee bit of a reward for her:  Primrose, look! Something for you to chew on! I told you the day would come soon when I would buy you a donut!






It is true that I've pushed her a little on this walk. It's a hot day and we've now made two stops, none of them especially magnificent from her perspective. As I study her serious face, I say somewhat sheepishly to the clerk -- this grandma just wanted this walk to last forever. I may have over-adventured her...
It's when the going gets tough that they grow, the clerk smiles at me, at Primrose.





And of course, Primrose gives her the most beguiling look.

Later, at home, I make it up to the sweet child by playing her a Polish folk song on the guitar. It was a lovely moment. Primrose is not old enough to do what Snowdrop does when I take out the guitar -- ("Can I play? Can I please play now?). She listens, understanding perhaps the message in the melody, if not the words.






Mom is home now. Lots of happy hugs. Mom with daughter, then granddaughter saying good bye to grandma, daughter saying good bye to this mother and then we do it all over again!






It is, of course, hard to leave. It's always hard to leave people you love to pieces. On the upside, I'm returning to people I love and as for Primrose and her parents -- I'll be seeing them ever so soon when I come back toward the end of August for one more week of Primrose play before she starts her own "school" in September.

In the meantime, let me just leave you with a simple photo of a simple painted message on a building I pass every day on my way to Primrose's home.





Really, isn't it what moves us forward each day? And brings out all those beautiful smiles on a child's face?

With such happy thoughts I catch the late evening bus back to Madison, where Ed is waiting to take me home.

Can I make you some corn? -- he asks as we come into the farmhouse.

Thursday in Chicago

Kids get you to think about stuff that is outside of your own self. You can't afford to be distracted by your own nonsense. They bring you around quickly to their issues, engaging you fully in their mishaps, joys and explorations.  I notice that when I leave the hotel, I give a glance at the morning stampede of people hurrying to work and I admire the morning light on the old buildings in the neighborhood and then I drop all thoughts that had been ruminating in my head and focus on the child who will be in my charge for the next nine hours.






Goodbye irrelevant stream of issues and nagging reminders. Hello, Primrose!






It is early (I arrive at 7:45), but she is already cycling through her first hours of eating and playing. Indeed, she is soon ready for her morning nap. And I'm ready for my breakfast, with an eye toward the sleeping child.






And now comes our time to make something of this day. Primrose is an enthusiastic participant. "Whatever you suggest, grandma! Let's do it!"






"I'm waiting!"





Time for an adventure!

We go out, passing the park and of course, I see the predictable congregation. All women. Mothers, caregivers. Perhaps grandmothers. Will the day come when a park like this will be, on a weekday, gender balanced? (My second thought is that I am seeing some impressive strollers in Chicago!)






There are any number of murals in the city and I rarely photograph them, as I'm so much more drawn to the street scenes that include people. But this mural really is impressive, so I pause and take note.





Primrose and I enter the cafe that is on the other side of that wall -- Ipsento. It's a hot and muggy day in the city and the cafe's cool air is a welcome relief. The little one has been angelic on these adventuring expeditions. I tell her that one of these days, a little donut like this one can be hers. But not today.






(I take a pic of someone else's coffee and plate of little donuts. It looks much more interesting because there are three. My orange-honey one soloing on a plate looks puny by comparison.)






Whenever we enter a store or cafe, I do take the babe out of the stroller. We practice sitting and selfie taking!






And now we're home again, happy to be in a cool place, excited about doing an occasional roll.






And soon enough you glance at the clock and notice that it's time for the parents -- first mom then dad -- to be returning from their downtown jobs.  Time to walk out toward the commuter train stop to greet mommy. Oh, that looks of joy on these two faces!





My time with the little one isn't quite done yet. After dinner I stick around while the young couple goes out on a "date." But Primrose is a superb night sleeper and so I do little more than occasionally glance at the monitor to make sure she asn't leapt out of her bassinet and ran away.

You can tell, of course, that these Chicago stories are all about my time with the little girl. She becomes my focus. And that's such a fine thing.

I sometimes wonder when I watch older people smiling at children if they're enjoying the shenanigans of the little ones, or maybe they're simply enjoying a break from their own pesky thoughts and ruminations.

Wednesday in Chicago

We are creatures of custom and routine. Even Ed, who would scoff at the idea that repetition ties him down, still does succumb to the inevitable tug of habit. Why else bike all summer long on Wednesday evenings? He no longer keeps up with the younger generation of bikers who take new and complicated routes then. He follows his own two hour ride. But always on Wednesday eve.

In my Robey room, I do like to begin my day with a glance outside. Today I even got up to photograph that eastern stretch of lake shore architecture just as the sun was rising. It's such a pretty scene!






My walk to Primrose's home reminded me once again that we are in the thick of summer weather here. It's getting warmer again. I feel it. (I love looking at the cheerful signs, placards and paintings on the windows and walls. I know most are ads, but they're happy ads!)






This last set of streets before I turn into Primrose's block is especially green and especially beautiful, especially now.







Primrose has a checkup later this morning and so we're working with a different schedule today. She is napping earlier. Well then, time for me to get to the serious business of eating breakfast.






And just as I finish, the little girl wakes up. With smile upon smile!






"Are we going adventuring again?" Later, Primrose, later.






(Ready and waiting)






However the schedule works itself out, there's always time for play!

Primrose, are you learning to drive a car? You might not need a drivers license by the time you grow up...






She comes back from her appointment healthy as a button (somewhere in these hours a clothing change is needed)...







Want to go adventuring?? 

 (Just look at those eyes sparkle!)






It's hot today. We go to the local park and look for a shady spot. Now is the time to take in trees, the textured leaves, and all that green stuff that is so part of my everyday vocabulary back at the farmette.






Neighborhood parks are not really garden material, but they have their own unique loveliness. They are where you go when dinner is not quite ready and everyone has too much pent up antsyness. It's where you can run, kick a ball, or spread a blanket.

Now is the time for a selfie (on a timed release)!






Home again. I look in the toy box and find this doll. A mermaid doll. Primrose likes it. She's soft and easy to chew. Would it be fair to call this her first doll?






One by one, parents come in. She is always so delighted to see them! (She shows off her new BFF -- Sophie the oh so chewable giraffe.)





It was a great day for the little one. She truly grew and adjusted to the new configuration of habits, introduced by new people, asking of her new things. She is one well adjusted little girl!


So what's missing on this day of summer giggles and smiles, of park walks and recreation -- Chicago style, of strong little legs and big eyes of wonderment at the sight of maple and ivy?

Well, my other grandkids of course. And, too, my older daughter, who is lucky enough to have a summer birthday and so always manages to have a chunk of family around her for it. But not this year. As she turns 37 today, she has of course her own little guys, and partner in life, and very importantly -- friends. Still, I miss giving her a big hug on this day, so that I can wish her all the good things that I wish every single day for both my daughters and their families.

Love is a powerful tug. I hear it and see it everywhere I go and especially when I travel. At airports and train stations, at every crossing and intersection, on the El train, on the Chicago bound bus -- people returning to be close to their loved ones. And I am one of them -- riding back and forth, connecting these two cities in my mind into one whole slice of family and home.

Tuesday in Chicago

Yesterday, the city seemed full of new possibilities. Today, I've settled in. Predawn sky? I glance from my bed... Pretty. Yawn. Back to sleep. Yesterday, I saw new photo opportunities emerge (on my walk to Primrose's home). Today, I didn't think about pictures at all. I thought about babies and children and my children. And Ed.

He has been navigating between trying to get the lowdown on the rattles and clunks in my car (it seems to be so rusty in so many places -- this is the problem of living through eleven years of wintry, salty roads), and tending to the cheepers and Stop Sign, and working on chopping up the two trees he felled this month, and getting ready to build pieces of furniture that my mom purchased for her apartment.

My own schedule in Chicago is much lighter: I have my day with Primrose and granted, there's a lot of up and down and round and round, but this is all I have to do. No cooking/clipping/washing/clearing/driving/dashing/ferrying and sadly, no time with Snowdrop and Sparrow. It is always like this: I miss the ones I do not see.

This week is a rare treat for me -- I see a lot of the grandgirl who lives farthest from the farmette. (I tell her all about it. She seems excited. You slept there just last month -- I remind her. Of course, for a baby who is just four months old, that's a chunk of lifetime ago!)






Once more I have breakfast while Primrose naps...






When she wakes up, she is all grins and chortles.






Feeding time. Well, she is stoic. She knows grandma tries to make it fun, even if she can't quite be a mommy. At least not of a little baby!






If you do something two days in a row, it's a routine, no? Our practice has been to head out after this late morning meal. Primrose loooooves adventuring!

(Getting ready to set out...)






(I see you between the bars of the crib!)






Primrose has had a lot of stroller time in her life and it shows. She loves it, as much as some babies may love car seats and car rides. You put her in and she is at once quiet, happy, calm, excited.





Today, we head out to a different neighborhood. You cross the river, navigating a warehouse district that may one day be Amazon land, or at the very least, a place of new construction. The views to the city are quite special.






On the other side, we come to the Sheffield neighborhood (a northern extension of Lincoln Park), where the turn of the century houses are lovely to look at. The community has prospered, really for well over a century. There are places to stop by and refresh yourself. They are well worth the walk. Floriole is Cafe and Bakery is one such spot. Primrose has been here more than once (or twice or even three times).






The pastry selection is small, but everything looks as good as it tastes -- a rarity, in my opinion.






I order lunch. Primrose wakes up from her stroller doze. I consider leaving her in place, but decide against it. Here's a time release photo where the little one is surely wanting a bite of my avocado, pea shoot and poached egg toast. Soon, little one. Just not yet.






(Happy to be told that the day will come when she, too, can point to a pastry and say -- I want that one, please.)






And then we walk home and cycle through a few more feeds, naps and play sessions.

And toward evening. we repeat ourselves again, greeting the mom as she gets off her commuter train.

It's always my intent to scoot off quickly once the parents are home, but today, I linger for just a little while. Primrose is about to put on her concert. I want to be there so that I can one day say -- it's true! The piano maestro started to plunk out tunes on the keyboard when she was just four months old!

("I'm ready. Are you ready, grandma?")






And away she goes!






I'll end my post with that enthusiastic playing.

What? You think I should have included a view from my room? Well alright. The clouds parted for just a wee bit and the city turned orange at sunset. Worth posting, I suppose...





Even as I think the stellar moments today weren't in the sky. They were in the music, in the happy smiles, in the boisterous joie de vivre that my grandkids exhibit every single day of the year.