Friday

When you're young, do you ever think about what a day would look like once you retire? I never did that. I may be glass half full in my every day outlook, but in the long run, I did half-believe that if I daydreamed about retirement, I'd jinx it and conk out two days before its commencement.

But then, five years ago, I thought -- hey, it may happen!

A year later, I retired.

People wonder if they will be bored once they let go of their job.

Ha!

Here is a summary for you of a day in the life of this one retired person. Much of it is standard stuff for someone who no longer keeps to a work schedule: getting up without rushing, taking a walk in the middle of the morning, chatting about this and that with Ed throughout the day. But other stuff -- well, it's part of my uniquely crazy setup. My very special and very full template, with some extra excitement thrown in, because days never unfold in a totally predictable manner. A day where I'm left panting, and I didn't even have grandkid care responsibilities!

Panting? How so?

Well, in addition to all that calm retired person stuff, and after a breakfast with Ed...






... I spend time with a friend (I was late... here she is, waiting)...






My friend and I sip a late morning coffee then take that lovely, blustery walk.

There ends the calm stuff.

Throughout the day, I must keep up  with my mom, who had taken a turn for the worse last night, then recovered, then had a set back, then recovered once more.

Throughout the day, I also have to keep up with the cats. Seriously -- the unrewarding cats. I thought that we were currently feeding two. Today I find that there are actually five: Stop Sign, Dance, and then three babes -- clearly the most recent litter of Stop Sign. So we were wrong about Tulip the Maine Coon -- he was way too big to be part of this year's litter, whereas these three look exactly to be two months!





In addition, I meet my new doc (my old one moved to Montana because, well, she said it's all in the mountains) -- lovely person whose smile lights up the room.

And I grocery shop for the weeks I will be away. Bags, of food. Mostly for Ed.

Somewhere in there, I attended the performance of the young dancers enrolled in the one-day summer unicorn dance camp. Snowdrop is one such unicorn!






Talk about a person who lights up the room with her smile!






Kids, cats, bags, lives -- how many were going to St. Ives?

(Most of life can be summarized with the help of a nursery rhyme.)






Writing? What writing? I haven't even done my ten minutes-a-day of French reading lessons for many, many weeks.

But in fact, retirement had never looked this beautiful in my pre-retirement musings. I just wanted to rid myself of work pressures. I got so much more.

Thursday

A cool, blustery wind, sunny skies, June flowers. You need add little else to this lovely tableau.

A robust garden, quickly moving to its summer fiesta...






A walk through all the fields, just to check on things (I do this so many times, throughout the day)...






Breakfast with our guest, but in the kitchen. It's a bit too cold to take it outside.






Last minute conversations, some shop talk between the two men, with me throwing in only mildly relevant suggestions.

And that's our morning?

Not exactly. Or at least it doesn't end there. I made an appointment with a local homesteader to look at her Nigerian goat kids.

I did worry that once I saw them, there would be no going back. Not necessarily because I would fall in love, but because I would see the animals in real time and my mild apprehensions would fade. I'd come out thinking -- this is doable! I can do it!

And that's exactly what happened.

(I'm holding the two month old doe -- she is perfect. Her temperament is exactly right.)






(Her brother is a possibility as well; the homesteader and I haven't flushed out the details of who should be the partner goat. There is some talk of taking the mom, but I'm not sure I want to take on milking just yet. So maybe this little guy...)





I should say that this is not a completely seamless project. As I grow more certain and decisive, Ed grows more ambivalent. And as I'm ready to give a definitive yes, he is ready to give a definitive no.

He is a reluctant goat farmer for many, many reasons. Here's one -- he does not really want to take on the project of building fencing or putting up a shelter. He'll say it nicely -- I just want to hang out with you... But the reality is that his interventions at the farmette have always tended toward low key minimalism. If there are flower beds here, it's because I've planted them. Trees are trimmed, grass is mowed (ever so rarely) because I insist on it. The chicken coop has too few roosts for the hens. He wants to make do with what's there.

With the goats, Ed finally tells me -- go ahead and do it, but it's all yours. You deal with the fencing, the shelter, the hay. I don't want to.

And why exactly do I want to? I mean, they're sweet goats -- playful, friendly -- but am I really going for the milk? The homesteaders are a thriving community here, in Wisconsin (and perhaps elsewhere): they grow their foods, home-school their kids and make cheeses and soaps out of the milk the goats provide. I am not in any way part of that movement.

Yet, I want goats here, at the farmette. At least if I can get someone to put up the fence. (I've already found someone to build the shelter. It's not going to be me!) I'm thinking -- goats are much different than chickens. And maybe that's a good thing!


In the end, we leave a deposit, I make the phone calls, but as morning morphs into the afternoon, I realize that I am yet again embarking on a solo project, one that Ed wants to take a pass on (reminiscent to, say, travel).

I put the brakes on the whole thing and call it off. We have plenty of incompatible interests already. We don't need another. Especially not one that require a long term commitment. So -- no more talk of goats. I'm done.


Snowdrop is here in the afternoon. She is a much needed distraction!


(hi, ah-ah! Whatcha doing ah-ah?)






(running to smell the alyssum... I've taught her well!)






(are you going to be outside, ah-ah?)






(bubbles and butterflies)
















(let's feed the chickens! please! ah-ah let's me!)






(I found more asparagus!)






Yes, a beautiful, beautiful distraction.

Wednesday

Our house guest not only woke with the first rooster crow, but was up and out in pursuit of his tasks before I even completed my early morning stretch. By the time I lumbered downstairs, he was out for the day and all was quiet. Except for the meowing of Dance. "Where's my food?" Dance can be very demanding.

It rained heavily last night and it is still raining all day today. My peonies are drooping, the irises are quickly wrapping up their show. Time to get some color again by admiring the tubs of annuals!












It is Wednesday and Sparrow is with us of course. Cheerful boy!






Breakfast, with the guys in blue.






While the little boy naps, Ed brings up the topic of goats. He thinks we should educate ourselves fully, which includes reading up on goats that we're not even contemplating: fainting goats, mini goats, you name it goats.

Sparrow wakes. It feels cool to me and so I look around for a sweater for him. Here's one -- size "5 years" -- it belongs to Snowdrop. Fits him just fine!

Sparrow is a big guy.






Now that he's one, his repertoire of solid foods grows. I try him on a lunch of avocado and whole wheat bread and blueberries.

He has his moment of contemplative consideration...





He likes it!





What a surprise.


And the rains come down...

I pick up Snowdrop. We skirt one shower only to be caught in another.






Safely home!






Book drawing...






Ed asks her if she has a loud voice. I ask her if I have a loud voice. Snowdrop considers all this.
It's a voice. You can hear it. So it's loud.

A philosophical position indeed.






I take her home in the rain.

Ed and I, along with our house guest, are invited for drinks at the home of another colleague. Three guys, who normally would talk software and business models in these challenging times, seem to be in need of balance, because they are insistent that I join them. I definitely shift the level of discourse, moving away from life's chores, to life's pleasures. Because there are so many!

We continue our light revelry over dinner at Brasserie V and eventually our guest returns home with us. The rains finally cease and all is quiet now. Very calm, very quiet. Who could possibly complain!

Tuesday

Sometimes I think it's all in the detail: grandiose schemes, exciting adventures -- they can all crumble if some seemingly small event upsets the apple cart. At the very least, it can muddle your days, as you spend too much time trying to straighten out an unexpected mess.

I had a day of messy clutter, threatening to undo the grandiose, the exciting! I fought back! But it took time.

And it began as such a placid, pretty day! I am up early, though our house guest beat me to it. Never mind, I still need to do my morning chores: feed the cats, check on the flowers, pull some weeds.






(the first day lily in my lily bed!!)






(a very lovely iris by the path to the door...)






The three of us eat breakfast on the porch. Our house guest is a terrifically interesting person with great life stories to recount and we linger for a while over the morning meal. Here's my portion of that meal -- let's give the men some photographic space.






He and Ed go off then to their machining business meetings and me -- I go to the dentist. That's a story in its own right, but I cannot possibly imagine that it would warrant a big recount here, on Ocean. I'll just throw out this question: how can one tooth pose such a terrific amount of disagreement among grown men (in the dental profession)? I have spent hours of consult time on it! Hours! Bottom line -- I think it'll have to go to the compost pile (do teeth get composted?), but I wont attend to it until July. I can put it aside for a few more weeks. (The irony is that it wasn't/isn't causing me any problems, it just looks bad on all the big screens that dentists now study in their drive to make better decisions about treatment plans.)

The rest of the morning? I spend it talking to airlines about my second summer trip (forthcoming, in August): the seating has been somehow messed up on our flights (behind our backs!). I work on trying to straighten it out. It is still a work in progress. (Had I not caught the snafu, we would have had a flight headache. Actually more than one light flight headache.)


In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. In the middle of a storm. No matter, it is a small storm.

[Indeed, an Ocean reader sent me a reassuring link today, where Madison is identified as a rare place with very few cataclysmic weather events (read it here). Knock on wood!]

And Snowdrop is in a delightful, story telling mood.















As I half-listen to her tell her tale (she doesn't always want an audience), my mind drifts back over the day's details and I think -- hmm, maybe I should be rechecking the details of my first summer trip -- the one that's to begin sometime next week.

The check reveals an even bigger pile of small messes. I mean, it's a seating disaster!

And so I spend the better part of the evening trying to straighten this out. Fortunately, I am connected to an agent who is good and patient and if what he says hold true, we should be in a good place right now. Maybe.

Of course, you want everything to work smoothly in life. You want no one to make mistakes. You want competent people there to attend to all your problems. But setting such expectations for yourself isn't a good way to go about your business. The reality is that mistakes are more common than we would like, fixes are often times difficult, and people cannot always find meaningful solutions for small problems. So, you cross your fingers and forge ahead. And maybe a few teeth will get unnecessarily knocked out along the way, and you'll find yourself on an airplane where you are in row 25 and your granddaughter is in row 30, but hey! In the end, we'll get there. Really, with or without teeth, we will get there for sure.

Monday

It's Monday and we're still talking goats. The fact that this topic will not go away moves us closer in the direction of seriously considering them, even as one kid (of the goat kind) after the next disappears off of Craigslist. It's as if there is a herd of people waiting to take on goat raising. Perhaps we're at the tail end of a hot trend.

It's a sunny, cool, breezy June day. Astonishingly beautiful! I walk the garden very early, with clippers now, snipping off spent buds. That's how far into the blooming season we've come -- I'm removing flowers that have had their run already!

What's blooming now? The iris (siberian and japanese), everywhere. The delicacy of this flower (even as it stands on strong stalks) makes me fall in love with it each season anew. The German bearded iris may have a lovely, frilly opulence...






... but this simpler flower is solidly beautiful.

(in the Big Bed)






(in the Front Bed)






(the magic of the entirety...)






Some of the peonies have now completed their run, while others are just beginning. One of our oldest ones is really firing up this year!

(fronting the lily bed)






We eat breakfast on the porch, with a final bouquet of lilac from our late blooming French bush.






And the rest of the morning is dedicated to flower field maintenance, with an added side trip to the grape arbor, where we never get any grapes because the beetles eat them, but we are ever hopeful that one day we'll outsmart them. Thistle grows in abundance there and I spend a good hour clearing the area of it. We have blueberries planted there as well and it's no fun picking them (I'm thinking of the grandkids) unless the area is free of the prickly stuff.

The flower beds are sprouting too many weeds (oh those rains!) and so I unload dozens of pitchfork-fuls of wood chips to suppress the unwanted stuff. In doing this, I manage to step on Peach, who, unbeknownst to me was hiding under a day lily. No, Ed, I did not break her back, nor did I stab her with the pitchfork. Oh, and yes, I'm also undamaged. Honestly, who would would have thought that a resting chicken could pose a serious hazard in your garden!

I recover my energies and my composure on the porch...






And in the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.

A chat with the chickens...






... a book, a snack...






... a game.





A day like any other and yet it feels very different. We're moving so rapidly through this beautiful period of the year toward summer solstice! Really? In just eleven days?!

Evening. I get the bedroom ready for our guest who arrives later tonight (a colleague of Ed's) and, too, well, we talk to goat people. One has to look and ask questions and then think some more how all this and the rest of the summer will unfold!

Family Album and Celebration!

Primrose's sleepover at the farmhouse sets my morning. There is so much here that I want her to get to know. At the same time, my day is full, so we juggle!

Early wake up for both of us!

Playtime:






Her soulful consideration of the early morning snack.






We feed the cats. Primrose likes that, but she prefers looking on from the perch of my hip. It's interesting to dish out food to two cats in various farmette crannies with a toddler clinging to your shirt.

We tour the garden. It's easy to teach colors when there are so many vivid examples right now of vibrant blooms!






Inside, she is making her way to the high chair. She wants a real breakfast!






A study in pinks!






You'll never be served a breakfast here without fruits! Luckily, Primrose loves them all.






She also is my Siggy kefir pal!











Character play: into the school bus, all of them!






How deftly a toddler moves up, down, sideways, up again...






Now let's get serious about our day: a bath and more dressy attire, albeit with chickens, so not too dressy. Good enough for a birthday party, no?






One last farmette chore (or delight, depending on your perspective!) -- feeding the chickens. Primrose is too fascinated by them to protest too much being on her own.






(Ed's photo, in my last minutes alone with Primrose...)






And after her nap, her parents come and we all switch venues: it's Sparrow's birthday!!

(I finish up the cake. It's a flourless layer cake, from Ottolenghi's book, Sweet, and in my humble opinion, it's a tad too sweet!)






Hi, one year old boy!






(Three cousins, none of them babies anymore...)






(Balloon fun!)






(Someone takes a photo of the birthday guy with Gogs...)






(Presents...)






(Cake, with an assist from mom and dad; a little hand swiped a bit of frosting even before the candles were out!)






("Do I get to eat the whole thing?")






("No!")






(The two young families; having them together? Bliss!)






Ed and I return to the farmette... (where the peony bush fronting the lily field has opened up!)






We have entered the season of color.






In the evening, there is dinner at the farmhouse. It's our return to a normal event, even as not much about this month is normal!

Of course, the birthday spills over a little: we talk about the wonder of it all! Sparrow, one!






("What are you gonna do...")






(porch dinner...)





("Anyone have any more squid they want to give up?")






("I'm only one, I don't eat squid!")






What a special, special day! And the rains never came and the garden flourishes and the kids are thriving! What a happy, happy day!