Friday - 196th

Are you tired of reading these words -- "it was a stunning day?"  Oh, but the skies were blue, and the warm breeze was so strong, and the temperatures soared to near 80F (26C), and the gold that's touching the leaves right now seems majestic, and the dainty asters popping up in the prairies are like candies in a candy jar and if you can be outside today, you want to stay there and never go in.






Morning walk to the barn, with a moment to pick a few handfuls of weeds. I figure if I do a little each day, I'll get on top of the areas around the sheep shed. What to do going forward is still a puzzle, but perhaps I can spend winter months pondering over how to keep those weeds out of there next year.

Breakfast.






Hello, cat. And Ed.






We do just a few tiny projects around the farmhouse -- like, the gasket around the freezer door is ripped and not too clean, so we pull it off, clean it up and put it back on, upside down so we can no longer see the crack. (If there is a cheap fix to a problem, Ed will find it.) But really, we spend very little time indoors. Instead, we hop on the motorbike and head out to our local park, taking the trail that has served us well for years now.

(on the way, the cranes...)






(the giant oak and, well, the tall guy...)






(love and friendship, among turtles...)






(choppy lake)





Fall colors? Sure, but they are subtle still.






Except in places where they are resplendent and bold.






In the afternoon, after a careful filling out the bubbles on the ballot...







... we're again on the bike, motoring first to our City Hall, where they have placed in the lobby a drop box for ballots. It could not be easier. We came equipped with masks and disinfectants and, considering we encountered no one and had to touch nothing, we used neither.

[By evening, our votes were recorded as "received!"]

Next, we go over to County Materials where we examine the cement blocks we'll be using for our front steps. Yes, I think we finally have a decision in hand. Ed's agreeable to moving ahead with the help of Mr. Retired Mason. He'll be building our front steps in mid October.

Our last afternoon minutes are spent on farmette land, examining the grape that has climbed over and into the box elder tree. It's a concord grape (nice taste in the flesh, plenty of seeds and an awful skin), planted by Ed a long time ago and it is the only grape that consistently produces (here and in the grape arbor) edible grapes. We leave most to the birds, though some amount of sucking and spitting out the seeds is a very autumnal small pleasure for both of us.

And there you have it. They say that we wont be seeing days like this again until spring 2021. Can you think that far ahead? I cannot.

And did I mention that it was an utterly stunning day?

Thursday - 195th

Quite suddenly, the mechanical aspects of living in a rural farmhouse are front and center for us. In other words, Ed is getting to be very, very busy.

It starts early. The people who do septic system inspections are here to do a three year check on ours. If it reaches a certain benchmark, the stuff has to be pumped out. This time, we're okay. Next time, we may have to go the whole distance and clean out the gunk (to put it nicely).

Over breakfast...





... we discuss the very pleasant topic of septic strategies. Ed proposes we put in a bidet pump into our toilet.
People love it! -- he tells me.
Don't you need an electrical socket nearby?
Oh, we wouldn't have to do the electric version. This one is manual.
So... a burst of cold water comes up?
Well, it wouldn't be ice cold... People say it's way cleaner than toilet paper.

Are we really going to base our future cleaning habits on online reviews?

Okay, that discussion is put on hold. For a while.

As we're on the porch, Ed starts unpacking the new water heating system that arrived in big boxes several days ago. Remember? Our water heater is leaking and Ed has decided to replace the whole thing with an on-demand heater.
It will be different. In some ways that I can't predict.
You mean a hot water adventure? So long as it doesn't shoot up bursts of cold water during a hot shower. I would hate that.
No, it probably wont do that...

He takes out the new pipe fittings. One is chipped.
Will you send it back?
I can fix it. (To Ed, unnecessary disposing of plastic is up there with strangling innocent dolphins.)






We are interrupted with the arrival of yet another person who may be able to help Ed construct the front steps to the house. Note here the words "able to help Ed." The implication is that at least part of the work is done by Ed. Building the landing, filling in concrete -- that's all Ed. The guy does the masonry. As usual, I can hardly follow the discussion. Half the vocabulary is beyond me. But I do catch this very important detail -- this gentleman is a retired mason. He has time. He could do this project (with Ed) this Fall!

He's got my vote.





The afternoon? Spent on looking at patterns of stamped concrete and outdoor tile. We live in a country of too many choices.

Come to think of it, maybe I can just stamp the concrete myself. It's not too complicated. I think. Here's a video... I can do this. Ed clicks on YouTube and we're off, learning about how to decorate your concrete slab.

Oh boy.

And it doesn't end there. Before the evening is out, Ed is looking at boring prefab slabs of concrete which, I suppose in some designer's universe would be called okay looking steps. And thus we've completed the circle of designing the front entrance to the farmhouse: all options are once more on the table.

You know, I have a feeling this isn't the right year for us to put in the 200plus fruit trees in the rear farmette lands.



Here's a nice evening activity! Talking to Primrose in Chicago.






She and I review, among other things, raspberries and mint. I happen to have an abundance of both: the grocery store decided to substitute my requested two containers of strawberries with nine (yes nine) containers of raspberries. As for the mint? It grows abundantly just by the porch. Primrose was cutting and smelling mint in school today. I brought in some of mine so we could pretend-smell on FaceTime.






And while we're on the subject of growing things, did you know that my big beautiful lily put forth a final bloom today?





September 24th. Memorable!

Wednesday - 194th

For me, it's the calm after the storm. Tumultuous days (yesterday) deserve the quiet of simplicity here, at the farmette. So, few words today.

But lots of photos! My clicking finger seemed to work on overtime!

Here we go then: a beautiful warm September day!


(Good morning, cheepers)






(Breakfast, for once -- at a breakfast hour.)






(Ed has a Zoom meeting, I drive over to the local park. Why does a sandhill cross the road?)






(at the park: geese and turtles, loving the sunshine)






(Like a cathedral, no?)






(Hey, did you follow me here??)






Late afternoon distanced meetup with Snowdrop. I locked myself out of my car. Ed comes over with the spare set of keys.






Notice something different? We move to wearing masks during our meetup. It's a considerable amount of time and even though we are outside, this is safer.






Snowdrop complies, of course, but it's one more barrier between us and she feels it.






I tell her it's okay to pull it down for a photo!






(Art)






Toward evening, we go up on the deck and for a few minutes, the kids are free to romp, though of course, at a distance.
















(Tired of fetching the ball for his favorite sister, Sparrow reverts to playing with toy foods. Some things do not change.)






Going home. Hazy sunset. Glider in the sky. Field of corn.






Good night, with love.

Tuesday - 193rd

No one asked if I was looking for a little excitement this morning. Had they done so, I would have answered -- no. It was to be a quiet day. No cat searching, no grocery washing, lots of reading, maybe some writing.

The morning's beautiful! The skies are a little hazy, but it's a morning mist, a thin veil of cotton over an otherwise blue sky. Happy Fall indeed!






















I feed the cats, pull some weeds, then come inside to see if Ed is up.

He is. We talk about various smells. I tell him outside, it smells like detergent in a laundromat. He says inside it smells like melting plastic. We laugh at how differently we perceive things. And then the smoke alarm goes off.
Probably needs a new battery -- he mutters.

It's the basement one. We go downstairs to a basement full of smoke and burning something. There is, in fact, a fire.

Oh, shit.

I grab my phone and exit. Ed puts it out and tries to find the source.

He comes up, switches off the electricity, goes back down. It's the water pump switch: caught on fire, melted.

So... we have no water, there is smoke in the house, and Ed is at this point stumped as to what happened. He calls the fire department. In a few minutes, we have two fire truck and an ambulance.










Ed has a long discussion downstairs with the fire inspector. I sit on the porch wondering if, in addition to the water heater, we'll have to replace the water pump.

The inspector comes up, with a trail of lecturing words for Ed. "In the future, call 911."
From Ed  -- I called the fire station just to get you here, to report a fire causing malfunction. We did not need the fire truck/ambulance etc.
You don't know that. We'll make the evaluation.
The fire was out. I put it out.
I repeat, you don't know that. Call 911.
Fine. We'll call 911. By the way, your mask is not covering your nose. This from Ed. After all, we are following strict isolation. We're seniors.
I know. It fogs up my glasses if I cover my nose. And there you have it -- a mask wearing minimalist.


In many ways, we were lucky: the water pump pressure switch caught fire, but there is nothing close to it and so the fire was contained. Had there been, say, a shelf with paint above, or any number of things that people store in basements we would have been in trouble.

As we catch our breath and Ed takes stock as to what needs to be replaced, I get a call.
Hello, this is Linda. I have your cat.
What??
I saw the picture in the ad. It's her. She came to eat -- she was really hungry. I have her in a pet carrier.
We're on our way!

As we pull into Stoughton, thinking this day cannot get any crazier, Linda calls back.
Maybe it's not her. I can't really tell if she has that white chest. Her back is toward me.

Well, we're here. We can take a look.

It's not her. There are no white or brown markings. It's a very friendly tabby.
Do you want her? She's pretty sweet!
Are you sure she's feral?

A mailman comes over with the mail. He takes a look at the cat. Hey, that's the cat of your neighbor, over at 131 (name of street).
What? The poor kitty was starving!
Well, it's your neighbor's cat.

We thank Linda and retreat. In the car again, Ed calls a hardware store. Might as well pick up a new water pump pressure switch in Stoughton.

(Drive back: are you getting familiar with the cattle?)






At home. Noon now. Ed switches out the gizmo that went up in smoke. (It's plastic burning that can kill you -- Ed reminds me ever so calmly. If you're in a fire, don't inhale it. Get low to the ground, do anything. Just don't breathe that stuff. So reassuring to know what could kill us! Seems there are many weapons pointed at us out there right now!)

I eat breakfast, alone. I have enough water to fill my coffee maker.






Ed comes up a bit later.
Water pump's fine. (What a relief. I remember lifting it out of the well several years ago, when I wasn't yet 67. I'm not sure I could still do it now.) We should be good to go.
So... what caused the fire?
I don't know. Defective product? I'll report it.

Day's not over. Opera lady hasn't sung I guess. Our long awaited stone and masonry guy comes to give us a quote on fixing the front steps.





I'm thinking -- finally, we shall have steps to the house! What's your timeline? I ask.
Maybe spring, maybe later.
Seriously?
Last year we could work until November 19th. This year -- who knows. At any rate, we're booked solid until then.

Late afternoon. Isn't it time for lunch yet? Has the new switch failed yet? You know what we need? A frittata for supper. It's the kind of a day that deserves a frittata. With broccoli, garlic, rabe, mushrooms, onion, corn, eight cheeper eggs, and lots and lots of cheese.






One last text with my older daughter, but she brushes me off. She's having an anniversary evening with her husband.

What??? Did I really mix up my own daughter's anniversary date?? Is today the first day of Fall? They were married on the first day of Fall.

It's the first day of Fall.

Shit.

But happy anniversary, sweet one!

What a day...

Momday - 192nd

What do you consider to be a waste of time? Age matters, no? The older you get, the shorter the list!

But I do have a few contenders: spewing negative venom and in general complaining and criticizing, without an intent to promote something better. What a waste. And causing harm, of course, is not a good use of time, though I suppose much caused harm happens either out of absence of knowledge or for the sheer benefit of the responsible party, so with harm, we're in a different stratosphere altogether. It's waste, but with an evil twist. But how about waste without harm to another? If you're older, your kids are grown, you can't see your grandkids because of an insanely pernicious pandemic, is anything a waste?

Perhaps you'll argue that you have a lifelong responsibility to educate yourself further. So that learning a new language or reading a stellar book is not wasteful, but watching a RomCom, or pulling weeds in a yard corner that no one ever sees, or playing games, computer or otherwise, to entertain yourself is as wasteful as it gets?

I can't agree. Maybe you'll become a less interesting person if you dispense with the education and opt for weed pulling or entertainment. But then, if you're happy and find other movie loving, or music loving, or weed hating, or simply like-minded happy people to talk to, then who is to say that you've not provided value to the community? A happy person has great value.

And what if you waste time because you believe in something ridiculous and then pursue it to unreasonable levles? Is that truly a waste then? I mean, you have to admire people who find many creative ways to fill their days. And if one of those ways happens to be going on a wild goose chase in the hope that the chase may, at least theoretically net you a lost kittie -- so be it!

Right?

So it wasn't a waste of time for Ed and me to head out to Stoughton today to poke around a new neighborhood in search of the lost kittie, was it?

We had decided early on that we would once again walk the suburban blocks of this town today. The spotting of (maybe) Cutie yesterday happened in a part of Stoughton we had ignored up to now, because it was on the other side of the highway. Why not give it a once over today...

Especially since it is such a gorgeous day!

(From morning walk to the barn)





















Just stunning. A linger on the porch kind of morning.





A begging for a walk type of day. So why not walk in Stoughton?

Once again, no photos from the hour-long canvas of the suburban blocks. I suppose I could have given you some pics of signs. There are many on the lawns of Stoughton and, unlike all the nastiness you hear and see everywhere else these days, the signs are positive. Some presidential stuff, but without hatred. (Biden in the suburbs, some Trump in the countryside.) And plenty of others: Black Lives Matter. Science is real. The climate is changing, why aren't we? Love is love. Kindness is everything. And lots of Hope for Hannah signs, which are a tribute to a young Stoughton girl fighting cancer. So many people, displaying kindness and empathy in so many different ways. It warms your heart.

I do have one photo -- of the herd of cattle,  the one we pass each time we drive to Stoughton the scenic way. As I said, they're fetchingly photogenic! Even at odd angles.






After our Stoughton outing, I spend a lot of time on the porch. Reading, writing, gazing. Wasting time in the most productive way.

Sunday - 191st

This morning I heard a very lovely piece of writing on NPR. It came from Ross Gay, the author of a work called the Book of Delights. (You can read about the interview with him here, and be sure to click on the "tap tap" audio snippet in the link, which includes his wonderful reflection on the moment on a flight when an attendant passed a glass of water to him, with a gentle tap tap on the arm). You could summarize the radio interview, I suppose, as dangling before us the idea that we would be far better off sharing with others things that we love, rather than things that we hate and that drive us nuts.

Well yes. I've thought this since year two of my blogging project (year one was a blur of experimentation). Ross Gay claimed that writing daily about joy, happiness was hard work. (And mind you, finding joy, by his way of thinking about this, does not preclude facing sorrow.) I tend to agree, though I do think it becomes easier over time if you give yourself a steady diet of words that express your feelings of happiness when something crosses your path that deserves that label.

For me, oftentimes, that moment of contentment, gratitude, and yes, joy comes early in the day, when I do that walk to and from the shed.






I look around at what the farmette lands have to offer. Today's catch:






And I enter the farmhouse with thoughts about breakfast with a smile that is my response to the sweet elements of life, so readily within our reach. Eventually, of course, I sit down and canvas the internet for news and updates and then it becomes ever so hard to remember that picture from the morning walk. But time passes and others take its place. Like the moments over breakfast.






And, too, when cooking Sunday dinner for the young family. That happens later in the day of course.

Ed and I both drive over with the prepared foods. He wants to see the kids. I tell him he better have his running shoes on! Sparrow, who doesn't quite get social distancing,  can really log in a good chase!
















Playing ball: a naturally distanced game!











You could say that these are cherry picked moments from a day that is robust with all sorts of emotions. But here's the thing: once you identify that which for you is joyful, the aura does linger. Joy, like its opposites (sorrow, anger, despair), is not ephemeral. It gets under your skin and carries you for a while. Sometimes even a long while.

(Earlier, an afternoon walk in our farmette neighborhood...)






(A couple of years ago, there were cornfields here. Now -- a new development, with dozens of new homes. Perhaps the crane is looking for the cornfields that are lodged in her memories of how it once was...)






In more pragmatic news, Ed and I opened our absentee voting envelopes which arrived last week. Well now! His was missing the ballot. One more reason to do this stuff early. Plenty of time to fix mistakes and omissions!

Finally, I'll let you guess if we drove to Stoughton today.

I can explain! I got a call again and the homeowners swore they had her right there in their hosta plants. Hurry! -- they said. We hurried. She, if it was indeed THE cat, was gone.

(Back home again...)






(Where yes, you can still find delights...)