Reunion One

If you have read my book, Like a Swallow, you will perhaps remember that I moved to the United States, permanently as it turned out, in 1972. I was 18 years old and I agreed to be the live-in nanny to a New York family. But, life is always unpredictable and by the summer of that year I will have resigned my position, or at least I moved away from it for a while, because my parents turned up for a temporary work assignment  in New York and I chose to live then with them. 

I was at the time very close to my three Polish friends back in Warsaw and the first thing I did when I moved in with my parents was to ask if I could invite the three Polish guys for a visit to New York. This would be a huge deal for them, as travel to western countries was rare in those years. My mother (the decision maker on such matters) waffled, but finally agreed, on the condition that they would help with unpacking, setting up household, etc. My sister was also visiting (she chose to live in Warsaw during all this) and the second condition was that we would all somehow have to fit into the one bedroom in our two bedroom New York apartment. All five of us. The room was not large, but there was a single bed in it and you could pull out a second single for the night, leaving a small amount of floor space for the rest of the group. We managed.

All this happened exactly fifty years ago. The three guys stayed with us in New York for maybe two weeks. We did some touristy things when they weren't charged with helping unpack, and we did some crazy things that only someone in that age category would call sane. (The three were school friends, all in my class cohort, so, as you'll know from reading Swallow, all two years older than me. I was 19, they were 21.)

Time passed. Our lives took us in all different and fascinating directions. There were marriages, divorces, births, deaths, remarriages. You name it, it happened. And then, this year, one of these guys proposed a New York reunion. A 50th anniversary of that infamous visit. They still all live in Poland, in and around Warsaw, though they are by now well traveled of course. Poles tend to travel far more than us Americans. 

Did I say that life takes us in unpredictable directions? I'll say it again, just for the record. One of these guys and his wife cancelled out at the last minute. Covid, a death in the family, poor health. Sigh... But the other two, along with their wives who have never traveled to the US before, are still on board. Today we are to meet in New York. They are flying in from Warsaw, I'm coming in from Madison.

The plan is to spend a handful of days in the city together. They will then go to California (one of them has a son there), then fly back to Chicago, where I will again meet up for another handful of days together.

It will be crazy fun!

Or will it? Can people our age be that youthfully spirited as we were back then? How do you look at a city, at travel with friends, at life behind you and maybe a little still ahead of you, when you are no longer merely imagining adulthood? 

*     *     *

I get up at the usual time, give the animals the usual care. We eat the usual breakfast. With my New York City guy, who laughs at the thought of spending leisure time in New York City.

(farmette in September)

(surprise!)

I pack my suitcase. I catch the direct flight we have from Madison to New York. It's Labor Day -- I'm not about to mess with connections if I can help it.

The flight leaves on time and some two hours later we are landing on a cloudy afternoon in New York.

I'm staying at 1 Hotel, which I chose because it's close (a 4 min walk) to where my friends are staying and, too, because it has a room made out of the floor of a University of Wisconsin basketball court. I kid you not. The hotel is overall beautiful and with an environmental focus. There are plants everywhere. I mean, everywhere. It would be reasonably priced if you booked really early (which I did not) and if it were not fashion week in the city (which it is). I tell myself that fifty year reunion/anniversary of this sort doesn't happen often and I open myself up to the possibility of enjoying this strangely wonderful little bedroom on 58th street.

*    *     *

New York. I have such intense feelings about the place. Like about Warsaw only different. 

I've lived in Manhattan on and off and I visited it in normal times and in very weird times. Forget about my friends for a minute. How do I deal with all the history I have with this city? I came here to live as a child, then again as a young adult. In those years, though I did some spot travel to other parts of the US, I mainly lived and breathed New York. To me, there was no America beyond New York. I was shocked when I moved to Chicago and met people who thought New Yorkers were weird and uppity and of another world. 

My parents' marriage broke up. In New York. I dragged my Mom out of the city to Madison because she had no where else to go. Eventually I would travel to New York with my daughters. They loved Broadway shows -- we traveled for all the biggies. Then -- and this is the really weird part -- my ex husband lived and worked here in the last year of our married life. I'd come every few weeks to visit him. Well documented visits on Ocean. Bizarre visits really. I walked I think every single street of Manhattan that year. 

A few years later, I was back, with Ed, sleeping on an inflatable mattress that kept leaking air. This was in a Village brownstone walkup. He  attended to family business, I tagged along and listened and learned. 

Do you see what I mean? A crazy history of comings and goings, of breakups and new twists and some funny turns. 

I look out the window and I think -- this city keeps messing with me. I seem not to be able to ever fully get  away from it.

*     *     *

My two friends and their wives arrive in New York about the same time that I do. Let's meet up for a beer! -- they text. Well okay, but what's open and by the way, I need some food! It's evening and I haven't eaten since breakfast on the farmhouse porch.

(heading out: 57th street)

My hotel person gives me a list of places that are open despite the holiday. We end up at a bar across the street from their hotel. The place is called Three Monkeys. The best part about it is that you can sit outside, which is good for me because I still worry about Covid. But "outside" means in a plastic hut that extends out onto the street. If a car doesn't switch lanes in time, it will take down the hut and us, its sole occupants along with it. I'm not worried. Traffic crawls here.

But we're good! It's great to see them and I'm totally happy with my quinoa bowl. Shockingly yummy, for being served here in the middle of 54th street.  

Despite the hour, we take a walk. 

Fifty years ago I took them out on their first night to Times Square. For the shock of it. Today, nothing can shock quite so easily, but still, we are near Times Square and so we go there.

Times Square is crazy. I mean, really insane with all its lights and pixels and people. Is it New York? Well, judging by the crowds here tonight I'd say it certainly does draw people to it. On the one hand you can say that it isn't the real New York. How many people who live here come out to see the street performers and buy the fake designer stuff peddled by the street vendors?

Still, in a sense it is New York as I know it: it's a crazy mix of everything and everyone and you smell sweat and you smell the subway air blowing out at you and you smell pot and people aren't all alike and this is a face of New York that I once really loved -- the fact that people here are all over the place in their life styles and loves and choices. 

My friends are understandably exhausted so they go back to their place and I go back to mine and all would be so well except that the internet is not working in my room so there is that headache to attend to. Ah well. Travel throws stuff at you. 

For now, I breathe in plants and rub some rocks and pebbles that they leave out for you, some with words on them like for instance NOW. I will spend the rest of the evening trying to incorporate that wisdom into my day. Now. Maybe I'll have a glass of wine at the side. So much to think about! So much to love...

Sunday

I am tempted to try out the furnace this morning. It is cold in the farmhouse! Not objectively cold (we're in the low 60sF, which is around 17C), but to a person who just went through a very warm summer, whose blood is used to coping with a strong sun, this feels like the depth of winter! (Fine, I exaggerate. But still...)

Once again, my morning walk is brief.

(Chickens come running: where have you been?? We're hungry! )

(late summer purple)

(one more...)

(and another!)

(Peaches, ripening all at once)

Once again I bake us a breakfast treat. Blueberry muffins this time.

And once again I stay sequestered in the house, finishing projects, and eventually preparing dinner for the young family. Shrimp and scallops over pasta -- one of the three dishes that I tend to rotate here on Sundays to keep everyone happy.

They are all here tonight, along with my daughter's friend from California. 

And here's a consequence of our weird weather: we eat inside. Labor Day weekend and we're eating inside because of the cold! 

Well, no matter. The spirits are high, the kids are bouncy. All is fine with our little world here in the cool depths of south central Wisconsin. 

Tomorrow, I fly out again. To another place that, unexpectedly, is going to get the same cold dip in the temperatures that we are experiencing right now. Ah well. I'll pack extra sweaters.

Saturday

We have rain today. It's to be expected. Rain is good, rain waters my flower beds and stimulates root expansion.

Rain also stimulates weed growth, explodes bug populations and keeps me inside on a day where for once I have time to make progress in cleaning up the flower fields.

So maybe that is a good thing! I do not have to work today! Well, after I've done my morning chores.

(What's blooming? A lily or two, some phlox stragglers, a few liatris stalks, emergent asters, and of course the annuals in the pots.)

(the four Bresse girls and a cat)

Turning my attention to indoors activities -- well, I can start off with baking a rhubarb cake. We still have abundant pink stalks growing out there. So I bake and we have, therefore, a very lovely breakfast. Indoors. Because it's raining and more importantly, I'm feeling a tad cold out there. I'm not used to feeling cold. I wear my hoodie all morning long.

In the middle of the day I take a nap. It is so heavenly, that I spend the late hours repeating to Ed that I feel a depth of luxury and happiness over and beyond what I usually feel. He takes naps all the time and so he merely smiles knowingly.

I'd like to tell you that from hereon, things get exciting. However, that could not be further from the truth. Instead, I work on understanding some technology. Yawn... But, I feel that you can't fall behind with this stuff. If you don't know how to pay a subway fare with your watch, you're doomed to be one of those seniors who then can't navigate the ever changing communications landscape. And Ed's no help. He doesn't own a smart watch, he owns a 1980s Timex watch that he got in Kmart for probably less than $10 fifty years ago. I'm on my own. Between my watch, my camera, my computer and my phone, I have more device-related unknown to me features than there are stars in the sky. When I have a free couple of hours, I dive into expanding what little I understand about them.

Exhausting work! But, at least I know how to pay for city transportation with my smart watch. Tomorrow, I'm back to weed pulling. What a relief.

With love...

Friday

It's funny to have an end to the first week of school just one day after it begins. Or maybe it's good for students to get a soft reentry. The change from a light summer schedule with plenty of downtime to a full blown school schedule is huge. I'm sweating just at the thought of it!

Ed and I have frequent discussions about the role that school plays in a child's life. He wasn't a fan of institutional learning as a kid growing up in New York. Too many hours being bored, too early a start to the day. At the same time, he'll be the first to push for an educated populace. Perhaps one that doesn't have to show up at the schoolhouse gates in the wee hours of the morning.

As for those wee hours -- ones when he sleeps and I work outside -- I'm finally back to my normal schedule. European time zones seem of another world.

So, to work: good morning, farmette lands! Oh dear. All those weeds... I pull some. Actually many bucketfuls. Still, all those weeds remain...

(Oh, but those wonderful autumn colors! Dusty green, gold and purple..)

(And fluttering butterflies!)

Never mind -- I haven't the time for much weeding. 

(Breakfast, with Ed's flower choice...)

I'm in between several summer events: call it the Summer of Visits and Trips. My Polish architect friend and her family came and left. Check. Snowdrop and I went and came back. Check. Next week, a whole bunch of Polish friends are arriving, though not yet here, in Madison. I'm going to meet them elsewhere. And then again elsewhere. No checks there yet. And then my daughter has a trip and I have another. Are you dizzy yet???

With all that still before me, the weeds occupy just a tiny corner of my headspace. 

I try to plan, to navigate, to imagine the next month or two. And all this keeps me indoors until it's time to pick up Snowdrop.

At least, this is what she and I think -- that I am to pick up today. It's not my regularly scheduled day, just a filler to make up for all those days next week when I cannot be there for her.

As always, she comes out beaming.

And full of recounts of the horrible things a friend, or at least a girl now in the shadows of friendship, said to her about war and about meanness. Skipping over the war tales, which simply showed that a second grader living in Madison Wisconsin is going to know little about war (unless she has a grandma born in postwar Poland, or someone in her household touched by the drama in the Ukraine), we concentrated on the meanness issue. It's a suppositious question I would think -- is it sometimes okay to be mean. I wonder how you would answer a young child on this one! 

Snowdrop is well schooled by her mom on what to do when someone is mean to you. She tells me right away about your options on how to respond and when to ask for help. Being mean back is not on the chart as an option. She asks me now if I agree and I quickly tell her that I do. Very much so. We don't have to revert to Godwin's law on this one (you know, the rule that if you argue long enough, every discussion will  compare someone else to Hitler). Sure, it's okay to be mean to Hitler. But, in life, we don't really come face to face with Hitler types. With your run of the mill meanies -- you stay with your principles.

She is relieved.

And contemplates life from her perch on the tree...

And rejoices at the beauty of life in her favorite romp in a field of creeping Charlie.

This is when I get a frantic call from her mom: do you know where Snowdrop is? They say at school someone else picked her up!

In the evening, when the little one is home again,  Ed proposes a kayak trip, but I tell him I need a break from these super late outings with super late dinners and super late Ocean posts (how many times have my eyes closed as I typed up an entry? Too many). He suggests an alternative -- tennis.

Oh, tennis! We haven't gone to the courts for several years now! Somehow Covid messed with this for us, though I can't imagine why, since an outdoor activity seems like a fine way to cope with the limitations imposed on us these past years.

It feels so good to be chasing a ball on a cracked court surrounded by tall white pines! We are alive! We gratefully accept the gifts those pines offer us (oh, the scent of pine needles!)!

And then we go home and order pizza. Delivered to our door. Magic! We are tired and therefore so grateful!

With love...

September 1st

Unless you live in France, or perhaps in some other country with a centralized school calendar, you don't necessarily start school on the first day of September. But for me, this date will always trigger thoughts of school beginnings. In my childhood, Polish schools always started on September 1st.

And it so happens that Madison public schools are also starting the new school year on this day. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately from his point of view) Sparrow (who is not yet attending his neighborhood public school) does not return to school until next week and so my "first school morning" visit and obligatory school child's photo is only of Snowdrop. Sparrow is happy to wish her luck and return to his magna tiles play.

Of course, to get to Snowdrop's house before she leaves for school, I have to get up super early. School or no school, I still have to feed the animals and check in on the plant life here. But this is actually a treat, because these early September mornings are so beautiful! I linger in the flower fields, I walk over to the meadow to pick flowers for the table.

By 7:15 though, I am at Snowdrop's house. 

As every year, the girl questions the necessity of wearing something new and special on this day. But unlike previous years, she shrugs off the inconvenience and discomfort of putting on anything other than shorts and a t-shirt and merely mutters -- I can't wait for the second day of school!

Oh, how this girl has grown and matured!

So long as I am there, I offer to drop the girl off so that the parents can focus on the prework chores at home. Watching the kids walk into the school building is thrilling for me! How long has it been since we've had an almost normal beginning to a school year?

I come back to my daughter's house for a quick visit with rainbow boy...

... and then I stop by a bakery for breakfast treats. Ed and I have a lovely morning meal on the porch.

You probably have not noticed the various melon slices we've been eating here, at the farmette. They're superb, possibly because they come off our own melon vines. The melon plants have been generously producing honeydew and cantaloup monsters for a while now. And today we cut off our first delicious watermelon. Yep, we are swimming in melons.

I do take a break from chores and do a Zoom call with my Florida pal -- she's the one gives me endless confidence as I tackle especially busy weeks. Do you have a person who does this for you? Who assures you it's okay to find shortcuts and to not plunge into everything that is before you? People who do that for you, who slow you down and reassure you that you can take a moment for yourself, are worth millions. Thank you, Diane.

In the afternoon, I am there in a car line, waiting to pick up Snowdrop. And, in happy moods, we come back to the farmhouse. "I had a great day in school! We did no work!" -- was her theme. Everything had a positive ring to it. "I even liked my dress, gaga!"

(A new book had arrived...)

Evening. I had charged Ed with getting flowers at our local market. Me, I pick up our CSA veggies. And then, instead of cooking dinner and going to sleep (sooo tired!), we take the kayaks over to Lake Monona. And immediately to our left, we pick up Wingra Creek.

He takes the lead...

(Hard to believe we are in Madison's center...)

Then I take the lead...

And we come back to our starting point, only now the sun has set...

We return to the farmhouse. I fix us a fish dinner (with plenty of corn) and I have to laugh when I look at my watch toward the end of it: it's 9:30. Just like in Italy! 

Buena notte!

With love...

the day after the return

If ever there is a day that deserves no comment, not story, no photos at all, it's the day after you've come from a beautiful trip. Every chore you do at home on that day feels dull, every step you take is on too familiar a landscape.

At the same time, it feels so wonderful to be home. I don't stress much over travel, except when I am with a child or grandchild. When I come home, the relief from not having had some cataclysmic travel event is huge (here are some personal favorite cataclysmic events from my travel days: a twelve hour flight delay, nonstop rainfall in the mountains with perhaps lightening for emphasis, lost passports, lost suitcases, lost favorite toy of child, stomach bugs, fevers without explanation -- what? You want me to stop? Well fine, but you get the idea!)

At home, I unpack the unused umbrella, the unopened children's Tylenol, the ignored Covid tests, the mostly unnecessary bandaids, the huge quantities of extra masks (because if you get Covid, even after your isolation, you need lots of fresh masks), and I think -- phew! We were lucky.

Not much to wash, sort, and put away today. I did not pack a lot of clothes. We stuck to our small carry-ons and Snowdrop was impressed or at least amused at my daily rinsing and washing. (Swimming requires a midday change of clothing, but hey, it's summer and t-shirts dry very fast.) She'd never seen anyone do hand washing before. 

After a trip to Europe I always wake up super early for a good handful of days. As I turn to the chores waiting for me outside, I think -- hey, the farmette lands look pretty good still. Especially in the very early morning light.

(the second peach tree: still not fully ripe...)

And I have some pleasant surprises! The last day of August gives me the gift of a lily or two or three still.

(Not a lily, but it is the monarch's favorite!)

The rest of the flowers are really in their fall mode already but that's okay. I like them in this stage as well.

I have appointments, I have a UPS errands, I have glasses adjustments -- this kind of nonsense is typically spread out over weeks and weeks, but I have just a wee window between trips and various activities so I pack it into this day and really, that's just fine. Get it done, move on.

In the afternoon, Ed and I ride over to Stoneman's for the corn. He'd been eating multiple ears a day in my absence (why cook dinner when you have corn...) and now I'm returning to this grand August eating habit. Well, for a few days anyway. With Labor Day we wind down the corn season. Sad but true.

And in the late afternoon, I have two treats: first of all, I go over to the young family's house. 

(Hi, Sparrow!)

(Hey there, Snowdrop!)

(Sandpiper isn't still enough for a photo.)

I was asked to tag along with Snowdrop and her mom to visit her new classroom. They really shuffled the kids around this time and she has none of her best buds in her new room, but Snowdrop is ever the social optimist and she seems not too concerned about this, nor about the fact that there seem to be two boys for every girl (the whole grade is intensely boy heavy). She is excited about what's ahead and that's such a good thing!

I have to say, the amount of work this teacher put into arranging the room for the kids is impressive. Snowdrop is one lucky kid to have someone so dedicated to the job of schooling these second graders.

And finally, toward evening, there's a second treat: Ed and I drag out the kayaks to our nearby lake. Initially I hesitated. Honestly, you can't get excited about paddling in a somewhat soupy lake after dipping oars in a clean body of Alpine water. But, I want the movement. Ed wants the movement. So we paddle. And it's a beautiful evening for it!

Dipping oars into the quiet lake at dusk creates a perfect mood for reflection. I think about traveling with my grandkids. And I think about something that a number of people have asked me -- how is it that I take Snowdrop and not the others on these trips? Will I create equally  splendid trips for the remaining four?

I think about how it's mostly a younger person who would ask that. How people my age know the answer to this question plain and clear, the answer being I don't know. 

For me, to travel alone with a grandchild, five conditions have to be met:

1. I have to be still young and healthy enough to not worry about needing medical care. 

2. I have to be still young and healthy enough to manage the demands of a child.

3. The child has to be independent enough to allow me some down time.

4. The child has to want such a trip very much and not be afraid of missing mommy and daddy

5. The child has to be old enough to manage a travel crisis.

Over time, the kids get older and you'd think, therefore, that it should all eventually work out for us all. The problem is that I, too get older. Hitting seventy next year. And with the added uncertainty of Covid, I was just barely satisfied that the first condition was being met this year. For a while, I toyed with traveling with some random additional person just in case. I did extra boosters and extra check ups on all preexisting conditions, and still I really hesitated. My doc finally convinced me we'd be okay. And we were. And still, I worried.

So, is this fair to the others? 

I think back to Tiziano's words -- my grandma had my father when she was sixteen, my father had me when he was 21. Kids these days are born to older grandparents. Is this fair? I honestly think that that is the wrong question to ask. You make decisions as best as you can. Questioning generational choices (me theirs, they mine) is not going to get you anywhere. Being a parent or a grandparent is tough business. You do the best you can. Most people indeed do the very best they can.

And at home, Ed and I eat corn and cheeper eggs for supper because I am not yet focused on cooking much of anything. That will come, but not today.

I toy with the idea of making a Negroni, but if there is one thing I learned, it's that you cannot recreate Italy (or France or Maine or Morocco) in your own home once you return. So I make a conventional aperitif spritz instead!  I mean, come on, it's still August! 

With cheers, and love...