Let's see. . .it's been about four days since Martin left for Kentucky, with four days to go. Thank all heaven that my mother is here with me since if she weren't I would be stark raving mad by now. . .
Last night, after our eight installment in the British miniseries that Mom and I have been devouring hand over fist, I went down to collect some sheets from the drier.
--What is that smell? I asked. The entire laundry room reeked.
--Smells like skunk, she said.
Turns out that Mom had left the door to the back yard--teeming with life and all manner of small animals--to air out the basement. And what had crawled in and made itself at home? I know not.
--You should go look around, I said.
--No way, she replied.
My feet felt crawly and jumpy and I was glad to go upstairs and pull the covers over my toes. Thankfully Mom had kept her bedroom door closed all day, but as I drifted off to sleep, I thought of all the horrible creatures that could be hiding down there in the basement workshop. Groundhog, skunk. . .
Can raccoons turn door handles? I wondered, imagining a giant raccoon sneaking into Mom's room as she slept.
Also I mulled over the black snake sighting not long ago. I was clearing out the back porch when a long serpentine form appeared from nowhere and slithered away into the brush. Who knows what's living down in our basement? Please, God, don't let me find it in the dark. Let Mom find it instead.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Elspeth's Doctrine
The girls pretty much have doctrine sorted out. Yesterday Elspeth told me that Jesus lived in Seattle. "That Jesus," she confided as we lay on the pillows in my bed, "Has a red cape. There's a green Jesus too and also a brown one."
We went on from this to talk about death, which has come up at regular intervals since Great grandpa went to heaven.
"When will Jesus pick you?" she asked me (Jesus picking you means you're dead).
"Not until I'm an old lady," I said.
"When will Jesus pick me?"
"Not until you're an old lady."
"Why?"
"Because then your body will be all tired out."
"But Mommy," she said, stretching out on the bed, "My body IS all tired out."
When Merry was this age, she had it figured out, too. She compiled a list of facts about death and presented her findings in this pithy sentence: "First you get old, then they put you in a chair, and then they put you in a box."
(The chair was of course the wheelchair and the box of course is the coffin.) Merry also gave a sermon one day from a perch in an IKEA display: "Jesus Christ was born in Montana!" she yelled, with all the right intonations of a Southern Baptist preacher (we were living in Texas at that point). "He died on a cross in Iowa!"
Well, seems he's risen from the dead and now resides, clad in a red cape, in Seattle. Maybe we'll see him when we visit.
* * * *
Garden Update: Baby peas; lots of strawberries; a resurrected peach tree; a riot of yellow evening primrose; stunning climbing roses; sweet lavender. . .and no camera. Martin ran off to Kentucky with it.
We went on from this to talk about death, which has come up at regular intervals since Great grandpa went to heaven.
"When will Jesus pick you?" she asked me (Jesus picking you means you're dead).
"Not until I'm an old lady," I said.
"When will Jesus pick me?"
"Not until you're an old lady."
"Why?"
"Because then your body will be all tired out."
"But Mommy," she said, stretching out on the bed, "My body IS all tired out."
When Merry was this age, she had it figured out, too. She compiled a list of facts about death and presented her findings in this pithy sentence: "First you get old, then they put you in a chair, and then they put you in a box."
(The chair was of course the wheelchair and the box of course is the coffin.) Merry also gave a sermon one day from a perch in an IKEA display: "Jesus Christ was born in Montana!" she yelled, with all the right intonations of a Southern Baptist preacher (we were living in Texas at that point). "He died on a cross in Iowa!"
Well, seems he's risen from the dead and now resides, clad in a red cape, in Seattle. Maybe we'll see him when we visit.
* * * *
Garden Update: Baby peas; lots of strawberries; a resurrected peach tree; a riot of yellow evening primrose; stunning climbing roses; sweet lavender. . .and no camera. Martin ran off to Kentucky with it.
Monday, June 1, 2009
A Day at Wazoo
It's been a strange day here at Wazoo Farm.
PART ONE: IN WHICH I BRAVELY SAVE A SHIH TZU
With a jauntiness in his step, Martin strode off to work for the day and the girls and I spent the morning in the garden. From where I pounded stakes for flowering tomatoes and Beatrix stuffed herself on strawberries from our patch, I could see the sad, blinded shell of our Subaru waiting for facial reconstruction. Deer hair still covers its little bumper like a spotty mustache. I kept an ear perked for the phone, hoping that our insurance representative would call back in good time so I would not be housebound for the next two weeks.
The phone did not ring, but about midmorning I saved a recently shampooed dog named Tucker from becoming mincemeat. In my reconstruction of Tucker's escape from collision with a midsized sedan, I hold off traffic as I bravely dash into the middle of the road to grab Tucker's leash. I do not know if Tucker will bite me, but I cannot stand by and see him flattened.
I did feel brave and noble, but considering Tucker is just a sweet little shih tzu and the two cars were rather far away and moving slowly, my deed was sadly unremarkable. Bea had a wonderful time grabbing his tail and I had a friendly conversation with the lady who came by searching for him. She parked her car in the side yard and I handed Tucker over the deer fence. We were chatting amiably when our erratic neighbor, who likes to drive around in his car all day swearing and cussing at the top of his lungs, found Tucker's car in his way and started doing what he does best off his meds: Yelling obscenities. This cut our chat short, since Tucker's lady was anxious to move off before he squeezed by her car again, and I went back to pounding tomato stakes.
PART TWO: IN WHICH WE MEET ANOTHER GARDENER
The rest of the day was marked by normal activity: Beatrix standing on tables, Elspeth helping herself to candy, Merry embodying perfection. We walked to work, picked up Martin, and headed home. As we were strolling along the smallish valley road before we hit the hill up to our house, a man on a Harley came motoring by. He slowed his bike and backed it up, one foot keeping balance, until he was level with Martin and me. This guy was clad all in army fatigues with cut off sleeves. His long white hair was smoothed back under a stars and stripes do-rag, and he had the typical white handlebar mustache. Did I mention he was covered in tattoos?
Martin was in a white shirt and tie, and we said hi to him over the stroller. He peered at us through his tinted glasses and said, "Hey, I've got about forty melon plants. You want some?"
"Sure," we said. We'd never met him in our lives, but he evidently knew where we lived.
"If you're not home, I'll just drop 'em off," he said, and then he soared off on his bike. A few minutes later, he drove by again to tell us,
"I had all these sunflowers in the basement on germinating tables, and my cat ruined them all." We expressed our sympathy, and he repeated that he'd drop those melon plants off. "If you're not home," he said, fists on the handlebars of that big bike, "I'll just leave 'em on your porch."
We stopped again at the rise of the hill to watch a neighbor filing down wooden spoons in his workshop. As he encouraged us to test different weights of oak and walnut, a woman came tearing down the sidewalk, trailed by a little black terrier. She informed us that a boy younger than this girl here (indicating Merry) had thrown a rock at her window.
So we finished our walk.
PART THREE: IN WHICH ELSPETH GIVES HERSELF A MUTTLET
There were messages from the car rental and the insurance agent when we got home. As Martin got those details straightened out and removed Bea from the top of the kitchen table repeatedly, I chopped cauliflower and a sad head of broccoli for dinner. Elspeth wandered into the kitchen and I looked at her.
"What have you done to yourself?" I demanded.
"What do you mean?" Martin asked.
"Just look at her."
"Where did she get those scissors?"
"Could they be--did she use my sewing scissors?"
"I don't know where they are now," Martin said, after casing the play room, which was covered in Elspeth's hair. Just then, Beatrix toddled in with a big pair of orange-handled Fiskar blades in her mouth. Mystery solved.
I sprayed down Elspeth's hair with a useless spray bottle that has been sucked and chewed on too often by little girls. "Elspeth has given herself a muttlet," Martin said to Merry, using the term Merry approximated long ago for that becoming hairstyle of short-on-top and long underneath.
I spent the beginning of dinner attempting to save the remainder of my middle child's hair. Merry sat in her seat and ate two helpings of vegetables and Elspeth finally got rid of all the tiddly hairs down her neck and ate her dinner in her underwear. Still, there was so much noise and ruckus that I tried to instill some order by saying enthusiastically, "Let's ask Daddy about his day!"
So Martin recounted his walk to work that morning, and how he had stopped to speak with our spoon-whittling neighbor, who had told Martin all about his car which was missing from his driveway.
"He was driving along toward the apple orchard," Martin recounted, "When he smelled plastic burning. So he got out and opened his hood, and his engine was on fire." The girls, who had been silly and loud, were suddenly quiet as mice. "He called the fire department," Martin continued, sipping his beer, "But by the time they arrived, the whole car was engulfed in flames." A great silence fell.
"Will our car ever catch on fire?" Merry asked, and Elspeth said in a low voice, "Tell that story again, Daddy."
Martin told the story two more times. It was worth it for the quiet of the two older girls, though the spirit of chaos still resided over our kitchen table, since confined and unhappy, Baby Bea energetically wailed in her chair. She spilled water in her tray, pooh-poohed her vegetables, and lost two of my spoons, so by the end of dinner I was scooping up rhubarb pie with my fingers.
"Are you happy NOW?" Elspeth asked me from her seat, where, by Jove, she was actually looking pretty good.
"I love you," I answered.
"Yes," she said slowly, looking down at her broccoli, "But are you happy?"
I paused. "Yes, I am," I told her. "I'm happy to have a girl like Elspeth."
And so I am happy to be here in this crazy, unpredictable world, with shih tzus and unlikely gardeners and precocious little girls at every turn.
PART ONE: IN WHICH I BRAVELY SAVE A SHIH TZU
With a jauntiness in his step, Martin strode off to work for the day and the girls and I spent the morning in the garden. From where I pounded stakes for flowering tomatoes and Beatrix stuffed herself on strawberries from our patch, I could see the sad, blinded shell of our Subaru waiting for facial reconstruction. Deer hair still covers its little bumper like a spotty mustache. I kept an ear perked for the phone, hoping that our insurance representative would call back in good time so I would not be housebound for the next two weeks.
The phone did not ring, but about midmorning I saved a recently shampooed dog named Tucker from becoming mincemeat. In my reconstruction of Tucker's escape from collision with a midsized sedan, I hold off traffic as I bravely dash into the middle of the road to grab Tucker's leash. I do not know if Tucker will bite me, but I cannot stand by and see him flattened.
I did feel brave and noble, but considering Tucker is just a sweet little shih tzu and the two cars were rather far away and moving slowly, my deed was sadly unremarkable. Bea had a wonderful time grabbing his tail and I had a friendly conversation with the lady who came by searching for him. She parked her car in the side yard and I handed Tucker over the deer fence. We were chatting amiably when our erratic neighbor, who likes to drive around in his car all day swearing and cussing at the top of his lungs, found Tucker's car in his way and started doing what he does best off his meds: Yelling obscenities. This cut our chat short, since Tucker's lady was anxious to move off before he squeezed by her car again, and I went back to pounding tomato stakes.
PART TWO: IN WHICH WE MEET ANOTHER GARDENER
The rest of the day was marked by normal activity: Beatrix standing on tables, Elspeth helping herself to candy, Merry embodying perfection. We walked to work, picked up Martin, and headed home. As we were strolling along the smallish valley road before we hit the hill up to our house, a man on a Harley came motoring by. He slowed his bike and backed it up, one foot keeping balance, until he was level with Martin and me. This guy was clad all in army fatigues with cut off sleeves. His long white hair was smoothed back under a stars and stripes do-rag, and he had the typical white handlebar mustache. Did I mention he was covered in tattoos?
Martin was in a white shirt and tie, and we said hi to him over the stroller. He peered at us through his tinted glasses and said, "Hey, I've got about forty melon plants. You want some?"
"Sure," we said. We'd never met him in our lives, but he evidently knew where we lived.
"If you're not home, I'll just drop 'em off," he said, and then he soared off on his bike. A few minutes later, he drove by again to tell us,
"I had all these sunflowers in the basement on germinating tables, and my cat ruined them all." We expressed our sympathy, and he repeated that he'd drop those melon plants off. "If you're not home," he said, fists on the handlebars of that big bike, "I'll just leave 'em on your porch."
We stopped again at the rise of the hill to watch a neighbor filing down wooden spoons in his workshop. As he encouraged us to test different weights of oak and walnut, a woman came tearing down the sidewalk, trailed by a little black terrier. She informed us that a boy younger than this girl here (indicating Merry) had thrown a rock at her window.
So we finished our walk.
PART THREE: IN WHICH ELSPETH GIVES HERSELF A MUTTLET
There were messages from the car rental and the insurance agent when we got home. As Martin got those details straightened out and removed Bea from the top of the kitchen table repeatedly, I chopped cauliflower and a sad head of broccoli for dinner. Elspeth wandered into the kitchen and I looked at her.
"What have you done to yourself?" I demanded.
"What do you mean?" Martin asked.
"Just look at her."
"Where did she get those scissors?"
"Could they be--did she use my sewing scissors?"
"I don't know where they are now," Martin said, after casing the play room, which was covered in Elspeth's hair. Just then, Beatrix toddled in with a big pair of orange-handled Fiskar blades in her mouth. Mystery solved.
I sprayed down Elspeth's hair with a useless spray bottle that has been sucked and chewed on too often by little girls. "Elspeth has given herself a muttlet," Martin said to Merry, using the term Merry approximated long ago for that becoming hairstyle of short-on-top and long underneath.
I spent the beginning of dinner attempting to save the remainder of my middle child's hair. Merry sat in her seat and ate two helpings of vegetables and Elspeth finally got rid of all the tiddly hairs down her neck and ate her dinner in her underwear. Still, there was so much noise and ruckus that I tried to instill some order by saying enthusiastically, "Let's ask Daddy about his day!"
So Martin recounted his walk to work that morning, and how he had stopped to speak with our spoon-whittling neighbor, who had told Martin all about his car which was missing from his driveway.
"He was driving along toward the apple orchard," Martin recounted, "When he smelled plastic burning. So he got out and opened his hood, and his engine was on fire." The girls, who had been silly and loud, were suddenly quiet as mice. "He called the fire department," Martin continued, sipping his beer, "But by the time they arrived, the whole car was engulfed in flames." A great silence fell.
"Will our car ever catch on fire?" Merry asked, and Elspeth said in a low voice, "Tell that story again, Daddy."
Martin told the story two more times. It was worth it for the quiet of the two older girls, though the spirit of chaos still resided over our kitchen table, since confined and unhappy, Baby Bea energetically wailed in her chair. She spilled water in her tray, pooh-poohed her vegetables, and lost two of my spoons, so by the end of dinner I was scooping up rhubarb pie with my fingers.
"Are you happy NOW?" Elspeth asked me from her seat, where, by Jove, she was actually looking pretty good.
"I love you," I answered.
"Yes," she said slowly, looking down at her broccoli, "But are you happy?"
I paused. "Yes, I am," I told her. "I'm happy to have a girl like Elspeth."
And so I am happy to be here in this crazy, unpredictable world, with shih tzus and unlikely gardeners and precocious little girls at every turn.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Flying Through the Air
"Mommy, my heart is blue. Sparkly blue." Elspeth said this, and I'm glad to know her heart is not melancholy but glorious like the ocean at noon.
Tonight we hit a deer on the way back home from Washington, PA, where we were celebrating my making a deadline for a short story contest (just a submission, understand, but making a deadline is no small thing for a parent of three). The children were safe at home with a babysitter, and we were chilling to some Flaming Lips songs, when
Gracefully, rapidly, like a ballerina with muscles rippling under smooth brown skin, luminous eyes--
WHACK!
We've never hit a deer before, and we count ourselves as lucky, since we lost only our right headlight and now sport an enormous dent that continues back to the passenger door. A minivan next to us just missed contacting the doe, and the driver pulled over immediately, and then, somewhat casually, strolled back to see us.
"I knew it was going to get one of us!" she said with a smile. "I've hit two before! I'm from West Virginia and they've got to do something about the deer population. There are people starving. . .how about opening deer season for an extra week?"
In the cool weather I was trembling but Martin was smooth and sensible until we reached home, whereupon he shuddered twice and put on the tea kettle.
Elspeth was still awake upstairs, and when I kissed her goodnight, she said, "I wish I could fly through the air back home." (Her babysitter reads the girls installments of Wizard of Oz).
Then the baby awakened, and when I went in to feed her, I was glad that I was there to hold her in her distress. And tonight, I'm just glad we didn't fly through the air, and that we're safe at home.
Tonight we hit a deer on the way back home from Washington, PA, where we were celebrating my making a deadline for a short story contest (just a submission, understand, but making a deadline is no small thing for a parent of three). The children were safe at home with a babysitter, and we were chilling to some Flaming Lips songs, when
Gracefully, rapidly, like a ballerina with muscles rippling under smooth brown skin, luminous eyes--
WHACK!
We've never hit a deer before, and we count ourselves as lucky, since we lost only our right headlight and now sport an enormous dent that continues back to the passenger door. A minivan next to us just missed contacting the doe, and the driver pulled over immediately, and then, somewhat casually, strolled back to see us.
"I knew it was going to get one of us!" she said with a smile. "I've hit two before! I'm from West Virginia and they've got to do something about the deer population. There are people starving. . .how about opening deer season for an extra week?"
In the cool weather I was trembling but Martin was smooth and sensible until we reached home, whereupon he shuddered twice and put on the tea kettle.
Elspeth was still awake upstairs, and when I kissed her goodnight, she said, "I wish I could fly through the air back home." (Her babysitter reads the girls installments of Wizard of Oz).
Then the baby awakened, and when I went in to feed her, I was glad that I was there to hold her in her distress. And tonight, I'm just glad we didn't fly through the air, and that we're safe at home.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Peonies and Piano and Early Summer
Martin's downstairs, spinning out a soothing piece on the piano. The rain is soaking the thirsty tomato plants and curling peas and strawberries.
The roses began to bloom two days ago, and we broke in our new picnic table yesterday with friends who sat around our fire ring, chatted, swung on swings, played badminton, and tore around our yard, yelling and playing soccer.
The days have been hot, hot enough for hours of water play in the Children's Garden under the Moses Rock.
The children have covered themselves with sand on multiple occasions and we've all browned in the sun despite good coatings of sunscreen.
We've been to the Children's Museum twice
(This is Texas Grandma making a spiffy man with the huge Light-Bright)
and the zoo twice, once with my sweet folks and again with Martin's sweet folks. The Pittsburgh Zoo, by the way, is the best I've ever experienced, anywhere. The only thing that beats it are the game parks in East Africa!
We've been eating perfect garden strawberries and salads of our own baby gourmet lettuce.
A few holes in the greens means ORGANIC goodness! Yeah! Our friend John M. (of the Rooster Sauce Brothers) ate a slug with his meal the other night. . .on purpose. He has eaten goldfish in the past, not a kind thing for the fish but a little extra protein for our friend J.M.-the-Slugman.
The baby thinks she's seven, and the peonies smell sweeter this year than any year before. My mother agreed to come while Martin's away in June for ten days, thus ending my blind panic. All in all, it's a happy time here at Wazoo Farm.
Here's a peony for my sweet Aunty Phyllis, who celebrated her birthday last week. Aunty Phyllis reminds me of a peony, and not just because she smells rather nice.
Martin's moved on to the guitar. . .I sense big projects this week, since (o joy!) our neighbor has lent Martin his pick-up for the entire week. He's tripping over himself in the delightful prospect of filling the bed with huge rocks from the cemetery . .I just need to get some writing projects wrapped up. And some burpless cukes (doesn't that sound LOVERLY) planted.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Lost the Tomatoes
Tomatoes, RIP. Blackened by frost. Even though I tucked them into little paper bags, they were weak.
The children survived, however, snug in their own little beds.
So I collected two baskets of sheets and blankets and hope I won't have to put them out again.
Cause for celebration: the strawberries, green fruits and blossoms and all, were saved. Not too bad, all in all. And two bitty pumpkins gone. The roses are feeling sorry for themselves, but they'll get over it.
Yes. We have a good excuse to shop at the nursery again. And no more frost in the forecast! Huzzah!
Thanks to Martin's Dad for the pictures! We had a good visit with you folks! Come on back soon!
Monday, May 18, 2009
Ghosts Surviving the Frost
Two close or breaking record frosts in a row. . .(click on the picture to see our strawberries, perrenials, annual veggies, etc., battling it out with the PA elements.)
Our garden looks like it's full of ghosts. Merry jumped into her favorite mode: PREPARE FOR IMMINENT DISASTER, and peppered the paper bag/sheet brigade with comments like, "I have to put away the chickens!" or when we went into the house, to my mother-in-law, "I was just putting away the pigs." Laura Ingalls Wilder, eat your heart out. But unlike the Ingalls' crops, our plants seem to have survived disaster one night. Can they make it another?
Guess what we'll be doing for the next few days? You got it! Washing sheets!
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Tickseed Coreopsis
I love coreopsis, the cheery yellow faces, the light feathery foliage. It makes me happy. And browsing the perennials at our local nursery, I felt satisfied remembering that my tickseed coreopsis is returning even as I forgot it was in my garden.
But what an awful name it bears. . .cut to the scene at our kitchen, where Martin picks up something off our floor, pops it into a tupperware, and says calmly, "I think this is a tick."
Ticks give me the heebie-jeebies. I sent all the children to the bath and Martin disappeared outside, where I assumed he was smashing the tick with a hammer. Instead, he came inside again with the empty tupperware container.
--Did you get rid of it? I asked.
--Yes. (But he looked sneaky).
--You did smash it?
--No, I released it. Shh, shh. . .(because I'm beginning to rant hysterically. Martin has released flying cockroaches, spiders, all kinds of things into the outdoors instead of killing them--okay. But a TICK?)
--YOU GO RIGHT BACK AND KILL THAT TICK!
--I released it into the garden. It's a little garden friend.
* * * *
End of story? So he's really kidding, getting my goat in front of his parents, especially his father, to whom Martin had boasted he was particularly good at goat-getting.
Me? I just have to comb meticulously through three children's heads. And I've got the itches myself.
But what an awful name it bears. . .cut to the scene at our kitchen, where Martin picks up something off our floor, pops it into a tupperware, and says calmly, "I think this is a tick."
Ticks give me the heebie-jeebies. I sent all the children to the bath and Martin disappeared outside, where I assumed he was smashing the tick with a hammer. Instead, he came inside again with the empty tupperware container.
--Did you get rid of it? I asked.
--Yes. (But he looked sneaky).
--You did smash it?
--No, I released it. Shh, shh. . .(because I'm beginning to rant hysterically. Martin has released flying cockroaches, spiders, all kinds of things into the outdoors instead of killing them--okay. But a TICK?)
--YOU GO RIGHT BACK AND KILL THAT TICK!
--I released it into the garden. It's a little garden friend.
* * * *
End of story? So he's really kidding, getting my goat in front of his parents, especially his father, to whom Martin had boasted he was particularly good at goat-getting.
Me? I just have to comb meticulously through three children's heads. And I've got the itches myself.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Quick Update
Hello, duckies all!
Rain o rain o rain some more. Martin carped diem yesterday and whipped the lawn into shape. Power to the Irish. And Martin.
Also, my mother has been saving our sorry selves for going on three weeks now. Power to the mothers. Especially since, with the end of school imminent, we saw neither hide nor hair of Martin for a while.
Peas are up. Strawberries are blossoming, raspberries shooting, flowers blooming, the redbuds have just started and the crabapples are turning frilly pink into sensible leaves.
Birds are happy, and I disturbed a nest of young snakes (offspring of Sammy whom Martin saved last year)? near some new young shrubs.
Pictures later.
And tomorrow night, 80 people at our house--actually, Martin clarifies, he invited more like 60. This is why I smeared dirt on my face, put on sackcloth, and begged my mother to stay for another week.
And now I just have time for one more baby goat picture, from our friends, Mike and Donna's Toboggan Hill farm (by the way, all their exquisite pork--the only reason I am not vegetarian--is now 20% off):
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Beatrix at the Farm
Who needs to be scrubbed clean and hung out to dry?
After a good tumble with the chickens at our friend's farm, this child needs a hot bath.
"I'll take you home!" offered Beatrix, but we had to intercede. Our fences are not strong enough for two toddlers.
After a good tumble with the chickens at our friend's farm, this child needs a hot bath.
"I'll take you home!" offered Beatrix, but we had to intercede. Our fences are not strong enough for two toddlers.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I'm Planting Seeds. . .
Occasionally, life seems to upset. At home last night, we thought over taking a dehydrated middle daughter to the ER last night but hydrated her successfully before falling asleep at midnight--overseas, Sri Lanka and Thailand and other countries suffer. When the tunnel of worries gets rather dim and heavy, the best place for me is outdoors among growing things. So despite the fact it was cold and rainy this morning, and despite the fact that I'm late to start seeds indoors, Merry and Beatrix and I left the sicElspeth safely in front of the TV with some sugary tea and toast.
I wrapped Bea in some raincoat contraption and Mere suited up and out we went into the cooling hands of our spring garden. . .
And there we found grace in the reliable, cheery, auntie-like tulips,
deepening grass and blooming trees,
lettuce seedlings
Martin's latest hardscaping
and our own soil mix.
And there's nothing like bringing dirt indoors by the bucketful to brighten a house dimmed by sickness.
So we'll just put ourselves in a bright window like the seeds and hope for warmer, sunnier climes soon.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Holy Monday Finds Woman Still in Robe, Hair Mussed
I'm watching the lady across the street take down her plastic Easter eggs from her redbud tree with a long pole and hook.
We spent OUR Easter out in the garden (Martin and I) since all three of our girls were sleeping after being hit by the Dreaded Tummy Bug. Here's the inedible Easter cake Elspeth and I made out of crayons:
Poor Elspeth is still fighting her way through, and now she's getting feisty and punching the air. Meanwhile the dandelions are turning a bright cheery yellow. Martin's reading Malcolm X for class while he tries to calm Elspeth with the other hand and I am finally contemplating a shower. We drove by a friend's house whose children are also down for the count and she came out to meet us with a wry laugh. "It's so nice to talk to PEOPLE," she said (though we're fairly sure we're playing host to the same bug we kept our distance). "There IS life beyond our own house."
Sometimes, sometimes, people, thinking about life, for just ONE day without the kids sounds SO good. As long as they came back bouncing and beautiful and smelling as sweet as the lilacs about to bloom in the Pump Garden. . .But these early days, when our kids pick up sickness on holidays, are good bonding times. Happy, happy bonding times. Times for the scrapbook of pestilence. I've only forgotten to take pictures, though.
Egads! Is that a garden ornament? Well, we usually stay away from garden ornaments like bad germs (and they tend to proliferate once you've opened that door), but this one I stuck in the children's garden, (can't help thinking of the Velveteen Rabbit becoming real, though this one is as fake as they come) to surprise the kids. Also, it's serving now as a marker for the PeeGee (what a horrible name) Hydrandea I stuck in the ground (bare sticks at the moment) and the chive and cornflower seeds I sprinkled there.
Happy late Easter. Hope yours was as peaceful, but less messy, than ours.
We spent OUR Easter out in the garden (Martin and I) since all three of our girls were sleeping after being hit by the Dreaded Tummy Bug. Here's the inedible Easter cake Elspeth and I made out of crayons:
Poor Elspeth is still fighting her way through, and now she's getting feisty and punching the air. Meanwhile the dandelions are turning a bright cheery yellow. Martin's reading Malcolm X for class while he tries to calm Elspeth with the other hand and I am finally contemplating a shower. We drove by a friend's house whose children are also down for the count and she came out to meet us with a wry laugh. "It's so nice to talk to PEOPLE," she said (though we're fairly sure we're playing host to the same bug we kept our distance). "There IS life beyond our own house."
Sometimes, sometimes, people, thinking about life, for just ONE day without the kids sounds SO good. As long as they came back bouncing and beautiful and smelling as sweet as the lilacs about to bloom in the Pump Garden. . .But these early days, when our kids pick up sickness on holidays, are good bonding times. Happy, happy bonding times. Times for the scrapbook of pestilence. I've only forgotten to take pictures, though.
Egads! Is that a garden ornament? Well, we usually stay away from garden ornaments like bad germs (and they tend to proliferate once you've opened that door), but this one I stuck in the children's garden, (can't help thinking of the Velveteen Rabbit becoming real, though this one is as fake as they come) to surprise the kids. Also, it's serving now as a marker for the PeeGee (what a horrible name) Hydrandea I stuck in the ground (bare sticks at the moment) and the chive and cornflower seeds I sprinkled there.
Happy late Easter. Hope yours was as peaceful, but less messy, than ours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
