pictures and prose about our recent adventures on and off our tiny island
The last of a wedding season happened this past weekend. I carried Mr. Mark II, held a heavy lens. Sigh. I feel so lucky to have this and her be a part of my days. Thank you, amazing friend. xoxo
:::restart and savor:::
The funny thing is, I actually woke up two hours early. The fog horn came and went, came and went into our dark bedroom. It’d been since April I last heard it so continueally, so rthymically. A funny reminder of season’s change with accompanying hints in fog horns, early darkness and a cold garden. I had two early hours to myself in this cold house while holding steaming coffee. I wrote. I read knitting patterns. It was hard to switch gears when the alarm clocks went off upstairs.
I should have restarted.
Somewhere around french braiding a moving target, missing a brand new sneaker and another’s refusal to leave the kitchen table I should have taken a minute. I can only now imagine the instant mood change that would have followed, Come on, girls. We’ve got at least three solid minutes of trampoline jumping to get in before we brush our teeth. I know now what it’s like to send a family out into their days with a Mama who lectures, yells before eight in the morning. It hurt my heart to waste a day on grumpiness. It’s been hard to adjust to soccer practice, homework, lunch packing, amidst all the other duties that make our home run smooth.
I miss beach days, sandy toes at ten in the evening with a still-light sky.
When I refocus, inhale, I see there’s a bit of time left, a bit of red to the blackberries left on our vines. There’s still a bit of warmth to the sunlight.
Savor, we must. Smile, we must.
We’re adjusting. We’ve filled in the big, brown calendar: practice, Macbeth rehersals, meetings, appointments, whole parts of days spent on soccer fields.
We’re layering, pulling fleece and wool from closet’s backs. We’re readying the yard for rain.
For almost a week, I couldn’t get into blogger. So I knit, played more board games. Brussels sprouts came into the garden faster than we could find recipes.
It all worked out for the best. I had some security hole or full cache or some downright bad luck with blogger. Thinking of switching to Word Press. Anyone made the switch? I’d love to hear your feedback.
We walk the path just beyond our driveway
to where Saturday mornings now hold our thoughts.
Lucy has waited so many years on the sidelines
ready to play like Betty.
Lucy owns it on the field, charges after the ball
& still finds time to suck on her fingers.
She begs for Gatorade, sets her snacks on the sideline
so she knows what’s waiting for her.
Two games into the season on the team named Sharks and she’s scored more than two goals,
but who’s counting. She loves t-ball (which she is totally obsessed with)
and sideline throw-ins.
We want her to smile
just as she does.
Betty is in her third year of soccer.
She’s moved into forward
chasing the ball, excelling at passing.
She dripples it down the field for about twelve seconds before passing,
Here, would you like a turn? we’ve heard her ask a teammate.
She’s so polite.
Oh, sorry, we’ve heard her say to the opposing team as she stops a goal
from her favorite position as goalie.
She loves soccer, is currently reading some soccer Fairy book
and thinking of changing her favorite color to green
since it’s her team’s color.
I am skiier, a former lacrosse player
a sailer and a former fencer
but I am not a sports fan.
I do it, I don’t watch it on tv
and I certainly don’t play it in fantasy.
Luke is a fisherman, a skier, a hunter,
a mountain biker, a frisbee golfer
and most certainly not a tv sports fan.
I am suprised at how much we love organized sports for our girls:
the joy of cheering on a team mate, doing your best,
taking turns and coming together with children
you might not otherwise play with.
Yup. We think team sports are
so very rad for our girls.
|Betty, with raccoon hat, picking apples|
a time when harvest and gather and prepare
smooshed with nesting and pre-term labor
each time I roll out dough, I remember how hard it once felt
to lean into rolling pin’s pattern
how hard it once felt
to place a pie in our oven
each time I make an apple pie,
I think I could own a pie bakery or, at least,
eat a pie each day
end a day with a slice smothered in
extra-sharp chedd-ah cheese, Vermont style
start a morning with a slice and an Americano, Seattle style.
I always use [this recipe from the archives].
It’s a wonderful thing,
having friends with farms and orchards
and sheep dogs and tractors
even a funnier thing,
when our babes pick the smallest of the ripe
to spend what feels like hours peeing, coring
plum sized apples
to turn on some Halloween Yo Gaba Gaba for our girls
close the kitchen door
polish off half an apple pie with my love.
:::Hello, Fall with all your early darkness:::