Yesterday was my last day at Wednesday Bowls at Drake, and lunch with my friends, the Other Four Introverts. (Our lunch times are pretty quiet, as you can imagine. Still, none of us ever wants to miss!)
And, I want to do nothing. I want to be outside. It's just not quite time yet for that.
But I also hit a wall this time of year. Things build for weeks on end, the pace is intense, so many details, so many families with which to communicate, and when it suddenly comes to a halt, I'm tired. Am I getting too old for this?
I have lots of ahhhh time coming in June and July. Time with Sarah, Lilia, Daniel, Jack. A couple of short trips are in the works, but mostly I feel a need to pull back, spend time in solitude, write, and soak. I love being home.
This has been a succulent season burgeoning with life and color and fragrance. The trees have bloomed profusely, everything's green, the birds are going crazy, we have fragrant lilacs in the side yard, and a new flowering almond we just planted recently. The morning glories are in the ground, beginning their upward trek, and we've moved the houseplants to the deck. I've thrown a few seeds in this week.
Now that Sarah has a house, she's caught the gardening bug. She calls regularly to update me on her seedlings, and texts photos of all the mysterious things popping up in her yard. "What's this?" she'll ask. "Pretty," I tell her. "No. I mean what is it?" she says. "I told you everything I know," I say. "It's pretty. Get a gardening book."
She's growing everything from seed or bulbs herself: tomatoes, peppers, lettuces, carrots, Brussels sprouts. Gladioli, zinnias, what else? It's a long list. They've tilled up the whole back yard.
I get caught up in her excitement, but at the same time I feel a little sad, a little uneasy. I know from experience that she's in for at least a few small disappointments: critters, blight, insects, too much or too little rain, a cold snap, wind, or something unexplained that will take plants unexpectedly. Fruit will wither on the vine for no reason. Flowers will droop, leaves will curl and shrink, for no apparent reason, when only yesterday they were growing, blooming, thriving. In other words, guaranteed loss.
And she's enjoying it so much at this stage. . .checking new growth every morning, getting more things moved outdoors as the ground warms. I had to laugh when she called to ask how many geraniums she can put in one pot. "What sized pot?" I asked
"Twelve inches." "One." "Can't I put more?" "What does the seed packet say?" "One per twelve inches." "You're the mathematician."
"But, really, how many can I put?" "Six." "Six?" "That's what you want to hear."
Daniel is following his bliss, and Lilia is finishing up Second Grade. Both are going strong.
A couple of months ago, Linda loaned me the novel, Driftless, which I borrowed for Jack, though I ended up reading it too. It's a story set in Southwestern Wisconsin, where he grew up, so I knew that alone would pull him in. Before he finished it, I picked up some more by the same author from our library ( David Rhodes), and purchased everything written by him that the library didn't have.
I sat down one weekend and read Tony Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See, then moved on to The Signature of All Things (Elizabeth Gilbert of Eat, Pray, Love fame). Then I read two books which proved to be great companion reading: Leonard Schlain's The Alphabet Vs. The Goddess (a game changer for me in so many ways!) and a reread of The Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd. In the meantime, Helen mentioned Etty Hillesum in a recent email, so of course I am re-reading An Interrupted Life. (ahhh. . May this way of life continue!)
So, this is just a checking in-catch-up sort of post for me. Happy May-ing to each of my dear ones!