I feel as though I’ve lost a month. It slipped through a gaping flu, withered on either side of the holidays, and then got swallowed up by days on a train, stroller-ing around “Bisneyland” and days back.
With winter break over after today, tomorrow we’ll drop from 4 to 3. Friday will be the first real day of just 2 as the little one and I embark on stay-at-home-ness. And then it’s the weekend.
I’ve been sliding into this new realm. The days of the week can become meaningless easily. My calendar that overlapped with color-coded priority for ages routinely has “No Events Today.” Which leads to me missing the single event I do have and no showing my haircut…
I’m learning how deeply I’ve relied on routine and ritual to allow myself to layer on “too much” for “so long.” It created the ability for a highly-functional auto-pilot life. One that I am looking forward to discovering. I want to be present and aware in ways I didn’t have space for. I’m choosing to slow down and see and feel.
Here’s to trying new things.
I’m glad my peas are delicious. Normally, I like to sauté the shoots in some butter or oil, add salt and garlic, and eat them warm.
A gardening fellow, perhaps with floppy ears or a skin-like tail, is continuously insisting they are best eaten fresh, crisp, and raw.
I’m looking at two weeks of utter free days with usual evenings before the holidays are here. Then daycare will be over and I’ll be starting a brand new use of my energies: stay at home parent.
All and any tips, guides, or suggestions very much welcome, especially if they’re for a parent who needs a balance of space and quiet, avoids shopping, and can’t eat most of the things that baking most days would create. (I’m missing baking, homemade bread, pie, and holiday cookies a lot these days, can you tell?)
Orderly interspersed with wild, chaos and creation. A balance resulting in my favorite mess.
The freeze came.
The hottest September on record followed by the coldest November 1st.
Sweet (potato) neighbors creating safe haven for small (golden cherry tomatoes) to survive.
But that’s not what I’m hunting for.
I hunt a little differently than many hunters.
But I bring home a haul all the same.
Tomorrow will be more of the same, as I’ve still more than half way to go here, and two more spots in the garden for hunting.
Like here. Where the sheets didn’t fully protect the green beans in the background.
The sweet potatoes took on the yellow pear tomatoes and won. The cages now house greenery for the tubers (hopefully) down below.
They made a move for the sun gold cherries but no. Those cherries made a counter maneuver. Take that, sweet potatoes.
I had discouraged this. (Out of sync). Seeds from a farmer’s market watermelon surely didn’t want to grow sown in August. More than 40 days over 100 degrees in the last weeks when all experts said we were four months too late.
Unless your goal is self-amusement, arguing with children is futile, I hear. So I didn’t argue.
Now, sweet pale blossom, will you fruit?
” What’s the black spots called, mama?”
Those are the seeds.
“Watermelon doesn’t have black seeds! That’s crazy!”
It’s melon season here. The kids are having melon from a neighboring farm that had them at the farmer’s market, priced with Sharpe for $5 or $6.
“I want to plant them!”
Melon season is harvesting now, love. The seeds like to be planted in the spring.
“They won’t mind. I’ll take good care of them.”
They might not grow, honey.
The watermelon sprouts beside the wilting radishes.