Heavy fog hung in the last yellow cherry tree leaves this morning. I don't know where the birds go when there's fog--perhaps they are hiding in a blackberry thicket. When we lived in our wee red house, I'd hear crowds of birds in the valley of thorns by our house, see a flash of raven wing and then a sparrow rocket out of the brambles to a low tree branch. They have their ways, birds do. I love them. I wish they would come back to the backyard. That means increased dedication on my part, since I've let the feeders stand empty for a couple weeks.
I finally unearthed the skeletal sunflowers in our front yard, dragging them through the street around to our growing compost pile. The birds had picked them fairly clean and whatever they'd left, the squirrels had cleared by jumping, grasping, and swinging on the huge blossoms. It was a sight to behold!
This morning Merry woke me in her finest band clothes, brandishing a brush and hair clips. "Can't you do something with my hair?" Veteran's Day concert today. Martin was off to a conference in Seattle and then Elspeth tumbled down the stairs wrapped in her fleece blanket, full of vigor: "I thought of a story ALL NIGHT LONG and I have to get it down now!" First she sketched a picture of her main character--a girl with an enormous, braces-laden mouth, then she bolted some eggs and fell to work writing the first chapter. Next Bea padded into the kitchen with bright eyes and soft cheeks: "Today is a good day! We're going to have an Intruder Drill!"
(Wow. What a weird world this is when your kid is looking forward to an Intruder Drill, with all the shades drawn, doors locked, and quiet imposed, "So nobody can peek through the windows!" Bea sang. I felt startled by her innocence.)
Then it was the inevitable rush out the door and the desperate call to action: SHOES! BACKPACK! GO! GO! GO! And Elspeth is singing some song about how glad she is that the house is not burning down and Bea is complaining about her shoes which are never tight enough and I'm pulling off my pajama pants and shoving bare feet into hiking boots and pulling on my coat over my p.j. top, and Charley is on my feet, begging not to be left behind. And then we are driving to school through the fog and resigning ourselves to being a little late and watching Bea walk through the grass with laces dragging freely and untamed despite the fact that two minutes later the shoes WERE tied. . .and then Elspeth's at her bus stop with her favorite math-y boys and I'm driving home and keeping Charley away from the cat in our garden and then at home and
SIGH. Reheat a cup of tea, sit down. Yes, silence, and my father-in-law in the rocking chair and my mother-in-law coming down for an English muffin and coffee and three adults quiet around the breakfast table. Nobody would guess the level of activity that had already taken place in that kitchen by 9:00. Mornings start early and last long.
Still fog at 11:30 and I daresay it will just be that sort of day. It's cozy and the last leaves glow in the gloom. . .
I finally unearthed the skeletal sunflowers in our front yard, dragging them through the street around to our growing compost pile. The birds had picked them fairly clean and whatever they'd left, the squirrels had cleared by jumping, grasping, and swinging on the huge blossoms. It was a sight to behold!
This morning Merry woke me in her finest band clothes, brandishing a brush and hair clips. "Can't you do something with my hair?" Veteran's Day concert today. Martin was off to a conference in Seattle and then Elspeth tumbled down the stairs wrapped in her fleece blanket, full of vigor: "I thought of a story ALL NIGHT LONG and I have to get it down now!" First she sketched a picture of her main character--a girl with an enormous, braces-laden mouth, then she bolted some eggs and fell to work writing the first chapter. Next Bea padded into the kitchen with bright eyes and soft cheeks: "Today is a good day! We're going to have an Intruder Drill!"
(Wow. What a weird world this is when your kid is looking forward to an Intruder Drill, with all the shades drawn, doors locked, and quiet imposed, "So nobody can peek through the windows!" Bea sang. I felt startled by her innocence.)
Then it was the inevitable rush out the door and the desperate call to action: SHOES! BACKPACK! GO! GO! GO! And Elspeth is singing some song about how glad she is that the house is not burning down and Bea is complaining about her shoes which are never tight enough and I'm pulling off my pajama pants and shoving bare feet into hiking boots and pulling on my coat over my p.j. top, and Charley is on my feet, begging not to be left behind. And then we are driving to school through the fog and resigning ourselves to being a little late and watching Bea walk through the grass with laces dragging freely and untamed despite the fact that two minutes later the shoes WERE tied. . .and then Elspeth's at her bus stop with her favorite math-y boys and I'm driving home and keeping Charley away from the cat in our garden and then at home and
SIGH. Reheat a cup of tea, sit down. Yes, silence, and my father-in-law in the rocking chair and my mother-in-law coming down for an English muffin and coffee and three adults quiet around the breakfast table. Nobody would guess the level of activity that had already taken place in that kitchen by 9:00. Mornings start early and last long.
Still fog at 11:30 and I daresay it will just be that sort of day. It's cozy and the last leaves glow in the gloom. . .
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