No, you’re not looking at a painting of a suggested location for the remake of the Munsters or the Addams family, down-home version. That overgrown patch of weeds and meadow is going to be my garden this summer.
The local bears have already begun inspecting my composter and have made off with the lid to make sure there’s no confusion about whose garden this really is.
A week ago it was in the 30s, and this morning I walked out to the driveway to find that The first wave of dandelions had already bloomed and float away. This is a member of the second wave getting ready to open.
I know they’re weeds, and I probably won’t be so philosophical when I’m yanking them out of the garden next month, but right now, after a long rainy spring, they’re a lot more than weeds. They’re miniature sunflowers.
If was rainy and cooler for most of April, and the May flowers arriving right on cue. A couple weeks ago, I bought a basket of pansies. I am the world’s worst waterer –so bad that the Society for the Prevention of Picking on Pansies has sent several threatening letters warning me not to buy hanging baskets anymore. Mother Nature intervened this year and made sure they survived.
Back in April, just about the time I was trying to untie my creativity from a paralysis of over-analysis and get the last few pages of The Truth about Trolls laid out, Thing2 was exploring his and putting my resolve not to limit it to the test.
His spring time creative effort led to a rock pile in the middle of his room, the fruits of a “quarry” he and a couple friends had started near the kids’ Lord of the Flies training ground in the woods behind our house.
That was three weeks ago. The rock pile is still there.
He’s cleaned his room. I have cleaned his room-a bit. Laundry has been done. Baths have been had. But that rock pile is still there.
At first thing to wanted to hang onto it. Then he was afraid he wouldn’t clean it up the right way.
It was a story writing itself (Élly has been very understanding, as long as her pages keep developing).
Thing2, aware that the rock pile and the absurdities of our undeclared battle are serving as inspiration, is more determined than ever that it should stay. To his credit, however, he has moved it out of the center of the room so the rest of us can get from point a to point B without breaking or next.
I’ve decided to exercise my mom authority and remove the “inspiration” as soon as he goes to camp or I finish his story, whichever comes first.
When Thing1 gets on a new diet kick, The price of frozen concentrated orange juice on the commodities market gets thrown out of whack.
Lately it’s been apples and oranges–clementines to be exact. It’s also been lemon on everything, instead of adding salt oil.
Yesterday, for drawing practice, I picked out one of the clementines that had started to “age out” before it could be inhaled with the rest of the 5 pound box that was supposed to last three days but barely made it to two. I like to draw imperfect fruit more for some reason.
It was a cool great day on the Taconic Parkway, but the weather was perfect for walking around Manhattan.
We had zipped down to help a friend move a few things to their apartment on the upper West side and then headed to the other side of Central Park to see a Turner exhibit.
T1 drove us, a huge change from the country driving when he cut his teeth. It was unnerving but also a little thrilling to see him navigate Manhattan streets and city life with the skill and confidence of an adult.
The Big Guy lived in Boston when you’re first married, and our day trip reminded us of how much we once loved city living. we took a secured us walk from the parking garage to the museum and back, soaking up the music of at least seven languages heard from passersby and the aromas of myriad restaurants.
It was a feast for our senses and a change from the daily grind almost as huge as realizing that Thing1 will be perfectly fine when he gets out on his own. But a lot of times a changes isn’t just as good as a rest, it’s way better.
There’s that moment in April or May with the world goes from hinting at spring to exploding with it. I was lucky enough to have the day off yesterday to see it as it happened.
Portrait of Oscar asking one of the minions to please not bring snacks to meetings of the Guppy Poet Society as it distracts from the creative process (although this artist has never found that to be true).
I like my life. It’s busy, and it’s full, but, like most people’s, it’s pretty routine. We were headed to hibachi after practice to celebrate my birthday a night early since Thing1 had plans for tonight, but even that seemed pretty routine.
I love celebrating the kids birthdays, but I’m not really big on celebrating my own. I’m not afraid of getting older, but they seem to highlight how unsurprising life has become.
Last night’s birthday celebration turned out to be full of surprises.
We were all surprised when friends walked in after we’d ordered, and we said happy hello. The Big Guy surprised me with a gift certificate for a serious car wash–inside and out (guaranteed to remove that faint smell of spilled milkshake). On the way home the Burlington county sheriff surprised my son with a quick stop to let him and us know that the front license plate was loose, but the best surprise was yet to come.
We got home well after dark, and we knew we needed to get in and let the dog out. The car lights switched off as we exited the car, and realized I’d forgotten to turn on the porch light before I left. It was then that we saw the light on the gravel driveway and path. Surrounded by mountains, we get very little light pollution, so we instantly looked up expecting to see the moon.
Instead, we saw a field of stars, scattered like dust across a velvet sky. We stood in silence. The only sound was the wind moving through the trees, and just before the dog could be heard whining from the house to let us know she really had to go, I was quite sure I heard it whisper, “Surprise!”
In retrospect, regaling the boys with tales of Summer camp on Lake Champlain highlighted by trips to the original Ben & Jerry’s to tackle the Vermonster with my bunk mates could only have been seen as a challenge by your all-american ten year old.
After all, I only told them about the free T-shirts we got for consuming a scoop of every single flavor Ben & Jerry’s made in 1985 and not about the all night bathroom visits that followed. In the end, I could only blame myself when Thing2 spotted the Ben & Jerry’s store on Church street in Burlington and began mentally planning a scaled down version of the Vermonster for one – after a healthy lunch of course.
But it was vacation — however small, and I let him get two scoops of Fully Baked in a chocolate dipped cone if only to prove to him that, despite the start of a new growth spurt, his stomach hasn’t outgrown his eyes or his imagination.
They say the best camera is the one you have with you. It’s one of the reasons I abandoned my SLR camera in favour of one-handed point-and-shoots while Thing2 still wanted to hold my hand everywhere we went.
I’ve found the same holds true for art supplies. I have a drawer full of watercolour supplies, but lately, it’s the $6 purse-sized watercolour tin and purse-sized journal that have been winning the title of ‘best art supplies’.
The Big Guy and I rarely go to movies. It’s too expensive once you add snacks, and since most of the movies geared towards adolescent boys rely on volume to sell their stories, we’re just as happy to let the kids watch them on Netflix with the headphones plugged in.
We are religious about our local theater, Hubbard Hall in Cambridge, NY, however. The title on the playbill is irrelevant. When Hubbard Hall announces a new play, we make plans to see it with and then without the boys.
We were both reminded of the reason why on Saturday night when we went to see Tennessee William’s Glass Menagerie. The most autobiographical of his plays, it depicts the dysfunctional mother and her two dysfunctional older children trying to carve out a living and a life for themselves.
Hubbard Hall is famous for stripping down a play to its bare bones. Occasionally they incorporate elaborate sets into the stage design, but more frequently, minimal props and sets are used. Hubbard Hall has been fortunate to have had a string of wonderful directors and actors, and the less elaborate sets let the audience focus on performances where simplicity works to suspend reality for two hours. It leaves the viewer gripping their seat the entire time as they react to the play and pray for the spell to continue as long as possible.
Saturday did not disappoint. When the daughter Laura’s unicorn and then her heart are broken, I could see other audience members on the verge of tears. When the son leaves and reflects on his abandonment of his family, people next to me were audibly crying.
The play ended almost on a whisper, and, even though it was almost the cost of a movie for four (minus the snacks), the Big Guy and I walked back to the car in awe — as we always are — of how much bang we got for our bucks.
Picking My Battles 