Friday, May 16, 2014
On a rainy day there's not much natural light at 4:30 a.m. I made a pot of tea by feel and sat near the window to drink the first scalding cup and watch the morning break. It's going to rain all day and straight through the night before stopping. I will have to wait until Saturday to work in the gardens but the air is mild and the birds are singing so I shan't complain.
The weeks continue to sail by in a flurry of travel and grandchild sitting and time here at the cottage. All the occasions I planned way back in the fall - a month with the older grands while their mom was away, a week in Florida with my daughter - and work here at the home place including the addition of two extra garden beds this spring and the renovation of my patio have come and gone, though work on the patio is not complete nor have I given the metal kitchen cabinets their final coat of paint. But the summer is young yet. And if I continue to wake at 4 in the morning, I will have plenty of time to accomplish the myriad tasks I've set for myself.
I've also been spending time in the past, constructing a book about cousins, gathering photos and memories from twelve disparate people that used to spend every childhood summer together. If you've ever been deluded into thinking that we all live in the same world, try asking someone who went through an event with you to describe it. Between the faultiness of our memories and the transference of our perceptions and prejudices, we remember everything so differently. Thankfully the book consists mainly of photographs so each of us can think of those days in our own unique way.
The leaves are fully fledged now, the wee, raucous house wren that built its nest in the lilac bush near the door is back, the daffodils have come and gone, and the lilacs are in bloom. I pick a handful of asparagus every three days and the rhubarb leaves are the size of elephant ears. The car still runs and so do I. All is well in my world.