It's August 18

I flew to Portland, supported my favorite bookstore in serious fashion, had dinner with a dear friend, and went to bed by 9. Drove to Belgrade, caught the boat to Pine Island, didn’t even recognize my radiant oldest and so first waved at my radiant youngest and his BFF, Z. An hour of hugs, stories, thank yous, “do you have everything you need?,” goodbyes, tears, and back to the mainland. Drove to Augusta for lunch at Margarita’s, our post-camp tradition, and then to Norwalk for the night.

It’s since been a whirlwind, and I am now in WV with J, O, and two besties, Z and H. They are wonderful kids, and this adventure has been such a welcome reprieve from the horrors of Covid-deniers, the spread of Delta, scarce ICU beds, Afghanistan, Haiti, wild fires, drought, heat, floods, and so forth.

I am thankful for people like Gregg Popovich, basketball coach extraordinaire who is always on the right side of things; Laurie Bristow, UK Ambassador to Afghanistan who is showing remarkable integrity and courage; the women in Afghanistan showing remarkable courage in the face of Taliban rule; and all who are setting limits against those who refuse vaccinations and/or masking.

I am thankful for nature and its splendor and magic and the hope it insists upon and the reward it will provide for even the slightest of assistance or respect.

I’m thankful for the Irish lit thread I follow on Twitter; despite being on my own with four boys and five cats right now, I’ve finished Boys Don’t Cry by Fiona Scarlet and am on pace to finish tomorrow, My Name is Leon, by Kit De Waal. Both are marvelous, and in my queue are many other modern Irish writers’ books as recommended by the Irish Literary Times feed.

Also thankful for Ted Lasso and its harmonious cast, Jeremy Clarkson and his farm and its merry band of caretakers/characters, good cinnamon rolls, and my very good fortune in this trying thing called life.

Be safe, friends. Love to you all.

The last night

For fifteen minutes, the wind blew ferociously. The sun sail tried so hard to escape its moorings, while some of the trees bent sideways. Jinx and Spot were unperturbed. And then everything is still, and the sun setting is a radiant orb sinking into the horizon, and Tom is heading home, and I miss him already.

Earlier today, I was just out of the shower, and he was downstairs watching the Olympics. I kept hearing this voice, shouting. Was he calling my name? Did he need help? But when I yelled back, no answer. I decided to comb my hair and rub in some lotion rather than worry.

EMILZY!

WHAT? OMG, WHAT?

Oh, I thought you were out.

I am not done yet, give me a minute.

Sometimes you just want a minute. In any case, I got dressed and moseyed downstairs, and we were both somewhat sheepish because I didn’t mean to snap, but I don’t have award-winning ears from a floor and over away, and he didn’t mean to be annoying. And it is so nice in this stage of marriage to snap or misunderstand and then understand and then it’s all fine.

Then he told me he was calling me all those times to watch BMX. Y’all, I could not give two craps about BMX on a manmade course. My mouth may actually have dropped open. But T looked so earnest and energized, so I, too, am now thrilled for the gold medalist who, it seems, was in the air, threw his bike, he or the bike did a flip, he caught the bike, and then landed it on the ground and kept going. That does sound impressive. I am also glad I chose to comb my hair and not worry, first.

In any case, this was our last weekend in WV before I pick the boys up next weekend in Maine. Tonight is my last night here in WV sans kids for who knows how long, and while I’m sad T left, I also relish this last evening. I just made a baked potato in the microwave and glopped leftover chickpeas, peppers, and tabbouleh on top because who cares, and also sour cream, and honestly it hit the spot. I’m enjoying my glass of rosé, and I just finished an excellent thriller about The Troubles, Northern Spy by Flynn Berry, and am now into Under the Harrow, another Berry suspense read.

We worked so hard this weekend. Since taking ownership of this place on June 18, we have, in addition to getting the boys to camp, both working, and my sister and her family being in town, replaced two vanities, replaced six or seven light fixtures, painted so many square feet of wall, trim, cabinet, and ceiling, replaced many of the ceiling tiles in the basement, done an enormous amount of gardening and land work, gotten the Gator stuck in three trees, saved said Gator, mowed over a yellow jacket nest, found and removed a tick, fallen in love with three barn cats, been awestruck by the havoc raccoons can wreak overnight, gone through countless bags of birdseed and bricks of suet, fixed a leaking solar panel tube (that purportedly heats the water in the pool), replaced all the floor and many of the wall registers, cut down some trees, and expressed shock over how sore we are. I’ve spread almost all that mulch.

It’s been an absolute joy. Tonight my happiness is tinged with bittersweet.

The birds are magnificent, Tom has let me bring to fruition my entire vision for this home AND says how beautiful I’ve made it, family and friends have loved visiting, the boys can’t wait to return, and as Covid seems to be trying out for its second season, I’m thankful to have this respite.

I am leaving early tomorrow morning, heading home to say goodbye to my sister and her kids and embark on a week of appointments and to-dos before heading up to Maine on Saturday. The next time we come here, it will be with Jack and Ol and two of their friends. It will be loud and happy, and I hope they like the friend lair I’ve made them.

A male cardinal is drinking from the bowl of water I leave out in the garden for the cats, butterflies, whatever is thirsty. The tiniest little toad hopped across my path earlier- truly it was no bigger than my top thumb knuckle. There were seven deer in the pasture this morning, but the goldfinches must have left because while we saw them daily in June, we don’t see them anymore. Next year.

look at that little arm!

Please get vaccinated if you’re not, get a booster if recommended when you can, mask up, and stay safe.

The most amazing combo delivery

Yesterday morning, around 7:30, I packed up and headed out for my last solo week in WV before I pick the boys up at camp. Tom is joining me on Friday. I feel joyous being here, though in a subsequent post I will write about listening to the profoundly upsetting, moving, and horrifying testimonies from Sgt Godell and Officers Fanone, Hodges, and Dunn yesterday in the opening meeting of the January 6 Commission. If you missed their statements, please do yourself the enormous, albeit difficult, favor of finding and watching them. Those men are incredible heroes and the very best America offers. The Republicans who enabled and continue to support the insurrection are the very worst.

Jinx, Spot, and I sat in the driveway for a while in a tangled love fest of purring, fur, and satisfied meows. Spot loves to step on me with his back two paws while being petted. It cracks me up. Ruby is also an absolute delight though still a bit more reclusive.

Anyway, I attempted to garden to process my grief, actual feelings of pride to be an American because of the four policemen, disgust in being an American because of all the Republicans who refused to even listen to those policemen’s statements (and the shill who called them all Crisis Actors), and so forth. But I was foiled after a short while because it was 105 degrees. Undeterred, I went inside, called a local farmers market, Spring Valley, and asked if they delivered mulch. As the woman from whom we bought this property told me, “out here you don’t buy bags of mulch; you order a truckload.” I laid down about 8 bags of mulch before realizing the wisdom in her words.

Spring Valley said they absolutely do deliver mulch and asked how much I’d like. I told them and then asked, in hopeful jest, if they might also bring out a cinnamon roll. THEY SAID YES!

Y’all, for about $119, I am momentarily being delivered the equivalent of 52 bags of fresh mulch AND a freshly-made cinnamon roll (theirs are the best other than Molly Wizenberg’s). It’s like the best gift I could imagine! It’s the little things. I love it out here.

Off to receive!