Clackamas County Fair 2017 comments: 59

The end of the summer here, and we go to the fair. It's one of my favorite days of the year and we had such a sweet time. There is no trace of toddlerishness in Amelia anymore — no stroller, no bulging diaper bags of tricks and treats, no tired tears — just pure excitement and joy at all there is to see and do. We sauntered and strolled, riding ponies, petting bunnies, buying prairie hats, eating kettle corn. How I love to see this child happy, love her smile and her laughter and her skipping and her jokes, her poses and her priorities, her excitement and her wonder and her hilarious nonchalance over things I think should spark wonder. I love it all, and I love her.

I must admit that I'm tired. Wonderfully, happily tired, but still — pretty tired. Heading into the homestretch of summer, that final sprint after the long, long marathon of summer, and I've apparently stalled out before even starting the last leg. Andy's been on vacation for almost three weeks and it feels like we've had something to do almost every single day. I know that can't be true but it felt true up until yesterday, when I huddled in my office, sewing school clothes and trying to organize my thinking about something, anything. Last week my childhood friend Jenny flew in to hang out with us just for a day (she's a flight attendant). We hustled out of swimming lessons, met her over at Kennedy School just after she landed, spent the afternoon having lunch and lounging in the soaking pool there, then we dropped Mimi and Andy off at home and she and I went up to Powell's and browsed books, then we went to Piazza Italia for dinner, then we got ice cream, then we sat at the fountain and talked, and then I drove her back to the airport around 9 p.m. It was so great to see her. I was collapsing into bed as she was getting on the plane to go back to Chicago (poor thing!).

Yesterday I cut out four pairs of corduroy pants and four calico peasant blouses with tiny gathered pairs of pockets for Amelia, who has few school clothes that fit her anymore. I ordered (from Etsy) the same back-to-school dress pattern that I'd made her last year and after I'd spent a half an hour ironing all of the pieces I realized that it was a size too small. I hurriedly ordered a size 5 and hopefully it will get here in time. We made a family trip to Fabric Depot to get thread and elastic and olive-green and rust-colored corduroy. I came home and sewed in happy isolation, breathing deeply, ripping out all my stupid mistakes and redoing stuff as necessary. It's been so long since I've sewn.

My heart is just breaking for the people of east Texas and Louisiana who are affected by the catastrophic flooding right now. I pray that the rain stops and they can rescue all of the people who are trapped and stranded all over Houston. I'm heading downstairs to box up five or six packages of unused diapers that we have leftover in the basement to send to the Texas Diaper Bank. I didn't know this but diapers are not provided by disaster relief agencies. I'm praying for everyone who is struggling there right now. If you are from the area and you have suggestions for other groups to donate to, please let me know. I really want to help.

River Rats comments: 57

Oh, sweet river days. Vacation time. Breezes and birds and messy hair. Dirty feet and slivers and games at the table. New Shakey Graves on repeat day and night (perfect river music). Bubble baths and raft rides and so many rocks. Darling girl running wild and free. I laid on the blanket reading my book for hours. I sat in the river reading my book for hours. I couldn't sleep, any of the nights, and stayed up way too late, reading my book for hours. Despite this, I'm still not finished (this is officially the longest book I've ever read). Campfires and conversation. Two shooting stars, two satellites, one bald eagle, tiny sandpiper, a beaver carcass, turkey vulture, many ducks, countless crayfish, three owls (heard). Mist rising in the early mornings and quilts and coffee on the porch and a ridiculous number of marshmallows for dessert. Dahlia bouquet from the honor stand on the way back. It's always too short and I'm always glad to get home.

Birdland comments: 76

No sooner did I threaten to cut down the plum tree than did about a million birds show up, acting so adorable and sweet and storybookish within its branches that I'm torn, now, about chopping it down. What to do!!! What also happened is that we instituted "mom time" out in the front yard in the very early mornings when Andy's off for the day so that I'm able to sit out there alone and drink my coffee, listen to birds, water the garden, and oh, you know, think quietly for just a few secs. I get up and, before I take my shower, I hightail it out and enjoy what has always been my favorite part of the day: earliest, earliest morning. Eventually I fill up the bird bath and sit in the chair in the shade across the yard and wait. Within five or ten minutes, birds come bathing. It's the cutest, sweetest thing. They — especially the robins — splash around in the water and then fly up to the bare branches of the plum tree to fluff and dry. It's just adorable. On Sunday morning, a super-adorable thing happened when I got to watch a mama robin feed a teenager robin — see the picture of them up there? They're hard to see, being totally camouflaged by the tree, but my gosh. How cute is that. I swear the robins are coming just to visit me when I go out there, especially when I'm alone. They do always seem to show up within a few minutes! My own little Mary Lennox moment, and I just love them.

I feel so very behind on everything. I can't get my chores done and I'm stressed, so birdwatching feels desperately necessary but also crazily indulgent somehow. Summer at home with a little kid is seriously chaotic. There are so many things that I want to write about and talk about and think about, but I just won't have time or brain or breath until preschool starts again and I have a few more unengaged hours. And there aren't enough kids home during the day in our neighborhood to make it easier. I mean, there are no kids at home during the day in our neighborhood. Back in My Day, everyone was home. Everyone. We played outside or at each other's houses on the block every. single. day. To the point of utter, complete, blissful boredom. Sigh. Sometimes I worry. Where is everyone?

Nevertheless, in spite of having a scant amount of free time/me time, I checked five of the books on last week's book list out of the library, even though I'm only halfway through Coming Home (by Rosamunde  Pilcher). The librarian said that the damage I did to the book wasn't even worth noting, so that was a nice surprise. I renewed it, because it's taking me forever to read. That book is enormous! But it's really nice to read. Sort of slow, with a mildly remote protagonist (which is, oddly, relaxing). But it also just feels measured and capable and . . . professional . . . I need not worry . . . and that alone is chillaxing me down to my toes. Also, her descriptions of place are so on-point I sometimes read them twice. I mean, this:

    August, now, and a wet Monday morning. Summer rain, soft and drenching, streamed down upon Nancherrow. Drifting in from the south-east, low grey clouds obscured the cliffs and the sea, and heavy-leaved trees drooped and dripped. Gutters ran and drain-pipes gurgled, and the weekly wash was postponed for a day. Nobody complained. After a long spell of hot, dry weather, the sweet coolth was welcome. The rain fell with relentless steadiness, and thirsty flowers and fruit and vegetables absorbed the moisture with gratitude, and the air was filled with the incomparable scent of newly damp earth.   
    Loveday, with Tiger at her heels, emerged into the outdoors by way of the scullery, stepped out into the yard, and stopped for a moment to sniff the air and fill her lungs with this sweet invigorating freshness. She wore gumboots and an old raincoat, pulled over her shorts and a striped cotton sweater, but her head was bare, and as she set off in the direction of Lidgey Farm, the rain descended upon her hair, causing the dark locks to curl more tightly than ever.
    She took the road that led towards the stables, but turned off before reaching them, following, instead, the rutted lane that led up onto the moors. Here the ancient lichened stone walls were divided from the lane by a deep ditch, now running with water, and gorse grew in prickly thickets aflame with yellow flowers smelling of almonds. There were foxgloves too, in profusion, and pale-pink mallow, and tangles of wild honeysuckle, all the way up the lane, and the dark granite of rock wore velvety patches of saffron-colored lichen. Beyond the wall were pasture fields, where Mr. Mudge's Guernsey milk cows grazed, the grass a brilliant green between the random whale-shaped crests of hidden boulders, and overhead gulls, flying inland with the weather, wheeled and screamed.

How pretty is that! By typing it out I'm attempting to conjure a rain spell, because we haven't had any in over fifty days and last week our temps were over a hundred degrees.

How are you guys? How's your summer? How's it all going out there, anyway?

 

***Mimi just found this picture floating around somewhere in our bookshelf (I have not seen this one in years!), and I realized I forgot to say thank you for all of your incredibly sweet anniversary wishes. Thank you very, very much. We really appreciate them! You are so kind. Thank you. XOXOXO

P.S.: I made my dress from a Style sewing pattern but I can't figure out what number it was. It was really fun to make and is one of my favorite memories from being engaged.