Hello

I dug hay out of my hoodie pockets this morning and drove the children to school under heavy, spilling clouds. (The hay came from tucking my perennials in for the winter yesterday.)

I picked the last straggling flowers before pulling out the plants.

Today I am babysitting granite roasters of tomato purée cooking down into tomato paste and roasting green tomatoes, onions, garlic, and peppers for salsa verde. I’m sorting through the potatoes and storing them away and digging some lovely fat carrots. The forecast warns that winter did not forget about us and is about to deal us a preliminary jab.

Goodbye, cheerful snaps.

Goodbye, warm sunshine and dips in the lake.

Goodbye, tan arms.

Goodbye, fresh fruit by the boxful.

Goodbye, front porch tea drinking with my friends.

Goodbye, flip-flops.

I don’t much like goodbyes.

Hello, neglected house, with your bulging, untidy drawers, and cobwebby corners.

Hello, cozy winter evenings.

Hello, towering book stack.

Hello, coffee by a friend’s fireplace.

Hello, candles and throws and cozy sweaters.

Hello, soup and bread suppers.

I like hellos much better.

What did you do this week?

I ran out to pick these lovelies in the dark tonight. Magnificent fall weather has kept the flowers blooming and the cucumbers and tomatoes churning out deliciousness. I want to hang onto October forever.

I know it’s annoying when people brag and brag about their children, but sometimes I can’t help it. It’s probably a good thing this cool dude has a naughty streak that includes terrible things like eating chapstick and getting out all the games and dashing mugs to bits on the floor. This keeps us all a little more humble, including the cool dude himself.

These days I find myself stumbling around for something to say when people ask me what I’m doing this week or what I did last week. Well, I did laundry and canned a few more tomatoes, watered the flowers on the porch, dragged Quinn away from the mug cupboard, swept the floor a dozen times, baked bread, cleaned out a cupboard or two, cooked seven suppers and as many breakfasts, baked cookies, moved empty jars from the garage to the kitchen, and full jars from the kitchen to the basement, extricated Quinn from the cupboard under the sink, washed a few windows, had tea with a neighbor, drove to and from the school at least eight times, rocked my baby, fed my baby, bathed my baby, swept out the garage and hung up the bikes on their hooks, took the girls to piano lessons, bought milk and apples and cheese, picked flowers for the table, canned some apples, hunted for stray library books and returned them, shopped for birthday gifts, returned birthday gifts, poured kombucha into jars, dug carrots and potatoes for meals, and cleaned under the bed.

I wish I could accomplish an impressive feat like deep cleaning my entire upstairs or sewing our winter wardrobe in one week. But that would undoubtedly be the week no one would ask about my activities. Imagine what a waste that would be!