Morning News

before it is time to wake up, M (3) yells out in her sleep, as she is prone, and I attempt to salvage the wee hours of darkness by stumbling over to her bed, perhaps to rub her back or tuck in her blanket.  instead she grunts, as though peeved, yells something about a giving her a snack.  having failed in the offer of comfort, I bestow a stern, "be quiet now."  she is dreaming.  before I can regain the warmth of my bed, N (1.5) yells from his room.  in the last few weeks he has decided to take on the grumpy morning demeanor of his sister.  so now instead of happy mumbles and chants in the morning, he half wails and moans in mock agony until I am forced to get him up out of desperation for ear solace.  even though it is a much more stressful way to do things, when I am too tired, I will not get up bofore N.  such is the case this morning, yet I go downstairs to clean out the woodstove and restock it with wood before I go up to save N from his own despair.  I also happen to have a stiff neck this morning, my wife and I have long discussions about stiff necks and what they imply.  for my current purposes, it implies that it is harder to hold two grumpy children on my lap as they try to wake up and try to whine the other out of their space, daddy's lap.  we sit in front of the woodstove in the morning darkness, I try not to move my head too much.  N is taking great delight in eating cereal and milk from a bowl like his sisters and has done well.  until this morning when he decides to dump his bowl down his front.  I'm not sure how much milk has dumped, how much has been drunk, until I observe a puddle of milk forming underneath his high chair, dripping out of the slot designed for a strap.  I wipe him off and postpone a thorough cleaning of the chair until L (8) is on her way out the door to the bus (or the "cat bus" as M lovingly refers to it.  or the "BSSSSSS!" as per N.) having completed her morning routine with a few smart alec comments, almost forgetting something, and kisses all around, although N trips while trying receive his kiss and must now wail instead of receive his sister's blessing.  I now turn my attention to the high chair and discover there is a decent amount of squished food/milk packed neatly into the fittings of the chair strap.  I decide it is time for a complete overhaul and am required to get a few tools out of the drawer in the kitchen in order to take everything appropriately apart.  M and N also must watch and help hold the tools as I do this.  eventually all the straps are removed, the packed food bits are painstakingly picked off the floor and appropriate surfaces cleaned with spray.  I work the straps into the first load of laundry for this "laundry day."  my wife is rustling in the kitchen, staunchly making hot oatmeal and pours the coffee I have managed to make in between the kids.  M informs me that N has pulled yet another glass ball ornament off the tree.  I search in vain for the balls matching cap and wire, and while I am kneeling in front of the small tree, M and N decide to parade around the tree.  N half trips over the light cord and pokes his face in the branches.  it is too tight for a good parade and I redirect his enthusiasm.  I remind M to wash her hands after going potty and make sure that N does not try to wash his.  my wife has time for an impromptu conversation and after several failed attempts we let the kids watch an episode of Maisy so that we might have our 5 minute conversation over breakfast.  we speak about the nature of stress and back aches, stiff necks, the on-going "Amish project", what the day may hold and why are the holidays so stressful?  what are we doing wrong?  how can we simplify? etc.  I ask about a few of her Amish patients and offer to start her car.  (which happens to be my Dad's truck - as her car is no longer working, long story)  we wife does not keep the habit of hanging keys up on the key hooks I bought at Lowes last year while carting around two kids and deciding to get the "real wood" mounted hooks even though they were more expensive.  instead they usually are in her brown bag, her purse, or one of her coat pockets.  after exhausting these possibilities, she remembers that she set them on the ground beside the raised beds last night while peeking at the spinach.  I retrieve them in my flip flops and start the truck, taking care not to back over any children that may have slipped out the back door without my notice.  my wife rubs my neck briefly until the attacks by N are just too much, she shows me a few stretches for shoulders and is on her way.  I water the outdoor cats, who in the winter only get small windows of opportunity to drink as their dish freezes so quickly.  I start the laundry for the morning, after finding a brown bag with handles for M who is asking for a "basket" to carry things with.  I attempt to negotiate a parallel play opportunity, as N also wants the bag.  this works until M informs me that N has torn the bag.  I find another bag.  we have about 3 days until the holidays break loose upon us.  it is now 10:03 on a chilly Monday morning.

Lettuce Visions

Guest blog by Olivia

Last night around midnight I realized that, if I keep paying off my med school debt at its current rate, I will be 57 when it is paid off.  I can hear my uncle Phil joking, "Hey doc, how's it going making the big bucks?" all the way from Pennsylvania.

I suppose I could have become a famous neurosurgeon.  I could have done 10 more years of residency, and paid off my loans after two days on the job.

I suppose I could have gone to Hershey med school with the dairy cows, instead of Einstein, where all the partying smart kids thought I was a little touched and left me behind when they took the express bus to Manhattan. 

I suppose Matthew and I could have continued to rent a duplex in Lewisburg, never owning a home.  Allen Roth would have been quite proud of us.  We could have raised 3 more mini-Wengers across the street from Catherman's bakery, filling their bellies with the best eclairs on the planet, while singing "I've got a mansion, just over the hilltops" after supper every night.  But I got a REALLY bad case of nesting instinct while expecting N.  I didn't care so much about how we'd pay off a mortgage when I was two weeks postpartum.

We have lived in the prairie house for over a year now.  I'm working almost fulltime.  Most of my patients are on public insurance, and better thank their lucky stars for every Democratic vote next election.  I keep dabbling in the genetic diseases of the other, not-so-Democratically voting, part of the county.   A little failure to thrive here, a few seizures there.  Add a pinch of dystonia.   A few pleas to the Big Guys for a little more sacred time...it makes a bittersweet stew if you know what I mean.

There really isn't much to throw my arms up in the air and cheer about.  Until I stumble out of the house after a day sitting in gloom puddles, to see M's latest creation.  What finesse!  What fresh home-grown spinach in the middle of November!   Note the rain-proof roof, and the wind-proof clasps.  Regard the frame built from salvaged wood!  I shout Hosanna.   Blessed be the Name of the LORD!!!  I'm going to heaven, after all.



The November Masterpeice

 

Pine needles are automatic mulch if you plant your lettuce in the right place

Our Passionate Work

The woodstove in our living room is quietly and increasingly beocming a part of the daily routine.  In spite of the warm afternoons of the past week, the winter cold is on its way.  This summer and fall, I've spared what moments I can in order to split and stack a supply of wood that rests sheltered in the barn.  I don't yet have a good sense of how much wood we can burn in one winter.  N can hardly wait to handle the splitting maul and the axe that I use to make kindling.

The essence of a good life involves sitting still long enough to hear the wind, watching the light patterns move slowly along the wall, on a cold morning in late fall.  It also involves many days when this is not possible.

Those whom we love, we despise because of our own weaknesses that are revealed.  To love fully is the ability to accept the seasonal, cyclical patterns that confront and obstacle our moments together.  The sustenance of commitment is revealed in the callused hand that works unseen.  Its touch upon soft skin an undeniable surety, our passionate work.

Bringing in the Wood

long tall trees twitching in the strong wind

muddy meadow trails and

a bridge made of old spongy logs

not strong enough

to help fill the barn

with firewood this year

the world askew with leaves

the offspring of the summer past

the whine of twin chainsaws

and the strong men in my family

all of us strong

hefting eight foot logs about

staying abreast of the upswell

of Autumn

vivid memories

stacked into neat piles

and saved

for the cold short days

of the coming winter

These Thoughts on the 7th

of October
when geese fly over our driveway
in the morning
I always check their direction
making sure they're headed the right way
like, toward warmer climates, for instance
although today was warm
enough
to work up a little sweat
while shoveling earth
and making holes the exact size
of half-bricks
to border a garden
that still holds
my wife's vegetables and herbs

and suddenly the leaves fall
and quietly startle me
and the silence
as I work outside
the small moment of peace
that fell upon me
after a full week
of single parenting

now, too, the ladybugs
must be hatching
they come over me
as mosquitoes
with a small bite
and I constantly twitch
like a horse with flies
they are so plentiful

In order to finish the bricks, I had to pull out two Chard plants, unbalancing the two steady rows where they had grown strong and tall.  I was surprised by the density and strength of their roots.  What a hardy plant!  So abundant.  We could not keep ahead of it despite stir fry and soup.  I felt guilty tearing them out, especially without my wife here to come to their rescue, or speak on their behalf.  She cannot stand to throw away or destroy even the minutest vegetable.  Should I cook these two plants yet tonight?  Sometimes my wife playfully refers to me as "the constant gardener" - a name taken from a movie - some mystery, perhaps a Poirot?  I remind her consistently that I am a slow learner.  Seldom do I latch on to something without rubbing my nose in it experientially for a good while.  Such is gardening.  It takes me a while to wade through the discomforts and stress of the logistics - and to actually experience a garden in a full cycle - such as bring up a jar of grape juice from the basement in the middle of January, or eat green beans year round that we have frozen, etc. - until I start to be filled with passion and compassion about growing food in our yard.