Assortment

Not So Quick

 

This wasn't just any bowl of popcorn. It was the first bowl of home-popped in almost a year, so, naturally that made it the best we'd ever had!

All sorts of things that have been packed away for months are seeing the light of day, as the pile of empty boxes from just yesterday can attest.  Books are on shelves, there's popcorn in the bowl, that package of vintage iron hooks arrived in the mail (for hanging towels in the bathroom, and aprons in the kitchen), a wool braided rug (curb-side score) warms the living room floor, an antique oval mirror with beautiful patina waits to hang between the sconces over the master bed, a vintage copper light fixture goes up over the kitchen sink today (woot!), exterior paint is being applied, and electricians will be working their wonder to properly ground the house (ever been shocked by touching a metal roof before?).

That's what is happening. I won't mention what isn't (it's quite long), because I'm reckoning with the want it right now, and the stamp my foot, and the I'm tired of waiting.  Gracious, it's easy to want everything inside and outside this little house to be completed right now!  To have all those ideas and all that vision brought into reality in one fell swoop.

But.

The thing is, (I tell myself) if you're constantly chewing on what isn't yet done, you may completely miss the taste of what is. So, hang on there. Take a look at this thing called slow -  not the dilly-dally sort, but the savory kind. See? See how it melds things together in a way that would be lost on fast? 

Ahh!

Yes. 

 

 

 

The Good of the Boy

"Mama, would you eat a peanut butter and pickle sandwich for $10?"

"Oh, probably not. Would you?"

"Heck, yeah!" 

"Would you eat an entire jar of peanut butter for $50?"

"In one sitting? No."

"NO??"

"Okay. Would you rather eat an entire jar of peanut butter, or pick weeds for five hours, for $50?"

"I think I'd rather pick weeds."

"SERIOUSLY?"

We're in the kitchen in late evening, the teenager and I, and these are the questions. He scoops sugar with his fingertips, pours it into his mouth.

"How about a quart of sugar for $1,000,000? Would you eat that?"

 

 "I suppose, for a million, I would."

He grins.

I'm making pizza; he's making lemonade and caprese. He sets the jar under the tap, watches the water foam sugar and lemon juice. With the wooden spoon, he stirs. 

I slice the tomato thin, so there will be enough to go around (so many green tomatoes in the garden; not so many red). He washes the basil, and I show him how to slice a chiffonade. His hands layer the mozarella and tomato. He scatters the basil. I drizzle olive oil and balsamic. 

We set the table, call the others. Together we eat in the dusky evening. 

Later and darker still, when dishes are done, and the flowers are back on the table, we loll on couch and living room chairs, three of us: daddy, mama, teenager. The other two are off upstairs, winding down with Calvin & Hobbes and Football Tips & Tricks, but the oldest boy? He sits slanted in the easy chair, one knee hooked over the arm, settled in for a good long chat. 

And we do. About everything and nothing.

He tugs at his forelock, his habit when thoughts are swirling. I watch his mouth forming words, smiling. I hear him laugh. I see his opinions and convictions settling deeper inside. 

The idea that he would turn into an alien creature when he hit thirteen is one to which we've never subscribed. Just like we refused to look at age two as terrible. A broadening? Yes. More independence? Yes. More responsiblity? Yes. All of these, growing steady by jerks. There will be falling down and getting up over these next few years, that we know.

 

And the good of the boy will just keep getting better. 

Today, I Love...

That summer isn't over yet. 

Have the loveliest of weekends, friends!