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27/09: A little road trip
Last weekend we went on a little trip north - near Malone, to the Wilder Homestead. Of all the homes written about by Laura Ingalls Wilder in her books, this "little farmer boy" house is the only original house still standing, and they were celebrating Almanzo's 150th birthday. Oddly this consisted mainly of a a civil war battle reenactment. (?). We have also had the pleasure of a return visitor, Erin, who had planned to spend an additional night with us on her cross country tour. We expected her early in the morning, and told her we would be asleep, but would leave the light on for her. But, she was not here when we woke, and we figured she had made different plans - it turned out however, that life had different plans for her, swerving to avoid a recently dead dear in the road, she flipped her car and totaled it. Luckily she walked away from the accident with scratches and bruises - and without her glasses. After several phone calls, I tracked Erin down, and Mom and Dad were sent to her rescue - she had spent the day with some kindly rotarians in Glens Falls, and then Mom and dad passed her off to us halfway up the Northway. She has made a wonderful guest, the girls, Tory and I have been delighted to have her. She is full of stories, laughter, music, and dancing. Dad found her bright red glasses under her broken window along the road and she spent a morning repairing them with super glue and nail polish - she's very industrious. She leave us and her broken Mazda behind her - and flies out of the Burlington airport early tomorrow morning.
13/09: A little color
Color is creeping into our lives, as the girls end their second week of school, the nights are getting cooler, and red is beginning to bleed into the dark green of the late summer maples. Foreseeing the winter ahead, Tory has color swatches from magazines and hardware stores taped at random spots near the molding of the front door, checking daily, as we pass with the girls and their backpacks, which color appeals to us today, which will become the color of our dining room walls, when the snow falls. The old house, even after 150 years, continues to settle, little cracks appear in the plaster, and are repaired, over repairs, over repairs, spackled, sanded and smoothed, prepared for another coat of paint, marking the passing of another generation through these walls.Both girls return reluctantly to school – for Lizzie it is her first year of Kindergarten, and it means a long day away from us. Hardest for her is lunchtime, when lost in a cacophony of voices and elbows in an echoing cafeteria, she feels lonely and overwhelmed. Glimpsing her sister at a table across the room seems to make things worse, reminding her that she is alone, and she breaks down into sobs, or so were told. “I could see Zoe, but then she moved, but I could still see a little bit of her head.”
The transition is a little awkward for us as well. Tory and I both find ourselves alone in the house at times. No children, the rooms are quiet. Three O’clock comes and the voices return, Clarissa, the new little girl from down the street, bangs through the screen door and suddenly screams and footsteps fill the house.
We are gathering the last tomatoes from the garden. In the empty rooms, with the fall morning air seeping through the screen, I patch and repair the cracks in the walls, ready for a new color. We transition to a new season.