Feast
It’s been a good summer, a fast summer, a hot summer that felt like a summer. I’ve ticked most items off of my “summer to-do list.” I’ve canned enough tomatoes to last us through winter (I think), and have filled one whole freezer with fruit and veggies and herbs, too. This morning, I dumped the water out of my canner and put it back into the basement. I’m all out of jars, and my pantry shelves are full. And my mom has promised to can peaches for us, so what more will we need? Yesterday’s canning session took all morning, but it wasn’t hard: one last 1/2 bushel of tomatoes, whose beautiful red flesh I’m looking at right now, glassed in on my countertop.
I fully intended for this week to be about letting the kids enjoy what’s left of their holiday and that’s what it’s been (I hope they’ll concur): sleepovers, playdates, and yes, computer playing. We’ve biked to afternoon swim lessons; we’ve been on one evening picnic; we’ve bought shoes, had eye check-ups and gelato, and we’ve shopped for school supplies at Shoppers Drugmart. Actually, that spree coincided with a moment in my life which I may never forget. The kids were mile-a-minute enthusiastically comparing bandages (Barbie? Star Wars? Pooh Bear?) in the first-aid aisle when I got a call from my agent. It was the kind of call for which every writer quietly waits. She said, Have I caught you at a good time? I said, I’m standing in Shoppers with my kids. She said, check your email when you get home.
I’m struggling with how best to share this news, because it’s tenuous in-between news, neither signed, sealed nor delivered; on the other hand, anyone reading this blog has suffered through the dregs of naval-gazing and self-doubt, and it seems more than fitting to share with you the flip side of the equation–the moments of affirmation. I found myself weeping–not in Shoppers, but later, when I’d had a chance to let the news sink in, yet while it was still fresh and utterly thrilling and overwhelming. Why are you crying, Mommy? Because I’m so happy! (Apparently, that’s how I do happy; it ain’t pretty).
My agent was calling to tell me that I have offers on my Nicaragua book; though the offers didn’t quite arrive in a lump, they came close, in the feast or famine style that is a writer’s fate. Wow. I almost can’t type those words out or trust in them. Might it all evaporate if I look at it too closely, or wave it around too excitedly?
Because it is now the long weekend, I have several completely quiet days to think and to imagine. My agent, who has been with me and with this book for the years that I’ve committed to it, said she wished for me to relax and just enjoy the moment for what it is. Savour it. She, like my husband, gets an inside view of my efforts, hopes and ambitions, and I hear what she’s saying: This is where you are, right now. It took a lot of work to get here. There’s a lot of work ahead. This is one of those rare peaks along the climb, an opportunity, if I let myself take it, to stop for a moment and breathe in the view.
Pick-Your-Own Happiness
The kids are hard to budge these days. Friday, Fooey had a dr’s appointment in the morning and we all went along for that (me and the kids) and it went quite well, but Fooey’s reward afterward was to get to watch a movie … which everyone else decided to watch, too, and then she wanted another movie, and TV, and on and on, until it was early afternoon, and I finally summoned the energy to say: no! We are going out, and now. Our outing? To pick tomatoes for canning. It was a bit of an impulse adventure. And it seems to take a herculean dose of energy to get everyone organized (water bottles, sun hats, snacks) and out the door (“I’m not going!” “I hate tomatoes!” “You’re such a mean mommy!”). If half the gang is excited, the other half is almost guaranteed not to be. One must first find an idea–an outing, an event, a destination–and then one must convince all involved that it is worth being roused for, and when this proves fruitless, one resorts to the methods of dictatorship: everybody march! It’s for your own good!
And it is. I promise.
We found the field, using my googled and scribbled instructions … and by God it was beautiful. “Don’t you feel better already? Just being out here? Isn’t this wonderful?” (For which I received some muttered agreement from the masses, if not outright enthusiasm). The sun shone, the tomatoes were ripe and plentiful, so many on the vines that we had to be careful not to step on them (they are paste tomatoes and grow on vines that crawl along the ground). In forty-five minutes we had picked approximately 55 pounds of tomatoes–or one bushel. CJ was the most enthusiastic helper, which explains the number of green tomatoes in my bin. The older kids grew tired and sat in the grass under the shade. But I was positively ecstatic. Dirt, sun, sky, the scent of ripe and rotting tomatoes.
Arrived home brimful of renewed energy and direction, and brewed up a pot of pearsauce using pears picked by a neighbour’s daughter and delivered hours before, managed to get the pearsauce canned, and then flew out the door with Kevin to see a friend play her uke at a festival in a nearby town.
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Yesterday, I started the morning with a run, then got to canning the first 1/2 bushel of these tomatoes, which turned into 7 quarts plus 7 pints of tomato puree. Kevin took the kids out for most of the afternoon to the Buskerfest (spend-your-money-fest), and everyone returned home with giant inflatable hammers and bats (sibling whacking devices) won in dart tossing games. Then we headed out after supper, on bicycles, to see our first roller derby match at the nearby rec centre. The kids had a blast, though mentioned it was awfully LOUD (was it ever). And Kevin and I enjoyed it too; though it didn’t inspire me to want to lace up my skates any time soon. Yikes. They fall down hard and often, and onto concrete.
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Second round of canning underway today. Have put on a batch of yogurt, too. Tomorrow, we’ll be out of homemade bread, again.
Will I exercise today?
I’ve noticed that my photographs have gone downhill. And I’ve been writing nothing but blog posts. Is this a factor of time, or energy? Do I have a limited amount of energy–creative energy inseparable from energy generally–and therefore I am using up all of my creative juices on early morning runs/yoga sessions/learning to swim/bike rides? The thought is slightly horrifying. Then again, maybe it’s just a downward dip, a little fallow period in the days before the new school year begins, and the rest of life and duties and new (and familiar) directions begin again.
Home Economy Audit
Here is a list of domestic duties at our house (unpaid), as mentioned in my previous post.
Note: this was really fun to do!
Daily chores
– plan menus, prepare food, serve food, store food
– set table, clear table, wipe table and counters and clean under chairs
– wash dishes, put away dishes
– clean counters and sink in bathrooms
– sort laundry, wash laundry, hang laundry to dry, fold laundry, put away folded clothes
– water plants
– tend to children’s hygiene: bath/showers (3 x weekly), clip nails (weekly), brush hair (daily during school year)
– tend to younger children’s toileting needs
– organize creative activities for children (home-based)
– get children to and from school/nursery school
– empty backpacks, fill out forms from school, empty lunchboxes
– make school lunches
– supervise homework, piano/guitar/drum practice, theory homework
– arrange and supervise playdates
– bedtime: snacks, toothbrushing, reading/singing to children
– check and update scheduling calendar
– update grocery/pharmacy list
– tidy toys, books, puzzles, games in main downstairs rooms
– empty garbage, compost, recycling; take to curb (weekly); clean composter
Weekly chores
– grocery shop, order and pick up food from buying club
– make laundry detergent
– bake bread, make granola (bi-weekly), bake cookies and muffins, make yogurt (bi-weekly)
– clean toilets (bi-weekly); replace toilet paper, refill soaps
– vacuuming
– arrange outside childcare/babysitting
– outdoor, seasonal: water plants, tend garden, mow grass, sweep patio, tidy outdoor toys, shovel snow
– library visits, keep track of books due
– family meetings; allowance
– banking; bills; budgeting
– tidy toys in upstairs rooms (children’s rooms and playroom)
– change sheets
Seasonal
– canning and freezing
– arrange extra-curricular activities/lessons/camps, pack supplies necessary, provide transportation, entertain children who have to go along but are not involved
– sort and size children’s clothing/coats; organize by size in attic; give away; buy shoes/boots/etc.
– arrange for repairs (ie. appliances)
– birthday planning
– thorough cleaning/organizing of house and garage and yard
– apply sunscreen (beach/outdoor swimming/mid-day)
– pest control
Yearly
– eye appointments, dentist appointments, dr. appointments (as needed)
Squeezing Time
Wow. Some really interesting changes are taking place in my life right now. Changes are causing some conflict, and also opening up opportunities for discussion and potentially radical shifts (though I suspect these will be slow and steady rather than sudden and shocking).
This year, I’ve focused on my spirit, and that’s taken me to places of quiet reflection and also drawn out of me greater confidence and courage. My family has been noticing this is round-about ways, as I head out early in the morning to go for a run, learn how to swim, take time to bury myself in writing, head out as soon as supper’s on the table in order to take a yoga class, or set up the tripod and camera; all things that I am doing on my own, that don’t necessarily connect to their lives, and that might actually exclude them in one way or another.
Kevin and I have been struggling to find, in the midst of this extra-curricular activity, time to spend together. This morning it occurred to us that this is a problem of home economics. Kevin was the one who made this observation, not me. He observed that I am responsible for the bulk of the domestic work, and if I add in other work, whether or not it is of the paying variety, it means that my time becomes more and more squeezed. So I am writing down a list of all the domestic/household labour that I do (and that he does, too), with the idea that we work to split it more evenly, and also among the children, to some degree.
It’s quite a list.
Thinking about sharing this work, and therefore having time to focus more freely on the triathlon project and writing generally, brought me to a new revelation: I think part of me wanted to go back to school and become a midwife because then my time would be accounted for, my work outside the home acknowledged as important, and the family obligated to pick up (some) slack–because I wouldn’t always be there to do it for them, and with good reason. It is a little fantasy of mine to imagine children packing lunches for school and getting their own snacks after school, and then tidying up. (I did say it was a fantasy).
Kevin admitted that he has fallen into gender stereotyping–well, we both have. He works and earns the money, and I keep the home fires a’burning. Except I also try to squeeze in a side career, and it is indeed very squeezed. Partly this is practical: because he earns the money that keeps us afloat, his work-time isn’t optional, and mine, with its occasional grant/prize windfalls and trickle of odd-job cheques is nowhere near enough to feed and house a family of six. So, the divide has made sense. But we’ve also become trapped by it, and blind to it. Because of course my work will never add up to much if I can’t commit to or pursue freelance jobs that would require even moderate time commitment over and above what I’ve already carved out. And fiction writing is the kind of business that demands long-term investment, a risky investment at best. But without investment, it will add up to precisely nothing.
So, our question now is: how to go forward, treating what I do, outside of domestic duties, as work worthy of more time, and energy?
A Little More Summer, Please
Feeling vaguely melancholy; end of summer-ish. Pulled into the driveway this afternoon and noticed fallen leaves on the pavement. noooooooo! But, yes, the days are narrowing ever so slightly. The early morning run happens at the edge of sunrise, not in full light, and nights are cool, almost cold. My sweaters are starting to look comfy and appealing once again. But I’m not done with summer yet!
Witness, these tomatoes picked from our front yard veggie garden–almost exclusively cherry tomatoes, since that’s what we planted. I find the skins a little tough, so Fooey helped me make a recipe from one of her cookbooks, for roasted cherry tomato sauce. Nothing fancy, but it did require slicing each little tomato in half before drizzling with oil and roasting in the oven: Fooey’s job. Nothing makes her happier these days than a job. She is never more cheerful than when she’s been asked to help, and when the job’s done she declares, “That would have been a lot harder without me!”
Often, that is true.
The recipe called for a lot of fuss at the end because it had to be pressed through a sieve to strain all the skins out; only a whiff of roasted tomato remained in the sauce, which we tossed with hot pasta and served with queso duro blando, which I substitute regularly for feta. Albus declared it a bit bland. My kids are used to a chunkier sauce. I am not a sieve-it cook. So I won’t bother to post the recipe.
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In other news, I am considering training to complete a triathlon. I am working out a regular training schedule, and I am even learning to swim (kind of critical to the whole triathlon concept). In fact, I think I’ve learned (front crawl, head in water, breathing to the side), though my neck feels a bit stiff after a lot of practice. The technique will need to be finessed, but I feel a sudden understanding for people who love to swim in all waters, even deep cold Canadian lakes … it’s peaceful under there, calm, all noises stilled except for the underwater sounds, and the sound of the body itself, experienced from the inside. I might just become a swimmer at the age of thirty-five. That would be something. I’ve always wanted to learn … and I’m not sure why it took me this long to jump in and try.