We had just over 24 hours of very fine weather, starting Friday afternoon, and ending with rain during Saturday night. It is raining now (and I will have something to say about that in a later post). But you needn't fear, Northwesterners. The sun is coming back. Because I finally bought boots. I expect them this week, in time for the sun. I know--I'm sorry. I should have ordered them sooner. Jane and I were outside when the sun broke through, halfway through a wagon ride around the lower yard. Matt keeps a path mowed around the edges. Otherwise we've let it go. It is so beautiful. In my drive-by investigations, I've spotted no end of grasses and wildflowers. Just now there are glorious clumps of oxeye daisies coming into bloom. I can't help but love them, even if they are an invasive species. Something about them looks so medieval, sort of delicate and crude all at once. They look so natural among the grasses. Those are probably all invasive too, but I've been unable to identify any of them yet (so far I've counted five). I guess Jane will have to pick all the flowers and do her part for the environment.
We had planned a spring cleaning this weekend. You know how that goes. The only thing I've managed to do so far is wash the sheets and do last night's dishes. Ah well. We went to the Tenino Farmer's Market yesterday. It was so disappointing we just kept walking by. Hoping for a better showing as the season progresses. We went to the playground at the elementary school, which was totally depressing. Just gray and...it was a vibe thing. Especially compared to the environment at the Waldorf School, where the whole place just radiates calm, good spirits and a joyful sense of purpose. We kept on through town and I stopped in the local art gallery while Matt and Jane went to the park. I chatted for a while with the owner about art, and life, and Tenino. She asked me almost right away if I were an artist. I hesitated:
"My parents were artists so I'm familiar with the Northwest arts culture."
"So, you're a shy artist."
"I'm a repressed artist."
She said she was too. I brought up that Picasso quote about every child being born an artist, and the problem being how to remain one in growing up. (Do you think he really said that? I wish I had a source. On the offhand chance that any art historian's specializing in Picasso should read this blog, please comment.) She said she had been taking painting classes and asked what I had been doing. I said, Dolls. She asked me to show some there. Simple as that. Of course, she hasn't seen them or anything. But it is a very nice gallery, and I would be proud to have a doll or two there. I doubt they will sell. But still. You never know.
Anyhow, the day wound up at the Oly market to buy greens from my favorite vendor and get a good whiff of the bay. Ah. There it is. Much ado about not much, but here are some pretty pictures of the sun dawning on our damp lives.
As we paused to enjoy the sun in the corner of the yard, Jane nursed and I watched the sparrows wheeling over the stand of Oregon ash trees. It was magical, and I thought how few pictures I have of her nursing. If you haven't been there, nursing is hard to learn, and can be difficult even after you've both become expert, but in the end (that is, in my experience, I know it's not universal) it becomes like breathing--no, like the deep cleansing breath you take instinctively. Like the long drink of water that quenches your thirst before you consciously recognize your thirst. It becomes second nature, but without the mindlessness of a blink, or the unheeded breath. Many women have pictures of themselves nursing. I only have a couple, all self portraits. It seems a shame, in a way. Every day I consider when the end of our nursing days will be. I don't worry about how "misshapen" my breasts are (and they are) or anything like that anymore. I worry I'll forget what it was like. So here's a bit of insurance, modest enough to share.