Four grown kids, two delightful granddaughters, constant, long-time partner. An academic (scholarly teaching is the buzzword), I read, knit, run, garden, and more on a very small (Canadian) West Coast island. The other foot (pied à terre, indeed) is in the city, where I shop, visit museums and galleries, go to the opera. . .
I'll be in one of those long meetings most of the day, the kind I hate calling a "retreat," because if I were really retreating, I'd be in my garden.
But let's pretend, 'kay? I'm in my garden, and if you join me there, I'll offer you a glass of wine or a cup of tea and we'll sit and chat and soak up some sunshine. . .
After the day's long meeting, Pater and I have a French lesson, trying to limber up our tongues for next month's travels. . .
I expect to be completely exhausted by the time I get home at the end of the day, but these blooms are sure to refresh. . .
And I'll look ahead to the weekend -- the daughter with the growing belly has invited us to join her and our son-in-love on a Mother's Day hike. In deference to said belly (scheduled to deflate sometime in August), she promises the hike will be a gentle one. This recent marathoner is grateful.
Also coming up on the weekend, last opera of the season, Don Carlo, a new opera to us.
Lovely doings, in other words, over in Vancouver. . . .
but my garden will be waiting for me to come back and sit