this is how it is!

Remember this one? Aesop’s fable about the thirsty crow? (Crows are caw, cawing in the distance as I write this, actually.) She drops pebbles in the pitcher, raising the water level in order to take a drink.

Well, that’s how everything’s happening here these days!

And, I find, that’s okay. A little here, a little there, in moments when we can. It’s how I’m planting. It’s how we’re painting. How Elsa’s practicing flute for a concert. How Lincoln’s art happens. With the fullness of spring, that’s just…how it’s gotta be!

Some pebbles from this week…with big thanks to Kat for hosting Unraveled!

{in making}

. . . a few little trees in the ‘future forest,’ L-R: the two oaks I started from acorns (the other 10 went to the squirrels and chipmunks!)…the tulip tree transplant that ‘took’…and a shovel marks the spot for Elsa’s apple tree. (I know she’ll want to plant it herself. She germinated the seed from an apple a favorite teacher was eating last spring. It’s lived on our kitchen windowsill — ’til now. It’s time!). And someone loves the idea of not mowing this lot. Imagine? With a nose like hers? Part beagle, dachshund, pug…voles, beware.

. . . a 48″ cut of linen to sew a sink curtain for the cottage. Such a simple project! But still, takes time to wash-press-measure-pin-thread a new bobbin in my old Singer-and stitch.

. . . and swatching for a summer ‘tee’ that I’d love to wear by Labor Day. (And I don’t mean Memorial Day. I mean Labor Day. In September.)

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{in reading}

Just one finish to share — and it’s long ago and far away, as I wrapped it right before retreat. (That’ll teach me to leave my thoughts in my head instead of in draft! I’ll do my best.)

Summary from Goodreads: ‘Nell McDaragh never knew her grandfather, the famed Irish poet Phil McDaragh. But his love poems seem to speak directly to her. Restless, full of verve and wit, twenty-two-year-old Nell leaves her mother Carmel’s home to find her voice as a writer and live a life of her choosing. Carmel, too, knows the magic of her Daddo’s poetry—and the broken promises within its verses. When Phil abandons the family, Carmel struggles to reconcile “the poet” with the man whose desertion scars Carmel, her sister, and their cancer-ridden mother.’

This short-listed novel for the Women’s Prize has been widely read and reviewed — though I read none of that ’til after. (I never do; I don’t want to be swayed. And I would be.) Many here have already read The Wren, the Wren ; and if you haven’t, and you want a fantastic review, there are tons to google. (I always like NPR and The Guardian.) I’ll add a few pebbles, though.

: : I related to the young Nell, starting out and finding herself…staking autonomy…and loving the wrong man for the wrong reasons. (Or thinking she’s loving. Thinking they’re loving.) And even when I didn’t want to…I related to Carmel, as a mother to a young adult daughter. (I laughed at myself, at least.) (We all try our best, with what we’ve got to work with!)

: : The toxic lover, the setting, and family ties reminded me of Louise Kennedy’s Trespasses (shortlisted for the same prize last year).

: : Did other readers find the ending abrupt? It could’ve been me… I listened on Boundless Audio, which doesn’t show my reading progress. (And I hadn’t checked it manually.) The Wren, the Wren was a 7-hour listen after two audios twice that length — so I was in a ‘long listen’ groove. If you read it, I’d love to hear.

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These are my current hardcopy reads…

…and my current audio. (So many reasons I’m reading this one — which I’ll save for when I finish. But it’s 17 hours. Which is a lot of pebbles these days…so…!)

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That’s it. Now, to visit the makers and readers at Kat’s! Thanks for popping in. ♥