Monday

Henry chewed our beautiful John Hanley pillow.

The bathroom electrical outlet won’t work.

My husband’s car is rattling.

Is this when we start blaming Mercury being in the microwave?

Tuesday

At lunchtime, I decide to take a walk at Macomber Reservation, my favorite local forest. I bring my stack of notecards with me so I can practice some French phrases before my trip.

When I arrive, I am mesmerized by the autumn that has touched this place. Goldenrod is growing thickly in the meadows. The grasses are turning red and are illuminated by the afternoon sun.

It’s gorgeous.

The brook has run dry, but as I sit on the moss-covered bridge, I can see a small trickle moving slowly over the pebbles.

This walk is more like a wander. It is not for exercise or any other purpose but to notice and observe, exactly what I needed.

I hear a bird in the distance. It sounds just like when you flick your tongue to make knocking sounds. I suspect it’s a woodpecker, but I don’t know for sure.

Trees precariously bend and contort their bodies in ways I’m not sure how they are still standing.

I feel like the character in the book I’m reading. Wild and at home in the woods. October was connected deeply to nature.

Unlike her, I was never a nature girl when I was younger. I hated school field trips to the nature center. Dreary brown walls and dead bugs all around.

But now... I get it.

As for those notecards?

Well, they stayed tucked away in my jean jacket the whole time.

Wednesday

Today I realized that life’s too short not to cut your peanut butter and jellies into triangles.

Thursday

This morning, I played hide-and-seek with the squash.

I went on a hunt to see how many I could find. I counted eight, but I have a feeling some are better hiders than I am a seeker.

Friday

Between Taskmasker commercials, I flip through my French notecards.

Une table pour un, s’il vous plaît. A table for one, please.

Puis-je m’enregistrer plus tôt ? Can I check in early?

Pouvez-vous m’aider ? Can you help me?

As I say m’aider, it hits me.

Oh my goodness.

Is this where the distress signal “Mayday” came from?

It makes so much sense.

It’s so satisfying when your brain figures something out all on its own. It’s like finding hidden treasure.

Saturday

We head off to Boxford for the annual Boxford Apple Festival. It’s the first fall event of the season, and it’s filled with apple crisp and vanilla ice cream, local vendors, games for kids, and goats.

James loves goats, and when we found out that these goats needed adopting, I knew what we were in for. From that point on, it was a game of trying to convince us we should take one home.

“How would we get them home?”

“Buckle them up in the backseat.”

I insisted that while they were adorable, we were not getting another animal. Two dogs are simply a handful. I cannot handle another one.

We were still talking about the goats that evening.

Sunday

Early morning in the park with Henry before the afternoon rain.

It’s so quiet and calm. I find a twisted, knotted-up tree with burrows in the bark and a family of squirrels running up and down it. I imagine that they are siblings chasing after each other after their mother told them to go outside and play.

The field is taken up with geese. Every few minutes, you can hear honking in the distance as the next group arrives.

I wonder if it’s a family reunion or simply a convention to discuss very important news.

Tonight’s dinner: homemade pizza. I’ll chop some red onion, peppers, and broccoli and scatter them on top with fire-roasted corn and fresh mozzarella.

A simple yet delicious way to end the week.

Until our next cup of tea,

Abby

Monday

It was one of those “it does what it says on the tin” kind of days. Labor Day came with lots of little tasks.

After a walk for myself, which has become unusual lately as I’m usually joined by at least one of the dogs, I passed out flyers around the neighborhood for our yearly block party. My friend and I plan it every year. We get the street closed, I put up a tent, and we invite the neighbors over for a little neighborhood gathering.

Usually we host it in September, but the month got away from us, so October will have to do. We can call it a harvest festival if need be.

I took Henry to the park for more training. Because he’s leash reactive, walking him around the neighborhood in the middle of the day can be difficult. The local park has a wide-open space where we can keep enough distance from everyone that he doesn’t freak out.

I won’t lie, his reactivity has been such a stress for me.

But despite that, it was lovely being in the park today. So many people were out and about. A couple flying kites. Kids on the playground. An older man with his fold-up chair and a blanket in the shade of the trees.

It was really nice.

The rest of the day was filled with all those necessary but mundane tasks: laundry, taking the bins out, helping with homework, packing the school snack bag...

Domestic labor.

Tuesday

Picking out a book to read next is probably as exciting, if not more, than actually reading it.

I love to read by the season so I can really feel the world I’m jumping into. I’m currently reading Women Who Run with the Wolves, but to be honest, I’m having a hard time really immersing myself in it. So, I think I need something a little lighter.

For my trip to Paris, I have The Gastronomical Me by M.F.K. Fisher packed. It’s a travel and food memoir, which feels perfect for reading while I’m having a glass of champagne en terrasse. I didn’t want to bring some cliché “Paris” book that says I’m a tourist.

Once I get back, I plan to start October, October by Katya Balen. I’m intrigued by how it will transport me into the natural world. Then, as we get closer to Halloween, Little Witch by Anna Elizabeth Bennett will be there to remind me that the ordinary world can be magical.

I don’t typically read fiction, but maybe these children’s stories will surprise me. Maybe they’ll touch something I didn’t know was there.

Wednesday

It was one of those up-at-3:00-AM nights.

I started thinking about how sleep is such a strange thing. We all need to lay down and sleep. As I pondered this, a question popped into my mind...

Do worms have to sleep too?

What? Where did that come from?

In case you’re now curious, yes, worms do sleep. Well, they rest. Not quite the same as humans, but good enough for me.

Back to bed.

Thursday

The garden called to me this morning.

I decided to join her for breakfast. I picked a few flowers and put them in a vase, gathered my yogurt and blueberries, and brought a book outside.

I sat peacefully for a few minutes, read a few pages of my book, and relaxed.

It was lovely to catch up with her.

Since I set her free, I feel like I’ve been avoiding her. But it’s nice that she’s welcomed me back in.

Friday

Does anyone else put Bake Off on for their dogs?

No?

Just me?

Saturday

Eye appointment today. I can’t remember the last time I had one. Some things get better with age. Vision is not one of them.

I come out with a prescription for reading glasses. I could get a pair at the pharmacy, but I use this opportunity to fulfil my dream of being a glasses wearer and head to Warby Parker.

I don’t pretend I haven’t been looking at all the options online for weeks, but now that I’m face to face with them, I must try them all.

I’m immediately drawn to these wacky, bold, raspberry-red ones.

No decisions made. We need to head back to pick up our son from a morning of fishing with his friends.

I come home still thinking about picking out my first pair of glasses and decide to head back out.

I can’t wait.

I’m greeted by the employees, and they are just so nice. One woman asks if my shoes are Rothy’s. I know exactly the ones she’s talking about. I say no, mine are the other ones that start with the “V.” I can’t remember the name exactly.

I wander around and go through all of the glasses at least three times, taking pictures and trying to decide. I keep getting pulled back to the raspberry-red ones.

I try them on for what feels like the hundredth time.

The employees gush over them.

But can I trust them?

I ask them to be honest, and they all confirm they are the ones.

After a few clicks of a button, my Raspberry-Red Drew Warby Parker glasses are ordered.

I think about how fun they’ll look with the outfits I’ve picked out for Paris.

I just hope they arrive in time.

Sunday

I’m trying this new thing where I keep my same sleep schedule even on weekends. This means bed around 8:00 PM and up at 5:45 AM.

Henry, of course, follows me downstairs and promptly falls asleep in his little bed.

It’s so beautifully peaceful this time of morning, both inside and outside.

To wake myself up a bit, I go outside. All I can hear are the buzzing bees and the birds.

I look inside an open squash blossom and see a bee rolling around in the pollen. It immediately reminds me of a kid playing in a ball pit.

I hope he’s having fun.

I suspect today’s dinner will be an easy one: spaghetti, garlic bread, and a well-dressed salad.

There’s homework to do and a week ahead to get ready for.

Until our next cup of tea,

Abby

Monday

First day of school.

I insist on a picture and am naturally met with resistance. I convince James I only need one.

My camera roll says I took twenty-three.

Tuesday

It starts to rain as I pull into the parking garage. The last time I was here was ten years ago, when James broke his arm.

I have no idea where to go. Like a maze through endless corridors, I finally find the right office.

I walk up to the desk to check in, and the receptionist asks the reason for my visit.

I manage to squeak out, “Mammogram.”

In the waiting room, there’s a mix of anxiety and confidence. You can tell which women have been here before and which are there for the first time, like me.

They call my name.

I go back for more images. It’s a little more intense than Thursday’s mammogram, but I get through it. Then I’m ushered into another waiting room.

This time, all the women are wearing the same purple cotton gowns as me.

The room is warm. It’s welcoming. It smells nice. I’m sure they’ve designed it that way, in case someone is about to receive bad news. There’s none of that familiar sterile hospital smell.

I’m convinced I’m fine. I’m just wasting their time when they could be helping someone who actually needs it.

I’ve checked my breasts countless times since they told me to come back.

It feels like I’ve been waiting forever.

My technician reappears in the doorway.

“I need to bring you back in. The radiologist wants more images.”

My chest feels tense. I’m frightened.

I walk into the room and see a picture of my breast with a circle around one spot.

She positions me in the 3D mammogram machine.

“Don’t breathe.”

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick-tick.

“Breathe.”

I’m not sure I can.

Back to the waiting room.

Then another woman calls my name.

Time for the ultrasound.

She tells me my left breast looks fine.

Phew.

But they want another look at the right.

I lie back as she spreads warm gel across my skin and moves the ultrasound wand over my breast. For a brief second, I’m transported back to being pregnant with James and having a sonogram.

When she finishes, she tells me the radiologist will be right in.

She isn’t.

I wait.

The anxiety creeps back.

I try the 5-4-3-2-1 exercise my therapist taught me.

A curtain.

A sign that says Clean.

The hospital bed.

Cabinets.

A picture of a rose on the ceiling.

The gel on my chest.

The washcloth in my hand.

The buzz of hospital machines.

Footsteps in the hallway.

My own thoughts.

Finally, the radiologist comes in.

She’s lovely.

She takes the wand herself and spends a few more minutes looking.

Then she explains that she sees an area of different density, but she believes it’s simply breast tissue and the HRT I started this summer could be causing the change. She wants me to come back for another mammogram in six months.

I leave feeling... unsettled.

Should I feel relieved?

Probably.

But it feels like a door has opened that I wasn’t ready for.

Later that afternoon, my results appear in my health portal.

BI-RADS 3. PROBABLY BENIGN.

I get stuck on the word “probably.”

Wednesday

A very welcome beautifully ordinary day of work, tea, and shopping for my upcoming trip to Paris.

I try to decide between the hot pink and red sneakers and the white and forest green.

My heart says the hot pink ones.

My head says the white ones. They’ll go with more outfits.

Thursday

There comes a point in the season when I let the garden go wild.

I don’t try to tame her or interfere. No more deadheading flowers. I leave her to breathe. Let her hair down a little.

I never know when this time will come. It’s just a feeling, like my garden is speaking to me, saying:

Please let me be.

Friday

There is a heavy haze in the air today. It’s so thick, I can see rays of sunlight touching the grass.

Against my better judgment, I take both dogs on a walk together. They act like they’re about to go on a hunt in The Fox and the Hound.

Like the garden, sometimes I think they can’t be tamed.

Saturday

A stack of wood has been sitting in the driveway since July.

Lighting the wood burner when the weather gets cold is one of our favorite things. We ordered a full cord this time because we ran out last year. We weren’t going to let that happen again.

Every day, I look at the wood and think about the large task ahead of me.

Today was the day I finally got started.

I enlisted the help of James. Nothing like the promise of a little pocket money to get the job done faster.

A few hours later, the driveway is clear.

Sunday

The rain doesn’t know if it’s coming or going. Lashing down one minute, sunny skies the next. It feels a little like the week I’ve had

I spend the morning binging How to Get to Heaven from Belfast. Around 1:00 PM I decide it’s time to get a shower and head to the store. On the menu tonight, lasagne.

Shiiiit. I forgot the garlic bread.

Until our next cup of tea,

Abby

Monday

I open my laptop and brace myself for a mountain of unread emails. It’s not too bad. Fall semester is creeping closer, and I’m quietly grateful I got ahead of the work before we left.

I take a late lunch and head to the park with Henry. We practice his loose-leash walking and building his confidence. He jumps up onto the stone wall by the playground and prances along it. I have a feeling he thinks he’s one of the kids.

When I get home, I make fruit scones. Once they’re out of the oven, I put them on the cooling rack and promise myself I’ll wait until they’ve cooled before having one.

It takes exactly two minutes to break that promise.

I slather one with strawberry jam.

Tuesday

A beautifully ordinary Tuesday. An early morning walk. I see the family of deer again. The babies look like they’re getting bigger. I know the feeling.

Wednesday

Do you ever feel you are in the midst of a full moon cycle before you know that you’re in one? That’s how I have been feeling lately. Powerful forces are colliding, and it’s jostling me back and forth. I have a cosmic headache.

Out to dinner with a friend, I order fries with mayo. It takes me back to the time Ger and I were in Amsterdam on our honeymoon. We ordered patatje speciaal (fries and mayonnaise) from an open-air market.

I think this was just before I wrecked the canal boat on the Prinsengracht.

Thursday

I put my top back on after my mammogram and decide to treat myself to a latte before going back to work. I have my book with me and read a few pages exploring the psychological meaning behind the story of Vasalisa and Baba Yaga, the wild woman.

To drown out the pop music, I put on my headphones and get lost in the sound of Celtic fiddle music from the Scottish Highlands.

Somehow, I feel powerful. Connected to my inner Baba Yaga. Connected to this Celtic version of myself.

Friday

My body often knows the seasons are changing before the calendar says so.

I wake up and the light is different. I’m tired. I don’t have the same drive to get up and work out that I did a few weeks ago.

A little voice in my head says, It’s time to rest. Go slow. Enjoy the stillness of the morning.

Maybe I should listen.

Saturday

I wake up and decide that it’s officially autumn, so I put my fall wreath on the door. After lazing around watching the final two episodes of Grantchester, I convince myself to get outside and finish the remaining two raised beds.

With my wheelbarrow already loaded with tools, I cart it outside, ready for the task. It goes without a hitch, except for getting a screw stuck in one of the corner pieces. With a little bit of bashing, it comes out.

I can’t put the beds into place yet. I have to wait until the first frost. It’s impossible to move the pumpkin vines. They are practically attached to the ground.

While so many of the flowers are starting to turn, the Japanese anemones know it’s their time to shine. From the flower bud to the flower itself, what’s not to love?

Sunday

The bookbag is packed, the Chromebook is charged, and I have enough food to feed a small army when my teenager comes home hungry from school.

Physically, we are ready. Emotionally, we are not.

I make vegetable soup and toasted sandwiches on imported Irish bread, because apparently you can’t find good bread in the States.

Something feels off today. I can’t put my finger on it.

Until our next cup of tea,

Abby

We spent the week at Walt Disney World celebrating our son’s 13th birthday. Between the heat, sweat, and endless walking, there was screaming on rides and plenty of family memories.

I won’t lie, we are wrecked. You know going into it that it’s not going to be a relaxing type of trip, but it will be fun.

Epcot is my favorite park, and I especially love wandering around France and pretending I’m on the streets of Paris. I was lucky enough to meet up with a good friend one evening in Epcot. We got the most delicious raspberry macaron with lime curd from Les Halles and ate it by the fountain as the sun was going down and the twinkly lights were coming on.

Between park visits, Ger and I stole a little time together. We found a quiet spot to share a drink and talk about the future. The kinds of places we’d love to live one day. The kind of life we’d like to build when we’re empty nesters. It’s funny how those conversations seem to find us when we step away from our everyday routines.

On our last day, James turned 13. He chose to celebrate by going to Magic Kingdom. After spending the morning doing most of the major rides, we went back to the hotel to rest and pack.

Since we were staying at Animal Kingdom Lodge, we were able to go back later that night when the park was quieter. Dodging the rain, we made our way to TRON, my son’s favorite ride. A must-do, especially on such a special day.

I got a Mickey pretzel while my son and husband got in line. The fireworks started, and I watched. I popped in my Loops to try to dampen the sound. Why do fireworks have to be so loud?

Around midnight, we made our way to the exit, knowing that tomorrow we would get to see Henry and Lucy again.

Thursday

Flight home, and we go straight to pick up the dogs. They are so happy to get out of the boarding facility that they don’t recognize that we are the ones helping them escape.

I always feel strange whenever I come back after being away. You realize that life just moves on without you. Somehow, you are the outsider.

The garden looks different. The town looks different. The neighbors discuss things that happened while you were away. Even the house seems so quiet.

It’s time to inhabit it again.

Friday

I barely have the energy to get a shower. I spend the day in sweats with wet hair.

Today is for the couch and the pups.

Saturday

Slightly more energy, but still in my sweats.

I watch All Aboard! Scotland’s Poshest Train with Alan Cumming. I learn about Arisaig, a small coastal village in the Highlands. Arisaig means “safe place” in Gaelic.

I go down the rabbit hole and decide that this is definitely a place I could live. I look up the local pubs, shops, and climate.

Everything suits me, except for maybe the midges. I’m sure there is a way around that.

A remote stone cottage. Walks along the sheltered bay. A cozy life by the fire.

Yes, this sounds about right.

Sunday

I venture into the garden for the first time since we’ve been home. Somehow, this is when it feels like I’ve really returned.

The squash vines are taking over everything, and I love it. Tendrils spiral around the arches and even the climbing hydrangea.

I pick three hidden cucumbers. Two are rather large, and one is small and wonderfully odd-shaped.

I top up the wildlife pond with fresh water, suspecting it’s had a rather dehydrating week.

By lunchtime, I make a start on dinner and begin preparing tonight’s cottage pie.

I open the windows as it starts to pour. I wonder why I even bothered watering the garden earlier.

Then again, I love it.

Until our next cup of tea,

Abby

Monday

It’s déjà vu. I’m driving back for another dentist appointment. But this time, I notice a few leaves flickering with the orange of autumn.

The dentist shakes my hand as I go to leave. Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

Tuesday

I can’t even think about the garden today. We’re going away soon, and Henry and Lucy are doing a trial run at their boarding facility.

I know Lucy will be fine, but Henry is terribly fearful of other dogs. I watch the webcam diligently all day, refreshing it far more often than I’d like to admit.

Wednesday

Day 2 of daycare and I’m less apprehensive. Henry doesn’t spend the whole time hiding in the playhouse. I call that progress.

When I pick them up, he leans against my leg for a second before we leave. I think he’s relieved too.

Thursday

The cooler morning is a welcome change for my walk. I listen to Dish, one of my favorite podcasts, and today they’re talking about spaghetti all’assassina.

There’s something comforting about listening to people discuss food while I’m trying to remember a hundred little things before a trip.

The suitcase is still empty, the to-do list is still long, and I’m feeling that familiar mix of excitement and anxiety that always seems to arrive before a trip.

Until our next cup of tea,

Abby

Monday

A dentist appointment on a Monday morning at 8:00 AM. It’s as fun as it sounds.

Why do dentists always make you feel like a child who’s been caught doing something bad?

I go home and have a bowl of apple and blackberry crumble just to spite him.

Tuesday

Another afternoon at Starbucks with my new favorite chai latte.

I take a sip and have an instant flashback.

It takes me back to when Ger and I were living in San Francisco, where the changing seasons felt almost nonexistent. It was October, and I was desperate for even the smallest taste of autumn. I knew exactly where to go: the Williams Sonoma in Union Square.

The moment I walked through the doors, I was greeted by shelves of burnt-orange ceramic pumpkins and every autumnal delight imaginable, all while palm trees swayed outside. That day they were handing out samples of warm pumpkin spice bread.

It was everything I had been missing.

In that single bite, I finally felt like I’d found the autumn I’d been chasing.

I walked out knowing we belonged back East.

Wednesday

It’s just me, Henry, and the many neighborhood bunnies this morning. The half moon hangs directly above me, and the sky is brushed with soft pink and purple paint strokes. I love this time of day.

I pop on a podcast, and the guest is Nigella Lawson. God, I wish I was as sexy in the kitchen as she is.

Henry and I walk through the little path that connects us to the next neighborhood, and suddenly the sky opens up. The clouds are perfectly positioned, as though they’ve turned into sunbeams.

I turn the corner and see a deer standing in someone’s garden. (I’m hoping Henry doesn’t notice.)

When I return home, I water the garden. The willow bush I was worried about seems to be just about surviving. All of the squash blossoms are open for business.

I stick my nose into one and find two bees inside. I feel as though I’m interrupting something, so I decide to move on quickly.

Thursday

Woke up deciding I needed a haircut right away, as per usual. I made an appointment for 10 AM. Received confirmation that it had moved to 11 AM. No problem.

I show up, the door is locked, and the lights are out. I wait on the bench outside for someone to show up. Five minutes later, I check the confirmation email again.

Ahh. 11 AM tomorrow.

Since I still have some time left on my lunch hour, I decide to make chicken, leek, and potato soup for dinner with the leftovers from our Sunday roast. The chicken stock I made with the bones yesterday will be perfect for it.

I’ll serve it with an Ancient Grain Batard (never heard of it either) and a lovely cheese board with raw honey, sliced pears, a few spreads and jams, dried apricots, a few nuts, Manchego, and French Brie.

As I’m stirring the soup, I put on the kettle and pop the last tea bag from the box into my mug. I love the feeling of using up the box and opening a brand-new one.

The recipe for the soup calls for a bay leaf, but I doubt the bay leaf from 2014 is going to do much. Still, I put it in the pot anyway. Will this teach me to buy fresh bay leaves in the future? I doubt it.

Meanwhile, I hear Henry crunching on something in the living room. I hope it’s a stick he snuck in from outside, but it’s not. I try to wrestle James’s purple colored pencil from his mouth.

There is purple all over the couch, but I don’t have time to clean it up. I have to get back to the soup. The timer is beeping.

Some days you have hours on a Sunday to prepare a lovely meal, and other days you have 30 minutes between meetings.

C’est la vie.

The tea goes cold on the counter.

Friday

My phone reminds me it’s time to prune the lavender. With my snips, I gather a bunch and feel as though I’m no longer in Massachusetts, but in Provence. I just wish it wasn’t too early for a glass of rosé.

I have some extra time this morning, so I sit outside and have my breakfast. I notice a squirrel sitting perfectly still on a stump, like a statue. It only moves to scratch an itch, and then it scurries away.

It’s 10:45 AM and time to go for my haircut. I hope I have the right date this time.

I arrive and am warmly welcomed. A few inches off and I feel like a new woman. I needed to do something to help beat this heat.

After I’m out of the salon, I call my husband to see if he wants to meet at the pub for a celebratory drink for our 16th wedding anniversary. Along with our son, we have the place all to ourselves and reminisce about the spectacular champagne reception we had at the Cliff House Hotel in Ardmore, Ireland, on the terrace overlooking the sea.

Saturday

I dig out a huge clump of oregano to make room for the new raised bed. It grows like a weed, so I’m not worried about it. I am covered in dirt and sweat.

Our drill is so powerful that I know I could do some damage if I’m not careful. There are tools strewn across the ground: levels, shovels, a bag of screws. I always think a project will take less time than it actually does.

Three hours later, three of the six raised beds are officially put together and level.

Sunday

I’ve always been a very determined (and sometimes stubborn) person. It works out great when I’m working on a project because I know I’ll get it done.

I decide to take on the raised beds again this morning. I finish one and decide it’s time to stop.

This is where determination and stubbornness can get a little blurry. I know I could keep going. But I also know I’ll regret it later.

So I put down the drill.

Dinner tonight will be an easy one-pan meal of Italian chicken sausage, peppers, and potatoes.

Until our next cup of tea,

Abby

Monday

A trip to Six Flags. Not exactly my natural habitat, but it does make me feel like a good mom. Two teenage boys happy. One exhausted mom. Nothing a cup of tea and an episode of The Great British Bake Off can’t fix.

Tuesday

I can certainly tell who is the most popular girl in the garden: Ms. Anise Hyssop. At any given time, I see at least twenty bees dancing around her. Just as I begin counting, a monarch butterfly swoops by. This is exactly the type of day I needed after yesterday.

Wednesday

There's that feeling in the air that it could pour at any minute. It’s every gardener’s dream. I open all the windows and wait for the first drop.

The birds are chirping away. I wonder what they say to one another before a rainstorm. Do they feel as cozy in their nest as I do in my home?

I can feel the humidity rising, waiting for it to be washed away. There is nothing better than a summer rain in late July.

By the afternoon it is pouring down. The fairy lights create a warm glow against the gray skies. It feels like the perfect excuse to tuck myself into a corner at Starbucks with a book. I order my first chai latte and I’m in love. Autumn is on its way. As I sit there and read about wild women, I feel content.

Thursday

Don’t know if it’s a cold coming on or allergies. Whatever it is, I’m down for the count.

Friday

Friday is houseplant watering day and each room is full of them. The pothos is climbing around the window, while the aloe pups are kicking the mama plant out of the pot. Why does this feel strangely familiar?

Saturday

The cold won’t let go of me, and I’m desperate to get back to the garden. I manage to water my plants and deadhead my calendula before I have to sit down. A bunny scurries away into the yellow loosestrife and hides. I tell her it’s okay. She’s welcome here.

There’s a house up the street that was bought and bulldozed, along with many mature trees. I walk past and see an empty bird’s nest lying amongst the rubble.

Sunday

On today’s menu:
Herb & Lemon Roast Chicken
Butter-Braised Leeks
Roasted Carrots
Arugula with Lemon Vinaigrette
Apple & Blackberry Crumble with Vanilla Bean Ice Cream

I put on my apron and dust off my tabletop apple peeler and corer. It hasn’t been used since last autumn. It’s time to make apple and blackberry crumble for dessert.

In a bowl I mix Granny Smith and Honeycrisp apples with blackberries, brown sugar, flour, spices (making sure I grab the cinnamon and not the coriander by mistake), lemon, and a pinch of salt.

I steal an apple from the bowl. Delicious.

The crumble topping is scattered over the mound of fruit before the dish disappears into the oven.

Next come the carrots and leeks. Lots more peeling and chopping. I head out to the garden with my snips and cut a big handful of lemon thyme for the braised leeks and to make the compound butter for the chicken.

I find a box of stovetop stuffing in the cupboard and decide to make that as well. Because why not have all the trimmings, even if it is August?

The chicken is lovingly tucked into the oven, ready to turn golden.

James is at a trampoline park with a friend, so tonight it’s just me and Ger around the table. It feels like a little glimpse into our future when we’re empty nesters.

Until our next cup of tea,

Abby

Monday

Traditional seasonal calendars never quite worked for me, so I created my own: A Year of Ordinary Magic.

It’s not a calendar of holidays or goals, but a collection of weekly invitations to notice the season I’m in and the ordinary moments that make it special.

I’m especially looking forward to Citrus and Spice week this December.

Tuesday

My new raised beds arrived. Hooray! My current beds have decided to become one with the earth again and have disintegrated into the ground. I built them ten years ago (almost to the day). They have stood up well. I took the opportunity to invest in beautiful cedar beds from EarthEasy. I have had my eye on them for many years.

The beds arrived in eight big boxes. I felt terrible for the FedEx driver. As he walked away, I opened the door, waved, and mouthed, thank you. Luckily, the dogs didn’t notice.

Wednesday

Full day in the office today. It doesn’t happen often, so I can’t complain when I get the call to come in. I treated myself to an M&M cookie on my afternoon break since I had eaten 80% of my packed lunch before I even arrived at work. Why am I hungrier when I go into the office, vs. when I am working from home?

Thursday

Half day today.

Took Henry for training. He’s building up his confidence. He didn’t particularly like the rubber mat, but he did show courage by jumping up on the raised box.

When I got home, I went straight to building my raised beds. Instructions called for leveling out the space first. I pretended not to see that and put the pieces together anyway. I got three partially done and took a look. Should have listened to the instructions. Lesson learned.

Friday

The garden looks brilliant. Even though it’s in a state of transition, I still appreciate what’s there. I may never see the Echinacea bloom because of the bunnies, but I can enjoy the Black-Eyed Susans. They are always the star of the show this time of year anyway.

Saturday

New day, new approach. I’m going to slow down and enjoy the day. I don’t have to take Henry and Lucy for a walk, I get to. I don’t have to build my raised beds, I get to. No more rushing through “tasks” just to say I’m done.

I decided to start again with the beds. No more cutting corners. I will do one bed, take my time, and do it properly. If it takes me until the end of autumn to get all six built, then that is what it will take. And boy, is it worth it. It’s looking much better than before.

I celebrate by making a cherry and almond cake. It’s delicious. It goes well with my evening cup of tea.

Sunday

Today is for lavishing the long summer days.

Enjoyed a glass of Rose from Provence in the sunshine. Played with the dogs in the backyard. I’m trying to teach them not to bark as neighbors walk by. Needless to say, I may need to buy more treats.

This evening I made:

Shrimp Scampi Linguine
Arugula with Lemon Vinaigrette
Crusty Bread & Irish Butter
Enjoyed on the deck with the family. Even James enjoyed it. I consider that a success. Beautiful evening with a slight breeze. We watched a hummingbird stop at the honeysuckle and a goldfinch stop at the bird feeder. I wish I could bottle this feeling.

Until next week,
Abby

Up for an early morning walk with Henry and then some strength training, you know, as you do when you’re forty-something. Then it’s a slow walk through the garden while I water.

The squash blossoms are open for business, hoping to entice a curious flying insect.

I rub my hands along the mint leaves. Although I’m not really a mint person, I love having it in the garden. Along with my chocolate mint, I added strawberry and Indian mint this year. Scent in the garden is a must.

The new agastache and salvia I planted last week are doing well. It felt a bit irresponsible to plant during a heat wave, but being the impulsive person I am, I did it anyway. I may regret moving my precious willow, it’s looking a bit toasty. But, I had to make room for my new garden beds. Oh well. C’est la vie.

My native beds look beautiful if you pretend not to notice the bitten-off stems of the sedum, black-eyed Susans, and echinacea, courtesy of the resident bunnies and deer. I can’t be too upset, I remind myself, since I’m just a steward of the garden. I don’t control it, nor would I want to. The garden is really for them.

After my wander through the garden, I sit outside with a cup of English Breakfast tea. I can smell the lavender. It is glorious, especially on this beautiful summer morning.

The birds fly from branch to branch before stopping for a drink at the pond. This particular morning, what I think is a gray catbird lands on the arbor covered in honeysuckle and calls out what sounds like...

“Eric. Eric. Eric.”

Who the hell is Eric?

I don’t know.

But I do hope he finds him.

I finish my tea and get on with my day.

It’s 7:30 a.m., and time for work.

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Apparently, one Google Drive is not enough for all the idea that I have collected.

Each version of me had a dedicated home. The me who wanted to be a social changemaker. The me who became a garden designer and consultant. The graduate student. The writer. The collector of half-finished dreams and future plans.

The problem is that when you're looking for something you know you once saved, you can't bloody find it.

Did I tuck it away in my Little Free Library drive? My random Projects drive? The gardening one? Who knows?

Perhaps one day I'll rediscover the piece of writing I meant to share. Until then, I'll chalk it up to one of the hazards of being curious.

The curious life is a bit untidy. You collect more than you can possibly organize, wander down too many paths, and leave breadcrumbs everywhere.

But I think I’d rather spend my life searching for old treasures than wishing I’d never gone looking in the first place.

For as long as I can remember, I've been enchanted by the things that ask us to slow down and notice.

Some were real places. A London pub where I spent a summer. A garden full of strawberries and chipmunks. Villages I have wandered through and villages I have only explored through books and maps.

Some were worlds of ideas. Gardening. Puppets. Nature. Wine. Food. Storytelling. The quiet art of creating experiences that make people feel welcome.

For years I thought these interests were unrelated. I worried that I couldn’t settle on one thing. That perhaps I was always chasing the next idea. Like a hummingbird racing from honeysuckle blossom to honeysuckle blossom, staying just long enough to glimpse the flower before darting away.

But lately I’ve begun to wonder if the thread was there all along.

Maybe I wasn’t changing directions.

Maybe I was following curiosity.

I like to go deep into life and into these fantastically interesting worlds. I want to know why a Chardonnay from Burgundy is so different from a Chardonnay from Napa Valley. What makes a garden feel magical? How a 41-year-old woman can embrace her wildness as she enters midlife.

Should you help a worm cross the road?

And if you do, what if you move it in the wrong direction?

These are the sorts of things I must know.

This little corner of the internet is a place for the things that catch my attention: gardens, books, beautiful places, food, wine, travel dreams, stories, and the small moments of wonder hidden in ordinary days.

Think of these as field notes from a curious life.

If any of that sounds familiar, pull up a chair, pour a cup of tea, and stay awhile.

I hope you’ll come wander with me.