My plans for Christmas week were blown out of the water yesterday. There will be no spending days and nights talk talk talking with my bestie. No cooking together. No introducing her to new friends. And no one to blame but the flu. I spent the whole day disheartened and disoriented by the change in plans.

Today was better, I found my footing. The Christmas eve dinner party is still on, lots of lovely people coming over with food to share. And a new, luxurious plan is in place for Christmas day.

But it’s funny how after plenty of experience with disappointment and loss I still find myself standing on my expectations as though they’re solid. Only to be reminded, again, that faith and not knowing are the ground that will support me.

Hi. Wow. This blog was hacked and taken down and I can hardly believe that I’ve been able to fix it. Fingers crossed. It feels like the first hours after a long power outage, when I doubt that these switches all around me will actually turn things on. Will typing create a post? Wow.

So hullo. And sorry that I was so seriously neglectful of this place that the gremlins came to dinner. Here are some glimpses of this soon-to-have-sped-by summer.

Clematis on the garden fence

Picking wild blueberries at Minnewaska state park

Knitting for a tiny new friend

Maxie in one of his ridiculous napping positions

Lots of good moments, stopping to breathe and appreciate what’s right in front of me.

Hope your summer is a good one too.

My sweet feline friend Annabelle left us ten days ago. She died quickly and without help, and I buried her with Wolfie’s ashes, since they were such good buddies, and planted a beautiful crabapple tree over them.

They’re just outside the kitchen window, so I can chat to them when I wash the dishes, if I feel so inclined.

I’ve been thinking about the things Annabelle loved. Sun spots. Cut flowers. Getting her fur combed. The couch. Jerk chicken. And me. I was so lucky to have her with me for so many years.

We had a gentle, slow-moving weekend. Some of us read a novel and watched orange leaves moving against blue sky, after the rain had stopped.

Some of us found new places to nap.

I cut up an amazing heirloom Goldman’s Italian American tomato from the garden to make what may be the last bruschettas of the season.

And enjoyed them very much.

Wolfie died on August 1st. He had been sick for several months so it was no surprise, but after living with him for 17 years I felt abruptly cut loose.

The following week I brought his ashes home in a little cardboard box with a label that read, “This is Wolfie. The companion of Estyn Hulbert.” — which I find strangely compelling. Tightly fitted inside was another box, this one made of something solid and mahogany-colored with a beveled edge at the top.

I had thought I would bury his ashes right away, but the box is still sitting on my studio desk and I can’t bring myself to spread his remains in the damp fall earth. Maybe I’ll wait until spring, when the dampness promises warmth and growth instead of dark days and freezing. Wolfie spent his final years being an old grump of a feline, so I think I’ll plant a crabapple tree over him, in honor of his crabbyness.

The household feels lopsided without him but Annabelle, Maxie, Noola and I are slowly adjusting. Extra love. Extra kindness. For all of us.

Thanks to Jennie for pointing me to this. My kind of artist.

I COULD HAVE DONE THIS.. from Briar Mark on Vimeo.

Watch this.

Found via White Feather Farm.

Finally. Other than the big snow dump in late October we’ve barely had a dusting of the white stuff. I thought it might be an entire winter of bare earth. But now this.

Walking out of the village we watched children sliding down the good slope at the country club, and one teenager attempting to ride his snow board with little success. The trees stood out in monochrome, each one clearly showing its unique structure.

We turned around at the house with the “BEWARE OF DOG” signs (that always make me think of this) and hiked back up the steep hill, feeling virtuous and looking forward to hot tea.

I was wondering where to start up again after a long break from the blog, then I was given this magnet.

Right. Anywhere is good.

Yesterday I had the door open and all day in the background was the sound of leaves rustling across the ground. Labor Day brought with it the orange undertone that creeps into everything green. Even the light is getting that low angled rust color to it and the squirrels and I are rushing to hoard the end of summer bounty.

In among tomatoes of every shape and size, the first little Benning’s Patty Pan squash. Fresh light green, to remind me that in the not too distant future it will all start over with spring.