Sandy

       
It's weird. I feel like I should say something here. If I just put up another post with pictures of my kid, sweet-but-inane content, and exclamation points... it won't be right. It won't be fair somehow, and it won't feel right to me. But then what to say? Talk about my personal experience with the storm? That's ridiculous. It's trivial, self-centered, and in the face of such a broad swath of destruction it's a waste of time. Do I talk about the fear, then? My certainty that this was NOT the storm of the century, or even a once-in-a-generation storm, but the start of something new? I don't want to do that. Not here, anyway. I'll save all that for myself (because contrary to what the world keeps telling me, keeping things like this to myself actually feels better than sharing with anyone else).

I'll just keep this little paragraph then, and sit with this silence for a few days. That feels like the best thing I can do.

Fishkill Farms

   

It's an unfortunate name, but a great setting for autumn fun. Going to a fall festival was like Storm King - something I'd been trying to do for years. God bless you, Zipcar. Our membership has made us feel like so many things are possible. Even if you have to suffer through NYC traffic on your way to those possible things. And on the way back, too. *Shudder*

So Fishkill. Up in the Hudson River Valley. Hayrides. A store selling pies. Hot apple cider. A bouncy castle (maybe next year, Nils).

Doughnuts!

Chickens!

Pumpkins!

Chairs! (Made of pumpkins!)

And best of all, apples. A giant orchard of Winesap, Empire, Ida Red, Golden Delicious, Macoun. We came home with 25 pounds of 'em, apples we had picked ourselves. Imagine that. Nils did his fair share of the work too, once properly tempted:

Waaaay up high...

And he enjoyed the fruits of his labor. Though I don't think we were supposed to eat any apples before we paid for them. *Cough cough*

The best thing right now

 
The best thing right now, the absolute best, is the view out our living room windows.

We live on the 5th floor of our building. That's high enough to look out directly onto the treetops. It's all green, and when the sun is setting a golden light tends to shoot in between the leaves. We leave our curtains open from spring to the end of autumn - ain't no one seeing through to our apartment. The leaves are too thick. Sometimes I pretend that we live in a treehouse, that if I wanted to I could just walk out onto one of those branches.

The leaves are beginning to change color now, and the maple seeds are drying out and browning. Any day now I imagine I'll see a few twirling down to the ground.

Toward the end of Nils's nap today I had about 20 minutes to just lay on my couch and look out the window. All my naptime tasks accomplished, NPR playing softly on the radio, a pillow beneath my head. Moments like these are rare enough that the sheer peace of it might have been enough, even without those lovely maples to admire.

Of those 20 minutes to myself, 10 ended up a catnap. This has been happening to me a lot lately. If I sit down in the afternoon, bam! Out like a light. This pregnancy has been just about as effortless I any I could imagine, but it has exhausted me nonetheless. Many times I have put Nils down for his siesta, then proceeded to take a nap myself. It has been wonderful to be able to get that rest (since my body is screaming for it), but those naps... sigh. They've been keeping me from doing everything else. All the cleaning, cooking, and logistical tasks I could be doing while Nils gives me a break. Instead, those things pile up around me until I lose it and start yelling at Oliver.

I know what this is. It's preparation for the arrival of Little Steffwomann. Once she's here, there will be no chance to catch up each day. I'm going to have to find a new way of doing things. Maybe I'll have to let some things go. I just hope that every once in awhile I'll find a few minutes in the afternoon to look out the window. You know, before I fall asleep.