We've been really busy, and I've been really grumpy, so I think it's time to step away from my life and do that exercise people always say is so good for you. There really are lots of good things I need to appreciate more:

Two big hot dogs (who frequently run over to the neighbor's where they become part of the 28-Paws Gang. Can you imagine having that many dogs in your house? It's surprisingly fun)
My neighbor, who has never once complained about two very big hot dogs turning up unexpectedly at any old time, including the middle of the night
Two happy hunting cats (who leave mice by the door, and occasionally inside the door too, just to tell me they love me)
One very, very, very, very old cat (who's not doing so well, and makes rather a mess in the house, so we keep putting him outside. Poor guy. He has, through no choice of his own, stuck by me all these years, and this is how we repay him.)
Three new pairs of pants for Calvin (I'm getting better at sewing!)
A romper made from an old grass-seed sack (this just makes me smile every time I look at it, even if it doesn't fit . . .)
Cherry tomatoes
The first gorgeous purple eggplant
Gladiolas! (we didn't get any of these in last year's drought)
Tea with honey
Fresh baked bread from my oven
The jam our farm worker share keeps bringing (strawberry first, then raspberry. Yum)
Our farm worker share!
Calvin's new hat
And the fabulous fun fabric it's made of—I love finding great fabrics. I'll do something with them all, someday.
Calvin's giggle (it's almost worth getting him overtired and slaphappy to hear that giggle nonstop)
Farmer Kari running my farm (Chris just hasn't realized it yet)
My dad coming to help just because I ask
My potted plants on the front porch (they turned out really well this year)
Apples on the apple trees, starting to show their colors
Little, perfect baby toes
A creaky old house that, at least from a distance, is still picturesque
Rocking chairs
Handmade stuffed toys
Really good food when I get a chance to cook
More ideas than I have time to act on
Hollyhocks (until the inevitable storm knocks 'em down, they're just gorgeous in the meadow)
That I have a chunk of land I can call a meadow
Tractors
My horseshoe collection, and everything else old and rusty and intriguing that I find in the ground (still love the half of a waffle iron).
My mother-in-law's paintings
Books
Motivated, inspiring people all around me
Fresh eggs (blue at that!)
Swinging
Napping with Calvin on the sofa
Sleeping with Calvin all night
Calvin

Escape

My husband keeps bees. There are two hives in the orchard, just a short distance from the house. More hives out in the field. Lots of honey equipment in the shed out front, which the bees from the orchard have found and are raiding for any leftover honey.

I have a tree in the front yard that blooms late each spring and literally hums it attracts so many bees. Every size, shape, color and variety imaginable. You can hear it from the porch.

There are wasp nests in every peak of our house. And one underneath the bench on the side porch, which I keep reminding Chris to get rid of but which keeps getting forgotten and keeps growing and growing. (Wasps are not bees, I know this, but I still lump all such things together.)

Bees don't much like freshly turned dirt. I don't know if it's the smell or the sight or what, but it bothers them and they tend to sting more readily when bothered. Bees do like flowers, obviously.

I live on a farm where we're constantly turning over the soil. And I grow flowers, which I cut by hand and turn into bouquets.

And I'm wildly allergic to bees.

Sitting in my front lawn yesterday, a bee bumped into me on its way to or from the orchard. I ducked. It dove. I laid flat, Calvin on my tummy, and it swooped right after me. It got stuck momentarily in my hair.

I try to be adult about these things. Chris has told me dozens of times that I should just be still. But I'm terrified. With Calvin I am petrified. And Calvin, naturally, can tell. So there I am, frantically trying to get a bee out of my hair without getting stung, clutching a wriggling and now crying Calvin, wondering where my current epi pin is (the one in my bag is expired), and shrieking for my husband who is oblivious, singing in the shower upstairs. I picture the bees working kind of like our barn swallows. This one is undoubtedly sending out a bee signal that will alert the hive, and whole colonies are about to descend upon me in a cloud the way the swallows gang up on our cat.

With the bee out of my hair and merely buzzing angrily around us, I make a break for the house and dash inside. This makes Calvin abruptly laugh, and I tell him it's really not very funny. I can still see the bee, now investigating Calvin's bottle, which I left behind.

I head upstairs to tell Chris I don't want those hives in the orchard that close to the house anymore. This is the second time this week that a bee has been after me. It's not like honey bees to do this, and maybe this isn't a honey bee, but I don't care much just now. He nods, agrees, and then suggests that perhaps the bee is confused by my dress. Bees, at least in part, identify their hives by color, usually white. I am wearing a blue and white striped dress. I consider this. And I consider that I'm considering how much I may resemble a stack of bee supers to a bee. And I feel ridiculous.

It's much too nice to be cooped up inside, and Calvin wants to go back out. I move to a completely different part of the yard. After all, I live on this farm. I don't have many options when it comes to avoiding bees. And I can't look that much like a bee hive. But within minutes, this bee is back. And yes, I'm positive it is the same bee. This time I'm separated from Calvin, and I feel like the worst kind of mother as I run away, darting and scampering. Calvin laughs uproariously. Mommy looks pretty silly. But the bee is now circling him and I am momentarily frozen, helpless, between my child and my fear. Of course, Calvin, being a baby, follows his father's advice to the letter and doesn't move at all except to keep giggling. The bee, after a few reconnaissance circuits, moves on.

We move inside.

3 AM, an hour at which I'm inevitably awake these days, I wonder what in the world I am doing here. It's not an hour when one should really delve into such serious topics, but I can't stop myself. And I keep coming to the conclusion that I am not cut out for this. I am going to be stung by another bee sooner or later. Even I can see that the bee has morphed, at this dark hour, into a big obvious emblem of all the things that aren't right. It grows to epic, monster proportions in my mind. If I need to get away from it, where can I move to now?

Windows

I love the old wavy, bubbly glass that is still in some of our windows. I love knowing that Chris and I and my father hand scraped each window of all its paint, repaired each window, reglazed each window, repainted each window. I love how big the windows are, and the simplicity of their four panes. They bear scars from the raccoons and other nibbling creatures. Some hang inexplicably crooked despite my best efforts to straighten them. Most need to be propped up to stay open, but that I do with old wrought iron shelf brackets and I like it. But I think I want new windows.

Spring and Fall Chris hauls the storms up and down ladders, heavy big glass and wood storm windows. They latch into place, and they don’t move. So early warm days or late Indian summer means sweltering rooms upstairs. Some years we just never get to all the storm windows, and I worry I’m stifling the house. I certainly feel stifled. And I swear the house smells when it’s that hot. After all those years of neglect, it’s not about to put up with such lazy maintenance.

And yet those same storms don’t cut it in winter. We certainly needn’t worry about ‘bad air’ in our house. Mostly we have to worry about affording the heat, not freezing our fingers and toes, and how to hog all the blankets. The curtains wave in the breeze. Your hair might wave in the breeze as you sit in the living room. There is snow on our windowsill in the bedroom. Inside.

It is hot right now. There are storms on the windows. There is a ladder laying on the lawn at the ready but there are too many other things to do or it is too windy or it is raining. I am frustrated. The house is suffocating right along with me.