Woke up early and exercised while listening to Jian Ghomeshi talk to Kate Bush on a months-old Q podcast. Wrote a couple of average paragraphs. Finished a book outline. Sent some e-mails. Ate the leftover homemade pizza. Drove with my two boys out to a friend's house on the lake with a bag full of free apples from a garage sale and my trusty Starfrit apple-peeling machine.
Watched my two boys play with her two boys for the next four hours, moving in and out of rooms and back and forth between the two porches, catching toads, playing Checkers, making potions, trapping the dog in the tent, always forgetting to close the door. Peeled apples at the kitchen table, while my friend pickled beets from her garden. Let all the boys, one by one, take turns peeling apples, like we were in Tom Sawyer or something, the spirals of peel unspooling from the fruit.
Learned how to pickle beets. Sliced apples. Picked and ate purslane, calendula, nasturtium. Drank tea. Listened to Harry Potter on the drive home, leftover brine in a canning jar for my own beets. Ate leftovers for dinner. Read new library books to Isaac. Wrote names in Sharpie on four pairs of new sneakers and threaded curly laces through holes. Slowly. Packed backpacks. Played soccer with Rowan as the thunderclouds collected. Made apple crumble topping. Wondered out loud with Rowan which class he'd be in and discussed which came first, thunder or lightning. Listened to the thunder. Made these beauties.