As long as it's black

I was thinking of that Henry Ford quote today, about the Model T, remember: "any colour you want, as long as it's black." Munchkin was sitting in a Mennonite buggy as we were on a farm tour, and the tour guide, a progressive-order member of that church, was describing a similar policy for the horse-drawn wagons that still drive our local roads:


All black. Thing is, the idea resonated not so much with the buggies, but with my mood this week, which seems to be: "any mood you want, as long as it's black."

It's a wonderful week, a vacation week booked off work, off daycare. Pynchon's parents are here. We are relaxing, taking it slow, taking a break, having a marvelous time. Why, then, do I keep bursting into tears?



My girl seems suddenly so tall, somehow less round, more ... grown and my pride and love are mixed with shock at the racing pace of her changes. She loves me more than anything in the world and I revel and mourn at the same time.

Pynchon's parents are such lovely people. They fly here from very far away, a goodly expense, and devote themselves to us. They've made four week-long visits to us in the five years we've been here, which is far far more than I can say of my own parents. Munchkin adores them, launching herself to hug her Grampy, asking every morning if they're still here, and cheering when she finds that they are. That too, makes me tear up. Her love is so pure, so total.

Her grandparents are old and infirm. My father in law can walk maybe 200 feet before he needs a substantial rest. He is uncomfortable and tired most of the time, makes grim and fatalistic remarks about his own mortality. My mother in law can't hear very well at all and is busied near constantly keeping her husband comfortable and steady. They carry a pharmacy of medication with them. I hate to watch them decline like this. I love to see them and it breaks my heart, all at once.


Pynchon is a marvel: kind and loving and helpful and understanding. He's taking on a good deal of the planning burden of the week, and still finds time to hold me close when I burst into tears after what was obviously a very stressful half-an-hour reading the newspaper. I am so blessed to have him for my husband. It's so wonderful to be able to go for walks with him in the evening, strolling the neighbourhood hand in hand, a couple, while our girl sleeps at home and her grandparents sit on the front porch. A rare treat.

Our week is a whirl of fun and special times: heritage train, farmer's market, farm tour, library, backyard pool, stroller rides, playground, rubbing sunblock on strong small shoulders, more kisses and hugs and love than I have any right to expect, from all quarters. I want to devour it all, touch it and smell it and hold it close to keep it all in my heart for always. I want to crawl into my room, lie down in the dark, and hide. Maybe it's simply heat exhaustion. Maybe quiet, solitary me is overwhelmed by all the busy-ness and people this week. Maybe I see the solstice as beginning of the coming of the dark. Maybe it's the insomnia that's gripped me again.

But here's where I am: I'm so happy, it's making me sad.

The knee, like my mood, is not to scale.