Single Summer Moment

July 21, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / Leave a comment

Vermont midsummer in all its glorious stickiness. The towns empty out but for the perpetual delivery trucks and cars with canoes and kayaks on their roofs. In the post office Saturday morning, the buzz is Where are you swimming today? Where’s your spot?

In the late afternoon, we swim at Number 10 Pond, leaving our picnic and sandals on the rocky shore and swimming far out. A smattering of pollen covers the glassine surface.

I linger long in the water while my daughters laugh on shore, taking photos. Before we leave, I click a photo of my girls, too. For a brief moment, looking at this image, I realize even my youngest is just about grown up, too. Someday, I’ll look back and think, Good swimming that day.

At home, before a few sprinkles of rain, the girls pick peas for a snack. I weed and weed. The sun golds are ripe.

stream in summertime—
this joy of wading across
with sandals in hand

— Buson

Calais, Vermont, 2019

Teen Dreaming

July 20, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / 4 Comments

What’s up with the lilies in Vermont this summer? Even my kids noticed they’re crazy tall — like an advancing army of flowers, about the coolest thing imaginable, in a summer that’s turning not so temperate.

Now fully a teenager, my 14-year-old is not a street-legal driver, which in rural Vermont makes a real difference. She and her friends have their eyes on the road, anxious to spread beyond this small town.

Summer to her now seems interminable; I remember that sense as a small town girl myself, as though the hot days would just keep appearing, one after another. While I’m at work, I leave her alone for long periods of time, with two cats and a list of chores and the freedom to do what she wants, within these physical confines. I don’t know if that’s wise or not — but at the very least it gives her the space to imagine….

Day Travels with Kids

July 18, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / Leave a comment

We stopped at the top of Lincoln Gap, still cold from swimming in the rain in the Otter Creek.

This photo perhaps best sums up our summer. Girls, growing, nature, and, all around, words.

Summer, Vermont. 2019.

A Creamy Moon…

July 16, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / 6 Comments

… rose over the hillside. Like a surprise, the moon simply appeared.

All day long it often seems, I go about moving things — words, dishes, weeds. Laundry from the line to the basket. My own sometimes tired bones. Then the moon, rising infinitely serene and wise.

After a late soccer game, the girls sat at table outside, the air abruptly cooling as the sun began to sink. The girls kept eating strawberries, shortcake, whipped cream. A forkful dropped on the table.

There you are, my daughter said to the moon, laughing. A hello from her to this heavenly sphere. July.

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White Mountains. Hiking with my brother. Photo by Jess.

Working Days

July 10, 2019July 10, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / 4 Comments

At my desk this morning, I realized all three of us are working this week — myself and my older daughter, and the younger sister now, too. At 14, she’s a junior counselor in a camp for a week — a take-it-seriously kind of kid, paired up with a friend she’s known her entire life.

Sure, learning to talk and walk are major milestones, but this? This employment thing turns a bend. Next week, she’ll be back to Kid Land, searching for something to do, and not particularly looking to me for anything, save for a ride and a restock of the larder. But still. For this week? Wow. I’m not quite sure what to think of this.

Grown ups are complicated creatures, full of quirks and secrets.

― Roald Dahl

Our domestic July world

Under the Hood

July 8, 2019July 8, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / 2 Comments

At dinner, my daughter mimics the whine of her car engine. Entranced, the cats stare at her.

After dinner, my youngest, at 14, carries out the Harry Potter she’s reading and the car keys and starts the car. What’s the sound? my oldest asks.

Power steering fluid is low, I answer.

The oldest tells her sister to turn off the car, and I tell my oldest to put away her phone and look for a dipstick and a reservoir. The youngest pulls out the manual, because it’s always a good idea to read the manual, too. We have a little conversation about the index.

The fluid’s low.

Neither girl asks me how I knew that sound corresponded to which fluid. Who taught me that? In an odd kind of way, I silently take this as a parenting compliment. We drive my car downtown to get more fluid. My oldest is annoyed, and I mention what’s doubtlessly irritating: It’s basic maintenance. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to learn a few simple car skills.

What-ever, she says, and flings open the door of the store.