(disclaimer: you know I have to wax poetical about my love for the Heights just to combat the uncomfortable discontent that can rise up when I think about my property taxes... no worries, its not all wine and roses. Or it is, but just really really expensive wine and roses...)
On Wednesday evenings Wade Oval stays open late. Summer festivals have gone, leaving the Oval a calm expanse of green, with museums beckoning on all sides. We've been having a spate of warm-fall weather and the sunny evening begged a trip down Murray Hill for the kids and I. We loaded bikes and helmets and dog and made the trip.
You know, the 7 minute trip. Because I love where I live.
Jack rode at least 8 circuits, beaming, riding one-handed, proud, almost disappearing on the far side of the Oval (imagine how free he must feel??) as Ivy and I slowly made our way around. The girl is pedaling her trike like a champ but it's hard to make much progress when you are stopping every five feet or so to imagine yourself at a restaurant, or to carefully stow your imaginary pink, purple, silver and gold bike locks in the back basket. "I have SEVERAL locks, momma. Good I have so many locks!"
The sun flitted down through the leaves, shining golden halos through my children's hair. Walkers and runners circled around, with smiles and waves and hardly any perturbance when the littles got in their way. We admired chalk art and drank from every drinking fountain. Corydon sniffed everything in sight and we soaked up the light.
Then, we locked our bikes to a big yellow flower and headed into the Gardens for dinner.
The Gardens! The sense of calm and well-being I get just from walking in the door. The well-lit, perfectly proportioned space, the oxygen-rich, heady air, the opulence of green all about. We sat outside to enjoy the pumpkins and haybales decorating the patio for fall, eating grilled cheese and making up a collaborative story about a Princess and a wise, break-dancing monster and an old dragon named Sookaroo and their quest to bring the dragon-riders back to the kingdom.
You need to know that I hardly ever think of dinner with my children as something to be savored. The endless negotiations, the wheedling, the whining, the reprimands. Dinner is rather something to be endured, most nights.
But not at the Gardens.
At the Gardens, we soak up dinner together. We revel in each other and their eyes shine and we have all the time and ease in the world. Dinner could have gone on all night.
But-- there was a children's garden to explore! Scarecrows to discover, herbs to smell, plants to water. We never even made it to the pond and treehouse because some nights you just want to be where you are, a little bit longer. Especially when you have popsicles.
We couldn't leave without a trip to the glasshouses. Glowing and magical and just a little eerie with the light fading behind the high glass walls, the glasshouses were places for wishing. We found little purple flowers on the paths and wished them all into the streams.
Birds were arcing above us and crickets were chirring with all their might and the butterflies! They were alive and alight with the excitement of the evening. The big ones, with the fake eyes on their wings, swooping and diving and looking rather like bats, as Jack pointed out. They traveled in pairs and threes and danced in the air with no fear, landing on our arms, in our hair. We laugh-shrieked and ran along the path, seeking refuge behind the waterfall to recover.
A tiny butterfly alighting gently on your shoulder in the sunshine? Fairy magic. Giant butterflies dive bombing your head? A little scary. Having each other to hold and hug and laugh through it?
Priceless, actually.
We didn't get home til 8:30 but that was totally OK.
Because I love where I live.
Feeling happy and lucky tonight in Cleveland. A busy weekend of memory making to come. Tune in again soon, loves.
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