A slow summer morning

Peppermint tea for breakfast. On summer mornings, sun or rain, I walk into our country house garden and snap some peppermint leaves to put in my flowery cup, a gift from my sister. June seemed to be one endless rainy day - gray, gray, gray. I was here only for few days. July has been sunny. I have been here for weeks with only one short visit to home. 

I haven't picked my peppermint today yet. Mimm is still sleeping under a huge mound of a blanket. She turns herself and her head rests on my pillow. The doors are creaky and tend to slam shut loudly, I don't want to disturb Mimm, or my sis and nephew who sleep in the next room. My uncle is the only man in the house. He is old, slow and silent, almost like a shadow. I don't have to worry about my husband or brother-in-law. They came to visit us for the weekend and now are back in the city. Working.

I sit in an armchair next to a window. A huge lilac bush takes most of the view. Just a narrow slice of the garden is visible. On the far side tall spruces and pine trees hide us from neighbors. When I tilt my head I can see a glimpse of the sea.

We have a rare quiet morning. Usually my sis goes to pull out fishing nets early in the morning and mom sets up the breakfast. I can hear the movement through my half-awake state. Sometimes I fall back to sleep and get up around nine o'clock. I love sleeping late in the summer. 

Today my mom is in the city and my sis made a conscious decision not to go fishing yesterday so she would have a long sleep in the morning. We won't have fried turbot for dinner today. We had yesterday. And the day before, and the day before that. Usually my mom cleans and fries the fish. Yesterday I had to clean the fish. Not a sight to think about or share on a serene moment. Fortunately we are still free form the daily dinner question. We boiled a huge pot of fresh potatoes yesterday more than we were able to eat, so we'll create a new dish from the leftover potatoes. 

A daily cup of tea is a daily routine more than a need. It's a moment of meditation. Going to pick my leaves I always pause, breathe, lift my eyes to the sky, listen to the wind. For the past few days the light eastern breeze and intense sun in the blinding blue sky have promised grilling hot days but almost icy cold water in the sea. A beautiful but painful day when the skin burns easily and the sea freezes toes as soon as they touch the sea water. 

We were home most of the day yesterday hiding in the shade or staying inside. My sis and kids went to the beach in the evening when the sun had tired of frying everything and everybody. I stayed home, read "Bird by Bird", walked around in the garden, baked a banana bread, and read some more. I drank some water flavored with lemon slices and peppermint leaves. The slowness and being alone are gifts I appreciate.

Mimm's movement hints that she will wake up soon. I will go pick my peppermint and then we will have scrambled eggs, tomatoes from our green house and some banana bread for breakfast. We don't have a set schedule or a plan for today. Mimm and my nephew will probably run off to play with their friends as soon as they take their last bite. My sister and I will let the day unfold as it wishes.