home

Funny how the definition of home changes for you over time. Not the location of home, but what it means to call a place home. Because right now, I'm not sure what exactly I would refer to as home.

I suppose the confusion came on early enough: when I moved from Warsaw to New York, as a child, knowing that eventually I would be returning to Warsaw. (And not knowing that even later, I would be returning to New York.) So which was my home town? It sure felt at home in New York as a kid, but would call Warsaw home as a teenager, but quickly changed my mind as a young adult, even though I wavered a bit in more senior years, thinking that perhaps I know Warsaw too well to completely put it aside. 

It gets even more complicated with actual houses I lived in. The village house where my grandmother lived -- that was home. Until she moved out and died, then it lost of traces of home, even when my sister reappropriated the place not too long ago. On the other hand, the apartment we lived in in New York never felt like home. It was a borrowed place (rented by the Polish government) and that whole chapter felt like I was reading about someone else's  childhood. It was all so impermanent. 

There is the song by Vanessa Carlton called "Home." I've always liked it for the theme it suggests She sings -- I've always known with you I am home. So, not a place, but where love is lodged. 

But of course, Ed now lives at the farmette and I do not. 

I visited the farmette today. As it happened he wasn't there, but no matter -- the utter familiarity of the place hit me with such force that I paused and just stared at the place. Walking up the irregular and chipped brick path that leads to the back door (which we use almost exclusively) had patches of ice on it still. And puddles. I knew where the puddles would form and I almost reached for a shovel to do away with the last ice bit -- do it now, while it's above freezing, or be stuck with it for the rest of winter. But of course I didn't do it. And I didn't throw away a piece of trash that was still on the counter (because Ed had had a meeting and was in a hurry) since, well, it no longer felt like my home.

When did that happen?? I had invested so much of me in that place! I see the plants that need a trim, the pots with dead annuals that need to be pulled and replaced come spring. And the clematis! It has to be cut back before the growing season! Am I really going to let it struggle? Snipping off the vines would take no time, right? 

It's not my home.

But is the Edge home? Henry changed that for me: it wasn't until he came along. And now, well, it sort of is. Even though I'm almost certain to move come summer, right now it feels like... home.

 

A wet morning. It had rained overnight. My immediate reaction is -- great! Less salt!

Breakfast. I hide the poinsettia. I really can't look at it anymore. It's not a plant that you want to keep as your centerpiece in January. And yet, there it is -- bright and blushing as always. So I put it to the side, feeling somewhat guilty that I would treat something that is a work of nature so dismissively.

(The finches, though not yet calling this place home, sure spend a lot of time here now...)

Henry has doggie daycare. A necessity today because I have yet another appointment to consider my cough. Which remains "just a cough." With no end in sight. Come back if it doesn't go away. 

This is why I stop by the farmette (plus the fact that I have some leftovers for Ed). I'm in the neighborhood. I can't not come here if I am in the neighborhood. Despite the fact that it is no longer home.

In the afternoon I get the kids -- first Sparrow then Snowdrop.

I know they both loved the farmhouse -- especially Snowdrop who knew it inside out for the first ten years of her life. I doubt that they regard the Edge as somehow their second "home" now. Their definition differs from mine. As I said, it changes with age.

We pick up Goose and Henry. The two big dogs go nuts when they hear and see us. (As do the kids when they see them!)

 

I drive them, their dog to their home.  

Henry comes home with me of course. If anyone loves this place totally, completely, it's my pooch. If something is out of place, he notices it instantly. All his routines are rooted at the Edge, on this couch. 

 

 

 

Maybe for Henry, who was truly homeless before he came here, home is where the couch is, so long as I'm nearby? Maybe.

with so much love...  

birthday Monday

Well you know what I had to do this morning: get the correct milk -- whole milk -- at the store and bake a cake. For Snowdrop's birthday. Oh, and decorate the place and get dinner ready for the young fam. I've been the birthday dinner person for all three Madison grandkids pretty much every year. They tell me what cake to bake, what food they'd like to eat and I'm on it.

This year, things are a little tricky. Sure, I live close by. But the apartment is small and between us, we have two large dogs, three kids and three grownups. (I told Ed to stay home. His size wouldn't help matters in a tight space.) And it's a school day, so I am back on after-school care for the big two. How does this all come together for Snowdrop, the now 11 year old in our midst?

I take one step at a time.

First, there is my Henry to walk, hug, feed, admire. Breakfast to eat.

Henry is always so happy to be going to doggie daycare. When he gets antsy inside on the weekend, I'm sure his woof and tug at my arm are his way of asking -- can I go out and play with my friends now?

 I think probably a half day there would be optimal, but the cost is nearly the same and the late afternoon is when I really need him to be there. (They're not keen on having your pup come in midday because the other dogs are ready for a rest then, while yours is charged and ready to play.) 

I drop him off and then I hustle. To the store, to get the correct milk and any number of items for the week ahead. Home, to tidy the place, to put up decorations (they have to include penguins), to take out the presents. To bake the cake already!

Snowdrop wants a chocolate cake with a layer of raspberry jam, frosted with whipped cream and decorated with candied violets. A very specific assignment! You know of course that you cannot bake the cake at noon and expect to frost it before 2 (that's the time I leave to pick up Sparrow at school). So I move things around a bit. Sparrow and I come back to the apartment after school, and I whip up the frosting then. Too, I get his help in pulling out the table. It's a two person job! 

 

(my helpful boy...) 

 

 

We are done just as the clock tells me it's time to get the birthday girl.

 

 

And still, there are complicated scheduling issues. Sparrow starts Taekwondo this evening. He would hate missing the first class of anything, but especially of an activity he doesn't know much about. The plan is for me to pick up Henry at daycare, drop off Sparrow with his mommy so that she can take him to class. Meanwhile, I should return to the Edge and cook dinner (the girl wants spaghetti with scallops in a tomato sauce). The rest of the family will come once both boys are picked up and, along with Goose, packed into the car for the short drive to the Edge.

To say that I'm a bit worried about how all this will play out is like saying that a coming tornado is causing me to feel unsettled. Henry is on good terms with the both young families by now, but how will he react to having them over on his own turf? And how will we all manage to squeeze ourselves into that small space that counts as a dining/living room? Will the dogs destroy the place? Isn't it time to bring out Henry's brown calming collar?

 

When will I stop taking such trivial issues seriously? Henry hears them coming down the hallway and he is all ready to bark, but then he spots Goose and all anxiety melts away from him, from me as well. The kids are boisterous but in the best way! And the dogs try to make sense of it all, although perhaps they've given up trying to understand human peculiarities. 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy birthday, you sweet child of the winter season! A Snowdrop indeed, with a generous heart and enthusiasm etched into her face. Happy happy birthday!

 

 

 

 (Facetime with cousins in Chicago)

 

 

The ten of us try for a timed release group photo and we sort of pull it off, though I think I've officially become a magnet for dog affections! My big guy with the brown collar is competing with Goose to see who gets the most licks in.

 

 

 It was, in fact, a very beautiful day. And Henry? He stayed by the door for a long time after they all left. There was that question mark: is it over? Can't we go with them? Are you sure?

How quickly children and dogs grow! Watching them leap from one stage to the next is exhilarating. And exhausting, even though really, you are just a bystander, watching, adding a little of this or that, but hanging back too. Grandparents need to be good at that!

I clean up the place with a smile. I have in my life such good dogs, such great humans too! 

with so much love... 

 

sweet and salty Sunday

The sunshine this morning wipes clean the slate of worries and grumbles that are so easy to stumble into when you read the headlines, or, more locally -- when you walk your dog on a sidewalk covered with salt.

Let's stay local for now: why do we dump so much of these nuggets on walkways that are already clear of snow and ice? Anticipating a future weather event that may or may not turn slippery? Because the contract requires snow removal people to do this, whether it's needed or not? I just don't get it.

At the farmette, I grumbled that we didn't clear the pathways enough. That ice patches remained until spring, rendering the entire place slippery -- a hazard for older people, delivery services and my fast-moving grandkids. I purchased environmentally "friendly" pellets and sprinkled them by the back door maybe twice during the winter, when things got so bad that I was afraid anyone would crack their head stepping outside. But otherwise, we stuck with shoveling and scraping. 

I can understand why an apartment building or corporate offices would feel an obligation to do better. But this excessive salting is just plain nuts. No matter how much I wipe my shoes, I bring in salt every single time I walk Henry. What must he feel on his paws walking on this stuff? 

And yet, what we both do also feel is that sunshine. Not initially -- Henry's up before the sun is even contemplating making an appearance. 

Yes, it's cold outside. But dry and brisk and therefore pleasant for someone (me!) who does not mind a winter frost.

And when the sun comes out, it's all brilliant and very satisfying. For us, for the finches (and sparrows and chickadees, but mainly finches) that come to eat seeds on my balcony.

Henry watches. I eat breakfast. All is good once again.

Without question Henry needs a good saunter today. Without it, by noon he starts getting frisky. Too frisky. Prairie Morraine it shall be!

Ed meets us there for our walk. It's nice to have his company, even if Ed and I tend to be quiet walkers. I can't really explain it -- it just feels good to have him by my side as we walk and watch my sprinting pup.

 

An hour of dog chasing and prairie sniffing (which results once again in him bringing us a dead mouse -- my gloves are in for a good washing), I return to the Edge and do a really edgy thing for me: I leave Henry at home for all of thirty minutes, for a quick run to the nearby grocery store. I need to bake a cake. I have to have whole milk for it.

He is obviously tired. I leave him with some extra food. I put on Chopin. I exit and close the door. And turn on my security camera.

Initially, he wont leave the door. Indeed, he jumps up (thank goodness for the door protector) and tries hard to get it open. I turn off the camera. There are some things that I prefer not seeing. 

I'm nervous and hurried enough that I pick up the wrong milk! Never mind, I'm not going back! I check the security camera again. Ha! My pooch is resting on the couch. 

 (coming to greet me as I enter)

 

 

A really important lesson for him -- I will come back. Really I will. 

I have competing interests tonight -- a great book that I am reading and a great (in my view) series that I am watching (Light a Penny Candle by Maeve Binchy, and Bad Sisters season 2 on Apple TV, free because of my phone). What's a person to do... 

Back and forth between the two. 

When I first moved to the Edge, I didn't exactly rave about the view. Corporate buildings in the distance. An empty field, a parking lot. Over time, I've come to appreciate that I do not look into anyone's windows, nor do they look into mine. And then, too, I get plenty of sky. A southern exposure gives you a glimpse of a sunrise to the left, and then at sunset, you might see the colors of a winter sunset to your right. 

The farmette of course offered nature. A seasonally changing crab apple. My flower fields. But with all the tall trees, we could never catch that setting sun. I would not say that this is better (view wise) than the farmette. But I do recognize its own brand of loveliness. Now, if they would only use less salt on the cleared sidewalks...

with so much love... 

 

quiet Saturday

After the chaos that comes with Christmas, January offers a pleasant pause. At least in its first week. Well, for me, the pause comes only until we hit Snowdrop's birthday (early next week). Of course, a birthday is just one day and our fuss over it is not nearly of the caliber that other holidays may demand. So, pause it is. Henry and I are chilling on a very chilly day. Inside, idly. 

How is it that my active dog is taking things slowly? It wasn't my doing. My pooch got an upset stomach yesterday evening, and all he wanted to do then was rest. Today he appears to be better, but still, I'm keeping things calm around here. It remains to be seen if we stick with it.

Yes, it's still cold.

For the first time, I see Henry picking up his paws quickly off the frozen, icy (or salty -- take your pick)  ground. I did want to take him on a slightly longer walk this morning, to make sure his digestive issues have cleared up, but I see that his paws are hurting, so I limit it to just around the block.

It's an oatmeal for breakfast kind of day.

Henry takes his usual morning nap...

... and honestly, I could go for one as well, but unlike Ed and Henry, I cannot fall asleep on demand. 

 

Our second walk, still in the morning, is also on leash, and in the neighborhood.  Unfortunately, I did forget that this type of walk really calls for a harness.  There was a squirrel. Then there was a mouse. Or was it a vole? One of those critters that burrows in the snow, but not so deep that Henry can't sniff it out. I pull, I tug, I yank. I hate that I'm being so tough on his throat, but this dog will not give up until the squirrel/mouse/vole is in his mouth. The farmette cats eat those darn critters (yes, even the squirrels). Tufts of hair and maybe a stomach would remain. But what would a dog do once he lands his prey? Bring it home? When Henry takes apart a toy, he typically leaves the shreds for me to find. 

 (this beloved reindeer doesn't stand a chance)

 

 

But I'm sure some parts are swallowed. I don't think his currently sensitive tummy could take a parasite and bacteria ridden vermin. I continue to pull at the leash until he gives up. A real battle of wills! And muscle. I may have won this time, but I'd say it was pretty close! 

I deem him to be well enough for an afternoon trip to the dog park. Just the local one. Penni Klein. Oh, does he need it! At home, his desire to engage me in doggie play had been turned up to high volume. Yes, it's my job to teach him that I am not one of the pups he rocks with at doggie daycare. Some days those lessons seem lost on him. He needs active play.

I let him loose in the dog park. 

I had to smile at this next photo: my command "four on floor," which I issue not nearly often enough, is the opposite of this moment, where all "four" are "off the floor."

 

 

Yes, slow Saturday for me. Perhaps not so much for him. And I'm glad I brought the ball he is jumping after in the picture. It was a good distraction for when he located a dead mouse in the brush. Commands such as Leave It or Drop It just caused him to snort and run harder. But a tossed ball posed a dilemma and I seized the disgusting mangled mouse by the tail the minute he let it go. But it still leaves the question of what was to come next for him, had I not grabbed the mouse? Was he thinking he'd pack it up and take it home? Or crunch those gross bones (and get sick after)?

 

Back at the Edge, my pooch is ready for a nap, and then more play. I take out his Christmas gift from his "cousins" in Chicago -- a Hide and Slide game, where he has to figure out how to get at the treats hidden in various compartments. 

 

 

 

It's hard to say if he is just damn brilliant, or if he is so food driven that he'll force a solution to anything that hides a nibble. In any case, food hiding games are always going to be a hit with him. It's like burrowing after a mouse -- he wont give up until he gets it. (Or I use brute force to pull him away.)

I realize that there isn't a photo in today's post that doesn't include Henry Bean. But of course! Quiet days are days when I can pay attention to my pooch. No distractions, no big happenings. Lovely winter days of total quiet, with my dog.

and so much love... 

22 on the 2nd

Ocean is 22 years old today. To me, what's remarkable is not that I have posted a story from my life every day for the past 22 years (with only a couple of exceptions early on, when WiFi access was simply not to be had), but that I was just 50 years old when I started. 50! That's so... young. Middle-aged. I was married then. One of my girls had just started college. Yeah, the one who now has two kids, the older of which is almost eight. I did not know anything about my future. None of us do, of course, but I was especially riddled with uncertainty. I knew what I had then was about to change. But how? And here's a big one: I could not imagine what it would be like to be past the age of 70. That's for old people. I was, after all, freshly out of the 40s.

If I were to be really into reflection, I might think about how my writing and story telling have changed. I might notice that I talk about age a lot more now. That I've narrowed my circle of close people, and write more about grandkids and Henry than dinner parties and wine makers in France.

Yesterday, I asked Ed if I'm likely to recognize it if I develop dementia and start writing nonsensical posts describing people whose names escape me and events that happened years ago, if they happened at all. Or, maybe in ten years if I'm still kicking around, I'll talk about my day thus: "Today, I picked up the phone when Henry came to my bedside and started to pull off my quilt. I called the dog walker and she came right away. Once they were back and she fed my old boy, he went back to sleep -- after all, he is ten years old already! I went back to sleep as well. We both woke up at noon. I took a shower. That was a long process because just getting myself to the seat in the shower stall took a whole bunch of energy that I didn't really have. I called one of those food services that sends a drone with your food. It bumped into another drone that was delivering my mail. Can you believe they still deliver mail once a week?!..." and so on. I mean, who knows, right?

 

It is a cold morning. 

But sunny! Stunning, brilliant sunshine.  

 

  

Breakfast -- very cozy and hygge!

 

 

 

 (my sleepy boy... if he can't have my lap, he'll take a pillow...)

 

 

And then? Henry goes to his doggie world of daycare. And me? It is fair to say that I wasted most of the day trying to convince my flying team of AirFrance/KLM that their website has not been working properly for three days now. Yes, I've cleared cookies. Yes, I restarted my computer. Many times. All other airlines are functioning just fine. But you, you my trusted partners in flying -- you're just spinning in circles, getting me nowhere at all.

Why do I stay with them? Why this loyalty when in fact oftentimes their prices are slightly higher than the cheapest fare? Well, it made sense until this year. I'd been gunning for their "for life" level in their frequent flyer program, which does help you a lot when your connections are falling apart for whatever reason. Ten years of of loyalty finally got me to become a "for lifer." Starting this January 1st. The funny thing is that now, at 72, I'm cutting back on travel. So I worked hard for all these years, and will probably rarely use this benefit. But now I do not need to stay loyal. I can choose other airlines. So why do I come back to them anyway? 

Ah, capitalism! You dont even realize when you have been sucked into their hungry corporate jaws until it's too late. I've grown accustomed to their transfer airports. Detroit, my favorite. Minneapolis, a close second. On the other side of the ocean -- Paris Charles de Gaul. You may groan at that airport, sure, it's not easy to navigate its French jungle of gates, terminals, horrid passport lines, but I know now how to do it and besides, it's all in French, so I feel my efforts at speaking their language are being rewarded at every turn. The thought of switching to, say, British Airways (fly through London! Yikes!) or worse, Lufthansa (German at every turn! Eek!), or Icelandic (you stop in Reykjavik and still have hours of travel left! Ugh!) is revolting. 

So I kept struggling today even though I know that ultimately I will abandon my loyalties and go with whatever is the cheapest elsewhere. Oh, the irony of doing that, just at the point where I am a "for lifer!"

  

I pick up my sweet Henry Bean. My mellow fellow. My dog with the eyes that once were filled with fear and pain and now are on me with far greater loyalty than I could possibly deserve. 

I love you, Henry.

You too, my Ocean friends of long and short duration.

New Year's Day

Good morning! Good day to you! And with wishes for a good year ahead!

I say these words with utter earnestness, even though many would regard 2025 as one of the most difficult years of our lives if not our nation's history, and my morning session of doom scrolling revealed that there is much unnecessary suffering in this world. Too, news trickled in about ailing friends facing daunting challenges, so one may well ask -- where is there room for a good year ahead?

Well, we start with the fact that you and I are alive and still thinking straight. I say this with utmost certainty because I am writing and you are reading, and that takes brain power and some tactile and visual dexterity. So, here we are, made it to 2026, brain still functional. That's a good beginning, isn't it?

 

My Henry woke me at 6:15, but I put him off for a half hour. When I finally decided that staying in bed was just plain mean, given my pup's urgent needs, I got up ever so quietly. Ed, predictably, was still sleeping.

Henry, would you like to say Happy New Year to Ocean readers?

He is a living example of how bad luck isn't necessarily the end of the story for you. Things can change. Drastically. For the better. My happy boy is loved so much! He suffers now from too much attention (I am told by my very wise daughters), certainly not too little. His home is warm, food is plentiful. Luck, revisited.

 

New Year's Day. It's bitter cold outside. 6F/-14C. Sweater time again for Henry (and warmest jacket for me).

I hesitate with breakfast. I like eating with Ed, but I have gotten used to a far earlier morning meal here at the Edge and frankly, putting off coffee for a couple more hours seems... off-putting. So Henry and I stick with our routines. I keep the door to the bedroom closed, but that really puzzles Henry, so I open it and we keep the noise down to joyful classical music in the background. Ed sleeps through it all. 

 

 

 

When he is finally up, I get him to help me set up a security camera and a door protector for when I attempt to leave Henry alone. I could do both myself, but when I do these things with Ed, they become projects, whereas when I try to figure them out on my own, they are chores. 

He returns to the farmette then, to feed his group of animals. Henry rests, with me by his side.

 

The three of us meet up again in the afternoon. Henry needs his dog park run and going to Ed's park means we get to have Ed with us for the walk. Both Henry and I love that!

There aren't many dogs in the park, which surprises me. Doesn't everyone need to get their pup out on the first of a new year? 

Still, Henry manages to get his zoomies out. 

 

 

 

We do two loops and for him, that's just pure heaven.

It's a cold day today, but the wind is light and I have to say, I don't mind the deep freeze at all. A couple of inches of snow gifts a January freshness to the landscape. If I were to grumble, it would be over the absence of sunshine lately. But I'm not in a grumbly mood. Perhaps it's because I really do not have resolutions, broken or unbroken. As a humor piece in the New Yorker stated, New Year's resolutions are those special little promises you make to be less like yourself and more like other, better people. We have such trouble accepting our own imperfections! 

 

Henry and I take it easy tonight. Leftovers for me, plain old dog food for him. And a snuggle on the couch. We're having a happy New Year so far and we really do hope that yours is shaping up to be great as well. 

with so much love... 

 

New Year's Eve

Is there anyone who doesn't have mixed feelings about this day? Well okay, Ed shows no such ambivalence. He can't understand why anyone would go out of their way to do something unusual on a day that marks nothing more than another number on a calendar page. I've stopped trying to explain to him that conventions, traditions, social constructs help to move us along on the path of life. He will respond with a "yes, gorgeous" that means nothing at all.

Me, I like the coming of the new, I don't much like looking at what's behind. Sorry, 2025. We're done with you. You had real stellar moments, and no tragedies for me and I am so very grateful! Now, how can we help make things better in 2026? 

I read somewhere recently that the whole concept of resolutions for the New Year is an insane idea that only brings misery and stirs up feelings of inadequacy. We'd be way better off striving to change nothing, concentrating instead on improving our mental health. Perhaps by planning for some more time off from work, or maybe saving up for a massage, or joining an online class on meditation. Forget the learning of a new language or filling your 10 000 step goal. Put your feet up  and stream a favorite show on day one of the New Year, if that's what makes you happy. Well, considering that most of us will be streaming stuff on this Eve, perhaps we might want to move ourselves off the couch come New Year's Day. Vary it up a little: maybe sit at the table and do a jigsaw puzzle. Sounds good to me, except I bought too many Christmas puzzles and now they seem awfully out of line with the times.

 

This morning it was warm enough (just below freezing) for Henry to skip his sweater. 

My pooch wasn't into a longer walk and I didn't push it, since he has doggie day care, and that promises a full day of movement for him. 

At home, I gave my big guy lots of hugs to let him know that I am thrilled to have found him and that he will never be left to manage on his own again. I think he understood.

Breakfast, still with a poinsettia, because what are you supposed to do with a plant in full bloom? Keep it until it withers. Even as I know these plants never die, they just drag on and on. Mine looks as good as it did on day 1. And like Ed, it doesn't acknowledge the passage of time and my diminishing interest in anything related to the holidays.

Afterwards, Henry and I do snuggle a bit, but he is also in his "hide the treat" mood. I am not sure why he does this. I haven't seen it for a while, but today, here he is again, hiding his dental stick and his chicken jerky. Carefully. Pushing the pillow over to cover it. Is it a game? Is he serious about hording? Am I feeding him too much? Is there an instinct at play? I do not know.

 

 

 

With Henry in doggie daycare, I set about doing the obvious end of December stuff, which includes zooming with my wonderful friend in Poland whose birthday it happens to be today. Indeed, you could say I was almost there for their midnight, it being a seven hour difference in time.

I was to cook dinner for my daughter's family tonight, but they had a sudden arrival of extra family (on my son-in-law's side) and so I bowed out. Still, Ed came to my place, we drove over to get both dogs from daycare -- Henry and his buddy Goose -- and we stopped at Goose's home to linger over a drink and some yummy cheeses. Well, before we lingered, I tried to walk both dogs at the same time -- never a good idea. One pulls one way, the other -- completely in the opposite direction. Snow fell, I fell, my watch alarm went off and I could not silence it, because the dogs were still determined to tear my limbs out, even as I sat on their leashes in the snow and contemplated my unfortunate plight.

Eventually we make our way inside. For the cheeses. And a New Year's Eve toast.

... while the kids (three from here, one visiting cousin from Milwaukee) build tents and structures everywhere, which I'm sure they will clean up after, to my daughter's satisfaction, don't you think? Given that it's New Year's Eve?

 

And then it's just the three of us -- Henry, Ed and me, at the Edge. I fix a shrimp scampi platter, with some veggies and a salad. Henry, of course, loves the smell of food in the oven and convinces me that it is absolutely necessary for me to give him two of the (rather small) shrimp. And I do. Because it's New Year's Eve.

 Happy New Year, with so much love!