a Tuesday of closures

Well of course all the schools closed today. It's just too damn cold. I feed the huddled chickens when the thermometer tells me it's -14f (-26C) out there by the barn. Of course, that's before you calculate the wind chill.

 

Except for the cardboard  house that Ed built for him, covered with an ancient sleeping bag and with an electric pad inside (all this we keep on the porch), Pancake is a completely outdoor feral. And still he is better off than most living in the wild cats, who must cope without any heat source. Dance, for example, was born in January and she spent the first three months of her life completely outside. Now she just adores sleeping on the farmhouse heating vent, as if making up for those tough months.

 

(Pancake, on a brittle path)

Me, I did not sleep well last night. Texting with family, with friends, trying to make sense of the day -- all the way past midnight (at the same time thinking -- they, the ones with power, they're smacking their lips and rubbing their hands in glee; they have us exactly where they want us: worried. For nearly a decade now, it's been the ultimate goal. To knock down and leave whimpering those who care about the environment, economic inequality, health care access, personal choice, the rule of law, setting an example... Wait, doesn't that describe everyone? Shocking to find out that it does not).

Ocean doesn't tackle political problems, but what happened yesterday (following the inauguration) isn't just the usual political shenanigans of Washington. It has far reaching consequences and so I needed to tell you that I did not sleep well last night. In fact, for the first time since the week we learned of Covid's shutdowns and dangers, I took a sleeping pill to finally drift off for a while. 

Then this morning I rallied and put away the bottle of pills for when I really need them. I'm not totally there yet!

So schools are closed, the kids are home, the parents are releasing tablet time hour restrictions, trying to keep the three quiet while they work remotely. I understand Snowdrop is doing endless projects to keep her brothers occupied. Me, I begin the task of packing my own suitcase. Uff! Why do winter clothes need to be so bulky? Can I manage a carryon? Yes, but I need to expand it so... a carryon that's not going to be carried on.

I eat breakfast. Ed is on the phone discussing potential layoffs with the CEO of the machining company once the announced tariffs against our neighbors go into effect (maybe Feb 1st, but who knows, uncertainty is what we're living with now). I dont ask him to join me. They need to talk this through.

(oatmeal and red everything else!)

But within minutes he puts down the phone and comes over. Could it be that he needs these breakfasts together as much as I do? He scrambles up some eggs from our chickens (they're starting to lay again, slowly but surely). We talk about whether it would be fun to live a nomadic life at our age -- a few months here, a few months there. He thinks it could be fun. Me? Well what do you think -- the penultimate planner that I am, does that make me a good candidate for moving around and living out of a suitcase for a couple of years? At another time, in another life!

Now it's back to packing. How could it be this hard? Oh, you mean because the weather prognosis for our destination changes and includes everything from freezing temps to snow to rain to warmish temps? Well no matter. I dont equip myself for every exigency. Just the ones that will rip me apart if I come unprepared. (We will be in a small village with few stores, so resupplying would not be easy.)

And in the afternoon, I fight the cold and head out. To the sporting goods store, because a pair of ski goggles is stuck in the cavernous world of Amazon misdeliveries, and someone will need ski goggles. Not me. I'm abstaining. I think. Probably. Almost for sure. (I am a reluctant abandonner of one of my favorite sports -- downhill skiing.)

And I visit the young family. I need to drop something off and pick something up. I play "fighting cars and trucks" with Sandpiper, then watch Sparrow who is immersed in yet another Lego project.

At five, I take Snowdrop to Girl Scouts and head home.

It's evening. I was going to make a soup for Ed but I ran out of steam and time. Still, there are veggies, salads, eggs for me, tortillas for him. And a piece of chocolate. Grateful, and in love.

a Monday of interesting happenings

Of course you think I'm glued to the TV today, right? Watching a performance like no other? Doing my daily mile walk to the sound of pomp and fanfare in the living room?

No, of course not, but I am moving between themes that are so strong right now that one is more forceful and distracting than the next. There's the weather, there's news coming at us quickly, to shock, to make our hearts race and hope crumble, but then, too, there's a lovely lunch with friends, and there's packing, and ... did I mention the weather?

It is bitter cold. When the temps fall this low and I walk to the barn in subzero (F) temperatures, I often think to myself -- how did people manage before central heating warmed up our indoor spaces? How could you stand being so cold for such big chunks of each day for so many months? You watch those movies about the Gulag in Siberia, you read books about life in Wisconsin, Minnesota 150 years ago and you feel so guilty that you should have any complaints about life today. We have heat. I took a hot shower this morning. I flushed a toilet. I fixed a warm mug of steaming milky coffee. In those minutes alone, I felt like I was born in a privileged place, at a privileged time.

In these January days, I feel for the chickens. 

They can't walk far without a pause to warm their claws. If they do stand, it's only on one foot. And of course, they don't know that this too will pass. That there will be summer. That life will turn around for them soon (well, not that soon!). All they can do is take one minute at a time and make the best of it.

...while we, with some guilt, sit down to a lovely breakfast at home.

We shouldn't eat really. We have a lunch date with Ed's friends today and three meals for us is a bit much, but I cannot pass up my granola with yogurt and fruit and importantly -- my milky coffee.

I am absolutely habit driven with foods. I have great love for and total devotion to the small treats that are part of my day. Breakfast is the most obvious one. Lunch snack -- another. Wine used to define my dinners -- now, for all those blasted medical reasons, it's no longer a dinner fixture, but it does still make me so happy to have a kir vin blanc (a little white wine with a splash of cassis) with a "citrus, ginger and thyme crisp" or two from Rustic Bakery before the meal. And finally -- a square of chocolate in the evening, on the couch. All of the above -- total bliss.

But today of course, lunch is going to be unusual. We meet up with Ed's friends from long ago for a lunch at Miko. Some would call it a seafood restaurant, but it's more like a poke bowl place. And importantly, it's participating in Madison's restaurant week. Do you have those in your community? Here, several dozen restaurants serve up 3-course meals for an even $20. It's a way to get you to go out in January, when restaurant visits tend to plummet.

Yes, it's a lovely way to get me to do the (nearly) impossible -- push me out into the bitter cold!

And shortly after, I go to my daughter's house... 

(hi, Sparrow!)

 

... to help Snowdrop pack for a forthcoming trip.

The trip starts on Wednesday and it has become somewhat of a staple fixture in my travel year -- it's to the mountains and I take her along for the skiing opportunities that it provides for her. Why now? Well, her school has several built-in closures in the second half of January, so it minimizes absences. If I waited until March -- her spring break -- there wouldn't be snow. Finally, January is the cheapest of the ski months. Places I pick fill with families where kids are on semester breaks (February and early March). January is comparatively slow and everything, from airfares down, is less pricey.

Today we pack. It's a tough assignment. It is impossible to manage with only a carry-on because we need to pack warm outdoor clothing. I attack the job with resolve!  We did it before (last year) and we do it again today.

I then get Snowdrop ready for ballet...

 

 

... drop her off at the dance studio and come back home for lunch, part two: our boxed leftovers from the earlier meal with friends.

And a piece of chocolate. On the couch. With so much love...

year of round numbers

I'm not really a numbers freak, but 2025 has always seemed very awesome to me, purely from the numerical standpoint. For reasons that make no sense to anyone, and not really to me, I have adopted five as my favorite number (people always ask you "what's your favorite number" so I have an answer at the ready!). From there, it's a short haul to loving 2025. All those fives, multiplied, added, divided -- it all works!

With a numerically significant family (there are 11 of us), you're going to hit someone whose age is a nice combination of fives and in this year of 2025 (and therefore always on multiples of 5), we get four people in that group: Snowdrop (10), my son-in-law (45), Ed (75) and significantly (because it's today) -- my youngest girl (40).

Ah, birthdays! Most people love them, some pretend to ignore them. I am usually not present on the actual date for four family members (that would include the Chicago bunch, with the exception of little Juniper who has managed to gather her family for hers each year, as well as my Madison son-in-law who probably doesn't need his mother-in-law to blow up balloons for him), and of course there's Ed who doesn't celebrate at all. Polish people are more bound to tradition and of course they have both name days and birthdays, so in my family there would thus be not 11 but 22 annual celebrations were we totally Polish! A bit much? Not at all! Isn't it absolutely the best to have these excuses for gatherings with a celebratory flair to them? Americans make do with Super Bowl parties, where the TV is on and people get roped into tribal battles. Is that better? Well, thank goodness we do have Thanksgiving. What? That has a football component to it as well? We're hopeless!

Let's return to my daughter's birthday (today!). Since it is such a round number, I actually cleared my calendar, delaying trips and such so that I could drive down there today, in case this would fit into their weekend plans, but in the end I decided to postpone my birthday visit. They have a whole lineup of activities planned and rather than making the trip for a fleeting glimpse of the birthday girl, I decided to make a whole 24 hours of it -- but at a later date.

Still, this day is hers. Absolutely positively. Let me dig up a photo from her past, just to remind myself what it was like to love her, play with her, cook for her, teach her, travel with her, sing to her at age...11!

 

Happy, happy birthday, sweet child of mine! Such an incredible person you are! How can one not be proud and delighted and full of love for all that you bring to each and every day!

Meanwhile, back at the farmette, it is as cold as can be! A high of 4F (-16C) and it will get colder tomorrow and the next day. By Monday/Tuesday, our windchill is expected at -30F (-35C). At those temps, even hardy Wisconsin is likely to close schools, just because so many kids walk to school and the danger at that level is obvious.

(chickens, hiding)

(Sunday is "water the plants day" -- this includes the stunning bloomers I keep in the sheep shed for the winter because they're just too big to fit in the farmhouse)

 

Ed and I paused and did a reset. I still think it's needed. He still thinks it's just me being silly. Dance the cat is happy to see us both eating breakfast together. At least today!

We don't go for a walk. I do my pacing in the farmhouse: one mile of it! Who wants to be out on a day like this! Ed did invite me to go with him to a memorial service for a friend who died, but since I know neither the person, nor those attending, I tell him perhaps we should aim for a more shared experience. But not today. There's the cold, and, too, I need to stay home and fix dinner for the young family. 

Happy kids, happy parents. Is it because tomorrow is a day off from school? From work? Or because the bitter cold wont last beyond Tuesday? Or for no other reason beyond that we're here, we're well (finally), we're sharing a meal... Surely that!

with so much love...

"but it's the little things!"

Nothing like having your own words thrown back at you. Unintentionally, but still...

Every once in a while, Ed and I need a reset. I suspect most couples our age do, though maybe most dont bother, thinking that with time, you adjust to whatever the next stage of your life is like. Indeed, if asked, Ed would say that he needs no such thing, that we're fine taking each day as it presents itself. I beg to differ.

We had our built-in restart buttons all along of course. Beyond the trivial -- like saying good morning to each other in some lovely fashion, as suggested in the "35 things" article I linked for you two days back -- we went deeper. An example: we had breakfast. An important ritual for me, as you know -- in its careful preparation, in opting to get us off to a healthy start (oatmeal with loads of fruits), or sometimes to get us off on a pleasurable path (croissants!). We talked about the day before us. We took our time.

And let me just stay with the breakfast example (even though it's one of many): over the months, Ed's sleeping schedule shifted and I would have to wait way too long to get breakfast going. Or, I'd wake him and he'd oblige, stumbling down, half asleep, to nuzzle the cats and sit across the table. Increasingly, he wasn't really hungry for the oatmeal or croissants. Just the fruits. And then Covid came and we had a pause in contact and when we resumed, he slept late, didn't feel hungry for oatmeal, for croissants, for fruit, for anything. When he came down (late!), he'd be physically present and that's about it. And so today I had to ask myself -- what's the point?

Alone, I put on music or NPR podcasts. I take stock. I eat when I want to -- like before 10 a.m. But the easing and flexing of this ritual is not as important as the question that comes up for me: what have we done to replace it?

Giving up a ritual is pricey. The loss of effort is pricey. You become two ships, sailing in the same ocean, but with separate crews and captains. Not totally inattentive, of course. You're vaguely aware of what the other ship is doing because you don't want to crash into each other, and you want to wind up in the same place at the end of the day or week or life, but your overlap, though fundamental at some deeper level, on a daily basis, is actually pretty trivial.

This is what I told him when he did come down in the morning. His answer? But we do everything together! 

Say what? Can I have a concrete example? 

We're in each others presence all day long!

Yes. How comfortable. Bonded emotionally, leading intellectually separate lives. Which is, I suppose, natural for two people who have such different interests. Nothing new there. But this is why we need rituals and resets.

But why? -- he asks. You know I just love the little things!

Ha! Right back at me!

 

Since it is going to be beastly cold for the next three days, we absolutely feel compelled to take a walk today. In our favorite park. The wind is already picking up and the temps are dropping as we speak. The Siberian blast coming at us tonight is hailed as the coldest in forty years. Don't I know that time, forty years back! It was January, the dates identical to ours now. I was about to give birth to our second child. And it was cold! To her benefit I think: my delivery doc, the same one who had helped deliver my older girl, decided to come in that day because, as he said it -- I cant do anything else on such a cold day. In those days, you felt like you actually had your doc by your side (rather than whoever fate handed you at critical junctures of your life). And when we left the hospital a few days later it was still cold! Wind chills like you wouldn't believe. You had to feel grateful: 100 years earlier, even if you had a well heated home, you had no way of getting there without experiencing that wind. 

Our walk today was crisp! But nice.

I talk through resets using a lot of words, Ed does them with gestures. Sooooo different, in soooo many ways and yet, here we are, chugging along. With so much love.

coasting

I'm pretending it's spring and that I am train hopping on some complicated trip. That is my morning. The season deceit is easy -- we have this weird day, where suddenly the temps shoot up ten degrees above freezing, before being pushed out by the coldest front of this century, coming at us from Siberia this weekend. Thanks, Siberia. The train hopping? Well it's time to finalize some travel for spring and somewhere in the middle of the night I finally decided on how to handle a complicated travel trajectory. More on that in March. Suffice it to say that I devoted many hours to familiarizing myself with another country's train reservation system. Each country is different and though you can simplify things for yourself by merely reserving on some platform that gathers them all under one umbrella, why would you do that, when you can have fun imagining yourself in that country and figuring out how to do things like a local!

All this after a walk to the barn to feed the animals...

And a breakfast with a still sleepy Ed...

By noon, I slam down the computer and say "let's go!" There is no way I'm going to skip a walk today. We head for our county park. Blustery winds, but who cares! It's a glorious day for walking!

The sky, with a few delicate clouds, is at once delicate and stunning. We pause several times to admire it.

And then it's time for me to pick up the kids.

I can tell it's Friday: they're not tired, but I sense this need to just let loose a little. Away from the demands of school, of anyone really. 

I dont start in on a new book. Eventually, Snowdrop wants to reread a few chapters of a war story. Sparrow is glued to his Lego figures. 

 

And so ends this transition week -- from a confusion of illness and isolation, to our usual days of walks, kids, and yes, evenings: time for a movie for Ed and me tonight, on the couch, together, over bowls of hot veggie soup.Well, that's sort of how it's supposed to go, but he's not yet fully with an appetite, so no soup for him, and the movie -- one I'd been saving, because it felt so up my alley (A Real Pain, about these two guys, cousins, who travel to Poland to get to know the country their beloved Jewish grandmother had once called home). Half way through, I propose that we finish it another time. It may have been right for me, for obvious reasons, but not so much for Ed. Two guys grappling with their relationship to the past, to the present, to each other? No, I decided I'm better off watching it at another time, on my own.

I turn it off, I go to the kitchen to wash up my few dishes, I come back. He's asleep already. So yes, it's still really a transition week. We're past Covid, but we're not totally back to... well, the way we were before the new year set in.

with love...

get ready for the plunge

We get this teaser -- a day, two days actually, when for the first time in many weeks the temps will creep up to just above freezing. It's as if we're reminded what pre-spring will feel like (great!), only to get slapped down immediately after, with the biggest Arctic blast yet. (Monday will give us a high of.. 0F, or -18C. And we'll be starting that day at -11F, or -24C. Still wonder why I spend so much time thinking about, talking about, writing about the weather? It's never just boringly mild!)

 

 

 

The sun's out -- another benefit to the morning (it will cloud over by noon). But, but... are we back to normal yet?? Yes we are. Ed finally tested negative. True, he doesn't sound normal, but then, even simple colds have a way of lingering if you're, well, our age. Covid really knocked him down and he has taken his time to return to his normal only-two-naps-per-day schedule.

I have a morning appointment and some small errands to run, and I again make the mistake of doing this before eating breakfast. It all takes longer than I could possibly have imagined and so I sit down to my "morning meal" at noon. But here's the glorious upside -- Ed is now up and hungry for lunch and he comes over to the farmhouse freely, maskless, and whips up some eggs for himself while I churn out my oatmeal. Together at last!

He wants to go for a walk, but honestly - I'm out of time. If there is one thing I've learned, it's that I need to manage my days with greater care. I understood that fully this morning as I paced the very tiny clinic room because my doc was 30 minutes late. I could not sit still. What is wrong with me?! Since when do 30 minutes matter this much? That, capped with a "scold" from my doc ("no judgment here, but might you be overdoing it a little?"), gave me the strength to say no to packing in a walk, in between straightening the farmhouse and picking up the kids. I am reminded a little of the New Yorker cartoon, where the woman says -- "my calendar's pretty full, but I can squeeze you in between my post-holiday burnout and my midwinter blues." No, I do not have midwinter blues and by American-employed-young-mother standards, I live a life of leisure and decrepitude, but honestly, the day can get pretty full around here very quickly. One appointment and a few errands can kill a morning for me and, well, there is no afternoon downtime to recover the lost hours.

A quick read, a bit of writing and I'm off to get the kids.

In the car, I ask about their day. Sparrow's is a happy one: first tooth fell out, he wrote a letter to the tooth fairy. Snowdrop is less tickled with the events of her day. She tells me emphatically - I wish there was a girls' school, without boys. With the exception of you, Sparrow! You could go. Maybe one or two other boys. But not the others! 

I hate to ask, because I can guess, but I give her a chance to list her grievances: why? 

They ruin everything! In music class, the song sounded so pretty and then all the boys start making noises and singing badly on purpose, on purpose!! And it sounds awful. It's so frustrating! 

All the boys do that that? 

All! And in PE, we are on the volley ball unit. The girls just stand there because the boys just steal all the balls. Grab them before a girl can get to it.

What does the teacher do?

He tells them to stay in place, but they don't.

Well, you can feel sorry for the teacher then! You know, they just want to teach their subject, and bad behavior messes with that. Anyway, one lesson of school for you is how to get on with life despite difficult people, because, you know, difficult people are always in the mix. Ask your parents!

At least they dont push each other and beat each other up and make weird noises! (I'm thinking maybe they do, metaphorically speaking... )

To tone down her fury at all fourth grade males, I do remind her that of the two kids who cause most trouble, one happens to be a girl. 

Yes, but she is so much trouble that she requires a special assistant! The boys in music class -- they just do this stuff on purpose.

Listening to this discussion, Sparrow pipes up from the back seat -- in your all girls and all boys schools, what would you do with non-binary kids? The boy is raised in the 21st century alright.

At the farmhouse, we finish reading the book, they play. Sort of together. She's drawn to classic legos because he's shown such an interest in them and he's drawn into story telling because she always spins something that just pulls him in.

 

Their playtime is my catch up time. I make inroads on the veggies for a soup tonight.

And now it's the evening and Ed is back in the farmhouse. I cook our favorite soup, we turn on a movie. A mushy one. His choice. And he stays awake for it. Just barely, but who's counting!

with love...

Is January half done?

People up north tend to hate this month. (Then we move on to February and they hate that one even more.) It rarely pleases. In years when we had more snow, you'd hear a lot of groaning about the need to shovel. Without snow? People like me complain ceaselessly that our winter-long cross country skiing is getting to be a thing of the past. Sometimes there are unexpected warmups. That seems so wrong, so people complain. Arctic blasts, like the one this week and the even bigger one next week? Well yeah! Being hit with shards of glass in the face (which is what it feels like) is no fun. And it all lasts so many days! Too many days! Nor does spring follow! You know what does follow? February -- another month of the same.

January 15th -- today -- can only bring one of two reactions: fantastic! We're half done with it! (Glass half full.) Or: unbelievable! We're only half way through. (Half empty.) I think I'll straddle the middle: we're gettin' there! 

January has great virtues for me: it's a slow down after the mad rush of December holidays. And it is a real slow down from outdoor work on farmette lands. Ed and I are obviously not farmers, but from April through October we have endless projects that need our attention. Some of them -- like lily snapping for me -- are daily ones that take a lot of time. Some are heavy duty digs. Some, like weeding, are exasperating in their infinite demands. Yes, I love spring best, but I love that January requires of me only one gardening chore: to pick the plants and seeds I want to put in come spring time.

And here's a January bonus: we do not have to check for ticks.

 

It is cold once again. Ed is still in the sheep shed, saying "I'm better!" but sounding the same. So I eat breakfast alone, digging into the warmed cinnamon roll from Madison Sourdough.

(my trilogy of scrumptiousness!)

And here's my very own anecdotal evidence that January has a way of getting to you: I pick up the kids at school and as usual, we review the day, starting with a positive -- what great thing happened today? Each has something to relate, so that's good. But as we continue with our drive, Snowdrop says -- I wish it were summer. Now, this is a girl who loves the cold and claims to be a winter person at heart (she attributes this to having a January birthday). And yet, January is threatening to make a summer lover out of her! 

 

Since I'm feeling upbeat and kids have had good outcomes in school, I want to offer them something uniquely special, even as we've used up our treat stops for the week, so it can't be food. I have just the thing: kids, you want to go to the car wash with the rainbow soap? (The car is terribly salted-over and dirty).

Yes!! 

It takes so little...

 

 

 

 

At home, we near the end of a very fun book (The Library Girl) and even Sparrow, who usually loses himself in his next Lego building project, can't resist listening in. 

It shouldn't surprise me of course, but it always does -- children's literature can be truly amazing: imaginative, clever, fast paced, with well developed character,s and most often with satisfying endings. There will come a time when these kids wont be so enraptured with me reading books out loud. I'll probably have to sneak some for myself then! We've hit some real page turners this past year. Wonderful stuff.

 

In the evening Ed comes over, and this is how the day ends -- on an up-note, despite January, despite the cold, despite the short days and lack of snow. We eat reheated stuff and watch something very British -- a form of escape I suppose, to a place where Januaries never quite get this freezing and Februaries reveal snowdrop flowers, and Marches bring out the bluebells. Oh, but all their winter rain! I'll stick with our deep freeze, thanks. Who knows, maybe we'll even get snow. Someday.

with love...

bits of normal, and a croissant

I feel this winter like I'm on a bobsled rushing toward the great unknown and every time I think I've reached an stable surface, it picks up speed again and continues. Fun much of the time, exhilarating sometimes, and a bit terrifying. So today I put the brakes on. A forceful slowdown should follow. Enough for me to smell the roses, sorry, croissants. No roses on a bobsled run!

Covid has thrown in a few random twists and turns and we got another one today as Ed woke up with still a bouncing fever (from normal to elevated to normal to elevated...) and quite likely a continued positive reading. Not only did we not meet up yesterday, but we will be careful again today because the kids will be here and I have to keep the house clear of germs. Ed equals germs.

Put together the disappointment of not spending time with him, along with the even colder weather (I head out to feed the chickens when it's just 1F/-17C), and you can get pretty mopey fast. It's like hitting a particularly difficult stretch in your bobsled run.

So after feeding the huddled-in-the-barn girls...

... I go out and buy some croissants. First ones this year.

(driving to town: yes, the lake is finally frozen for the duration; the freeze date was on January 5th, which is neither late nor early)

 

Ah, croissants... heaven on earth!

 

Really, there is such joy in biting into one. Along with the milky coffee of course. 

Like everyone, I'm sure, I am really tired of reading about all the ways I can and should actively improve my life (in terms of better food, less or no drink, and more movement), so I reluctantly and with a very big eye roll open up the story in the NYTimes today titled 35 Simple Health Tips, ostensibly guaranteed to "improve my life." The article is two days old so maybe you've seen it, but I've been busy, so I give it a go just this morning. And I like it! Oh sure, I groan at the ones that are so repetitive it hurts -- drink less, eat more lentils. Yes, great, thank you, I've heard each at least twenty times already in this week alone. But there are some sweet ones that make me smile and for this reason I'm using my gift quota yet again and giving you the link here so you can read it for free. I mean, wake up and greet your pets with a loud good morning? That's just lovely! Read through them! (The advice givers, by the way, are mostly people of repute and experience in matters of well being.)

It most definitely is a slower morning for me. Intentionally so. And as I set my eyes on a couple of hours of downtime, I think back with a smile to Sparrow's parting words last night as the young family packed up to head for home. He said with great conviction -- "when I grow up, I want to be a grandfather! It's so great! You do nothing, then you see your grandchildren, then do nothing again!" 

Oh to be six once more! (After the hugs and goodbyes last night, I turned toward the mess in the kitchen and the playroom, setting aside some leftover seafood pasta and a piece of cake for Ed, cursing the dishwasher which is underused, but decided nonetheless just then to have a malfunctioning piece in the detergent compartment.) 

 

Ed had to skip the birthday dinner, but he does come over at midday to pick up food and to visit with me. He masks and sticks to the kitchen, brushing Dance who loves loves loves having a good comb-through. 

And then he leaves and I tidy and wash and cut up fruits for the kids and do everything that isn't nothing!

I pick up the kids after their school day. 

It's Sparrow's turn to select a "treat of the week" and as so often before, he picks ice cream. Snowdrop is delighted. On this cold, cold day, the kids are thrilled to stop for ice cream!

And it is still really freezing out there! We never moved out of the single digits F (so never above -13C). But the sun sparkles like a million diamonds on the smattering of snow, and we are all getting better here, at the farmette, and isn't that just grand!

 

Ed comes over in the evening. It's another fragment of normal: I cook shrimp with kimchee, we settle in to watch a show. He does fall asleep halfway through it, but hey, he's here, spread out on the couch, for a good part of the evening. Yes, lovely bits of normal.

with love...

normal

Well it's about time: I'm Covid negative, Ed has finally shed his fever (though he does still have a faint positive line). 

On the one hand, I was never very ill. The literature confirms that past infections do strengthen your overall immunity, and I've had Covid twice before. Nonetheless, I was a walking caldron of infection. And Ed? I'd say he slept through much of his illness, but oh my, did he sound awful in his awake moments! All that is (fingers crossed) in the past. We wake up on a new platform of good health.

But I think about Covid and how it continues to cause problems for so many, in part because so many choose to ignore its unique dangers. Not vaccinated, never testing, they spread the virus in the same way that they spread colds before. And in many ways, I can't blame them, because I know how disruptive to your life it is to admit that you have Covid. For Ed, for me, Covid came at a fairly good time. Some postponements, some scrambling for child care, but really, no great loss resulted from our isolation. But here's a hypothetical: I know a couple who just embarked on a voyage of a lifetime: 150 days, halfway around the world. If one came down with Covid the day before leaving, would she (or he) really say -- I guess we should not travel. Maybe another year..., losing money, losing a life's dream. Would you do that? Isn't it easier not to test and say "it's probably just a light cold?" 

I suppose I favor the middle ground: when they can, at only a small cost to themselves, it would be so good if people would isolate. But if they must head out, because, well, it's 150 days of travel and after a week they will be fine -- wouldn't it be good if they could at least minimize the risk to others? Masking, avoiding public gatherings as much as feasible, that kind of thing. It's not a perfect situation, but Covid is not a perfect virus. We can't help much of its spread (because we aren't aware of being contagious initially), but we can do so much more to help curb its pernicious desire to infect as many as it can.

We also wake up to bitter cold and it will only get worse: next week will be colder still. But, let's take one day at a time. I appreciate the sunshine! So do the chickens -- despite the bone chilling Arctic air, they head out toward the garage. I greet them with leftover crumbs from the poppy seed cake. (Do chickens get high on a concentration of poppy seeds? Well, they deserve their moment of joy!)

Breakfast, still alone, still healthy.

And then I kind of lose it, time wise. I've had an easy ten days, but now I am back to a schedule and today's is especially complicated because we will finally be celebrating Snowdrop's birthday (without Ed, who has to hang out in the shed all day to keep the house free of his germs). I refrained from baking a cake until I knew for sure I'd be negative. So I have to bake one this morning. And I have to do some initial dinner prep. And I must clean the house and wipe down surfaces Ed might have touched yesterday. 

Suddenly time slips away from me. I'm not used to hurrying! A rough draft of a post should be in the works by the time I pick up the girl at school, but there was no time for a rough draft and I'm doing it now, in the car, on my lap, waiting for her to come out from school.

Too, I had selected a recipe for a chocolate cake I'd never tried before (by Yossy Arefi, whom I know from her books and publications). And I tweaked the ingredients. Some random commenter suggested an oil substitution (olive instead of canola) and I went with that, in addition to using a cocoa that seemed awfully... intense. And I started in on the whole project very late in the morning because the recipe is rated as easy and heck, I'm a skilled baker.

(Dance watches: don't you love the way cats tuck in their paws snugly under their chest?)

This was all plain foolish. Bottom line, the clock ticked, I had no time for a walk, a lunch, anything actually. And I had to start in on frosting a still warm cake (that looked... awfully dark). Ever put buttercream frosting on a still warm cake? 

Lessons never learned! 

But I made it! (She wanted chocolate, but not flourless, frosted with fluffy frosting, not glaze or ganache, and importantly: decorated with candied violets!)

And now finally I pick up the girl. She is so very happy to be returning to normal routines!

At the farmhouse, she reads...

 

 

 

... I cook, we read, I secretly frost, I cook some more, we read again, she eats, we keep on reading. We had dropped a story in midstream back on their last day of school in December and it was so good to get closer to a resolution!

And toward evening, the whole family comes over for a very belated birthday celebration. It is good to see them again!

(Snowdrop got her presents finally; the boys got some new books...)

(Sandpiper needed a little help with the story line...)

(the girl joins her mom and me for some catching up in the kitchen...)

(dinner)

(cake!)

Happy, happy belated birthday to you! And so many more!!

Ed was to come back to the farmhouse when everyone left, but last I heard, he fell asleep in the shed early. So not quite a full throttle return to normal yet, but we're getting there!

with so much love...