election day

Last night, I went to bed very late. I had distracted myself with a hot pursuit of a travel idea and it was well past midnight before I gave up that ship and went upstairs. I had hoped to sleep in today, but a cat came meowing to our closed bedroom door and this just puts Ed straight into the begging mode: can't we let him in? I say no about twenty times but in the end, he takes my momentary silence as a yes, and the door is flung open, and a cat is climbing all over us, and there goes my brilliant plan to sleep in.

I feigned grumpiness (I cant really be grumpy at sweet old Ed) and went outside to feed the animals.

It's gloomy out there! Gray, with a drizzle. Will people stand in line to vote? People, it's not that cold! Go vote! May this election really push forward the wise and honorable leader that most Americans believe is well suited to the task!

 

 

 

I sit down to breakfast without Ed (just to show him! -- so silly... show him what?), but he hears me rattling around in the kitchen and comes down sheepishly, joining me for a few moments.

Then I go back to fiddling with my travel idea and this really does distract me from the election.

I pick up the kids. 

 (He's all about red white and blue)

 

I know none of the election frenzy has made it into the classroom because Snowdrop told me yesterday they're are not allowed to discuss it therein. I tell this to Ed (referring to the directive to not talk about politics) with the question -- is that even allowed? Of course, the teacher can say that. Enforcing it would be a challenge. But, everyone knows who is on which side. These kids know each other quite well. It's not the first election they've lived through in their elementary school careers.

In the meantime, Sparrow is just in love with Kamala Harris! I'm sure it's for uniquely his own reasons! Probably because she dresses well. Maybe she reminds him in appearance of his mother? Same long dark wavy hair? He too, is fired up about the election. I'm wondering if the kids will go to bed at any decent hour tonight...

Gaga, we voted! Snowdrop tells me. 

You voted? You mean you had a mock election?

No, for real! The whole school voted -- whether to have a day of drawing in the hallways, or a school-wide dance! Real ballots! 

(and real I voted stickers)

After they leave, I tell Ed that I do not feel like cooking dinner. I seriously considered having nothing to eat and drinking my way through the night. I haven't done that since George W won in 2004. That was a tough election night! We didn't know until suddenly we knew and the party, organized by me, ended abruptly. After all, once you know, why keep on going?

A funny guy (Borowitz) who sends me (and a million others) amusing headlines every day (it's a great way to start the morning!) quipped that the US is releasing strategic alcohol reserves tonight, but I know better than to drink for reasons of sorrow or joy. It never ends well. Still, cooking is not on my agenda for tonight. Ed asks if I want him to prepare dinner. I love the guy so much, but his tortillas are filled with beans and raw onion. My stomach may revolt. Okay, one tortilla and  endless plates of crackers and cheese.

And so the evening hours very slowly, grossly slowly move forward, with two channels showing results, county by county, state by state.

I'll post now and hope for the best. That's all we can do now, right?

with love...

day before

If you are an American and you haven't given the elections a single thought today, then I want to know what your secret is: how did you avoid it? And mind you, it's not that I myself seek out election campaign information, or indulge fantasies about who might win or who might lose, but because all of this is being thrown at me and then I just have to look. Too, I get about fifty emails a day asking for last minute contributions to the campaign where I had already made a contribution. And if you glance at any news source, well, it's all there, in your face. 

It's been such a slog to this November 5th that you cannot believe that in a day it will all be behind us (maybe). 

It is a gray day, but it's eerily warmish. Ed says it's like pre-tornado weather, though of course, there is no storm heading at us. It's November. Tornadoes don't come barreling through here in November. (A fact that certainly falls in the column of "why I might possibly like November.") I walk over to the barn thinking that even a hoodie seems like overkill.

Indeed, it's so weirdly pleasant that I take out my bike and go over to Tati Cafe to pick up some pastries for breakfast. Useless endeavor. They dont get fresh baked goods from Madison Sourdough on Mondays. I will never figure out their pastry schedule. 

No matter, we have frozen croissants. Breakfast...

... during which we discuss, guess what? -- the election. This morning I put on the table this puzzler: why isn't climate change up there on our list of priorities? Many scientists will tell you (indeed, they have stated this more than once) that the election, coming so close as it does on the heels of ruinous and rapidly accelerating climate events may well determine if we survive as a human species. So why isn't that on the table? 

Ed shrugs. Maybe it's like the election year where we were super charged about the possibility of nuclear bombs being deployed. There was a chance that it would happen, but there was also a chance that it wouldn't. Maybe the uncertainty in making any predictions creates indifference...

Veering slightly toward a more positive environmental topic, I tell him that I recently purchased a senior National Park pass. It's relatively inexpensive and it's good for the rest of my life. He chuckles at that, knowing we are not great National Park users. One reason -- the parks are all rather far from where we live. A second -- I'm done with camping and he wont go to the overpopulated resort type places among the beaten National Park paths. Still, I foresee some possible uses in some not too distant future (for me)! Maybe you and I should go in the off off season... -- I say this knowing full well that I wont move him out of the farmhouse anytime soon. 

He reminds me -- you know the National Parks are a great idea whether we or anyone visits them. 

From climate, to parks, to animals. But eventually we come around to the elections again because Wisconsin is always on the front pages of news coverage and so it's interesting to reflect on how the rest of the world sees us. 

 

After breakfast, I should take a walk, but yesterday threw me off of my November movement challenge (can anyone have any success in a November challenge??) and so I ignore the guilt and sit down to read about places I may visit in the new year. As Ed will tell you, nothing offers as great a distraction for me as studying train schedules between different points. From there, follows a hotel search and before you know it a trip idea is born and there goes my day.

Well, not really the whole day: I head out as usual on Mondays to pick up Snowdrop. (Ed put the door lights up! Thank you!)

And I take her to ballet class, and I meet up with her mom for a few minutes. Needless to say, it's very dark by the time I am home again. No matter. I made turkey soup yesterday -- good for tonight as well! As for tomorrow's dinner? I haven't a clue. No idea what to fix or even if I will feel like fixing it. Sweating it out, with the rest of you! 

But hey, outside, my delicate flower of hope and love is blooming today! November 4th and the gladiola murealis is throwing out its white petals! Remarkable...

 

 

with love...

Kamala Harris and rain

Here's something you can count on: when you sit down with your morning coffee to read Ocean, you're not going to get walloped with political opinion. Not even a hint of one. I don't want to stir up your political juices and I don't especially want to stir up my own either. Fact is, Ocean is not political because I myself do not engage in political squabbles. I track with great care what's going on in my country, in the world, but I do not jump into the fray, I don't argue, I'm rather quiet. This comes from a life of living at a time and place that was forever threatened by a political vacuum cleaner that could (and did) suck up all good things and coat them with political goop. Postwar Poland was like that and my parents -- both very engaged in politics, he professionally, she as an opinionated bystander -- amplified everything tenfold. Not so much in their daily conversation, but in their actions. Every step they took was measured in political consequences. So rebellious child that I was, I took the opposite approach. I read, I listen, I process things and I go about my business, which happens to not have politics smeared all over it.

However.

Should the MAGA candidate win the presidential election, I want to go on record and say that I did not vote for him. Why is this statement important to me? Exactly because I lived in postwar Poland. For a long time, and especially when I was younger, I wondered why people who could speak out (and mind you, not everyone could do so without paying a price), why did they not say something? At least state their opposition? It may not have changed the outcome of history, Poland may still have been a heap of postwar rubble, and still saddled with a holy terror neighbor to the east, but it would have had me look more kindly toward the people living to the east and to the west of us, knowing that compassion, acceptance, and empathy weren't all sucked dry, in Germany, in Russia, in places around the world where brutality surged and the worst human traits rose to the top of the political pyramid.

So, let me say it now: I did not vote for brutality, for hatred, for a callous indifference to the fate of our planet in our presidential elections. (I voted early so I speak in the past tense.)

I voted for Kamala Harris.

Now, back to the farmette lore.

Two words describe the landscape this morning: wet and gray.  I don't wake to a steady rain -- the kind that would soak the ground and fill the roots of growing things -- but any rain right now is a good thing. And, too, it gets wetter as the day moves on.

The leaves are still clinging to at least some of our big trees and so we aren't yet winter naked out there...

But we are moving in that direction.

 

Breakfast, inside. 

 

 

 

We talk about engineering. Ed describes a small piece of his current project to me. It revolves around a knowledge of physics and space that I do not possess. I tell him that I was slated to hate physics in high school: we had an old and boring teacher, I was plunged into the subject matter at a young age -- barely 13 -- with little preparation for any of it, and, too, my parents weren't in any way scientifically inclined. If you dont talk about these things around the kitchen table, you're less likely to lean in that direction in your own professional choices. But Ed shakes his head on all my protestations. It's not physics that helps you out here -- it's structural visualization, he says. This is a skill that he was born with. He asks me if I ever took those tests -- they're called spacial reasoning assessments. 

I have not. Then how do you know if you can do work that requires that kind of talent?

Hmm... I guess I always believed I would work with words and ideas. Still, when he pulls up a sample spacial reasoning test, I'm tempted to find out if I'm a total pea brain in that department or if I can rise to the challenge.

Verdict? His score is higher, but I'm sitting pretty good at 8 out of 10, though honestly one answer was a half guess. Too, I took longer to come up with all responses.  

Ed tells me -- I read somewhere that if you have innate skills that you dont put to use, you remain deeply  dissatisfied in life. Well now, this only goes to show that structural visualization isn't a special talent of mine, since I actually am satisfied and content. 

Only, it really is a gray day and the rains stay with us from morning til dusk. Which, of course is early tonight because of the disappearance of daylight savings time. 

We do not take a walk. Well, I actually do take one from kitchen to living room and back again. Many, many times. With 50 jumping jacks thrown in for good measure. I tell you, a new month is always an inspiration for me. Even if that month is gloomy November.

with love...

disappointment and chickens

I didn't expect frost overnight, but waking up, I see that there is frost out on the fields to the east of us.

November is the month for those cold nights, for crunchy morning walks to the barn, with puffs of steam leaving you every time you let out a breath. 

I'm thinking -- frosty mornings are hardly noticeable in the city. Okay, you may need an extra layer to protect yourself from the cold, but concrete sidewalks look the same, buildings and shop windows look the same, cars snailing along in rush hour traffic look the same. But here, in the country, a frost creates a whole new landscape for you. Dare I say it -- it's just a tiny bit exciting!

I open up the coop and feed the chickens. They know the routine. And here's the thing: they know me! I listened to an NPR segment yesterday (so much time in the car, with the radio on!) that revealed stuff about chickens I hadn't known: like the fact that a chicken has the capacity to memorize and remember up to 100 faces (animal and human). Can you believe it?! These hens of ours see my eyes, my nose, mouth and they know it's me. They also know each others faces, and those of the cats who live here, and Ed's of course, and even the faces of the two kids that come charging into their space every day after school. (In the cited study, the researchers found that if you cover up or camouflage the face, the chicken gets confused.) And this I knew about them -- they have memory. They remember where good things happen (the concrete slap by the garage where I give them bread treats). And they remember their safe resting places (under the lilac right by the porch). And their territory (they never go into the neighbor's yard). And of course, their routine (where to lay, eat, sleep, drink water). That's a lot of thought processing for such pea size brains!

 

 

Breakfast, in the kitchen.

Ed's not hungry, but he joins me. I watch his face and I feel so terribly bad for him. In my nineteen years with him, I have never seen him to be especially sad. He's not a guy with big feelings. Even keel, steady as they come. But today, his sadness is palpable. Calling off the sail that was to take place this coming week because of a flare up of his kidney stone (the sail is from Rhode Island to the Caribbean) was a stunning blow to him.

The thing that is just such a gut punch from my perspective is that this guy never really wants anything. He's not one to buy stuff or go places. He has always been content with sharing space with me, learning a new skill. Nothing needs to be added to make his time on this earth worthwhile. Ed just is.

But he really wanted this trip. A good boat with a good captain and a solid crew -- that's hard to find and he had found one this year that seemed just about perfect. And then wham! He wakes up with that telltale pain of a stone and it's all taken away from him. He asked yesterday -- should I cancel, so the captain can find a substitute, or should I wait a day? I said -- wait a day. But Ed's a good guy and he wanted to give the boat owner ample time to find a replacement. So he cancelled.

And now I watch his sad face. I can offer him nothing and of course he asks for nothing. But for the first time since I've known him, he admits it -- he's bummed. When I prod him though, he says -- there was a car accident not far from us yesterday. Five people, killed. I have nothing to be sad about.

In the afternoon, we get ourselves moving. We get ready to go for a longer hike. And wouldn't you know it, minutes before we set out, Ed's kidney stone comes out and he is suddenly fine! He quickly calls the boat captain, but we know what the upshot will be -- the guy has found a substitute for Ed. He had to do it of course. The boat is leaving port in five days. He needed to act quickly. A good boat is hard to find, but so is a good crew. Ed grins one of those not too happy grins -- you told me to wait a day, he reflects. But you know, I did the right thing.

Yes he did.

Our walk, out on the Ice Age Trail cutting through the Brooklyn Wilderness Area is just beautiful!

You heard it here -- the November forest can indeed be stunning.

For me, the day is otherwise restful. And this is important. I hadn't really had time off since Labor Day weekend. The weeks have been full of kids, travel, pneumonia, kids, travel, kids. None of it (well, except the pneumonia) was terrible or even especially stressful, but it was packed. I need a breather. This weekend I'm getting a breather.

with love...

a deep breath...

It's November. Never my favorite month (except for Thanksgiving). Short days, bare trees, cold but without the snow.

And yet, I wake up to a pretty day. The winds blew the kids through their Halloween door knocking, then settled down. It's calm. I like calm. It's a new month. I like beginnings. So... maybe I can like November?

(morning walk)

(morning meal)

I have a quiet weekend before me, but today is rather full. It goes like this: lunch with friends, pick up kids, drop off one at violin, sit down with the other and my daughter for a cup of something, then home. It'll be dark by the time I get back to the couch, which, according to the wise medics, should not be a default place for anyone anyway. I read in the paper what I already know: sitting too much is not good for you. (My watch reminds me to stand up all the time, but who on this planet lives under the fear of a bossy watch?) This will not be a day of sitting too much.

As we approach winter, I think about the treat of having more time indoors (it doesn't have to be sitting down!). In warmer weather, the pull to fix something outside is strong. In winter months, that pull fizzles to nothing. We shovel the paths, feed the animals and then stay inside and that is just such a fine thing! The quiet of a winter room -- I have that to look forward to.

But today, I'm up and running. With my camera, of course.

The lunch is splendid. And beautiful. And I think how a year ago, the two women who are my compatriots today, were part of a long-ago life. I hadn't seen either in several decades. And now here we are, scheduling meals together on a regular basis. 

I do need to break off to pick up the kids. 

Oh, are they ever spirited and happy. Post-Halloween delight!

The afternoon isn't without bumps. Ed has health issues (kidney stones!) acting up, leading him to cancel the sail that he so wanted this month. And the young families too have had their stresses this week -- some fell sick, some simply had too much on their plate, some simply felt the weight of a chaotic set of days.

And yet...

Ed and I end the day, that first day of November, very well. I bake some pieces of fish, we turn on a show we like (Grand Designs) and it all feels rather fine. A good start to the month! We are grateful.

Hello...windy!

My little secret: Halloween is not my favorite holiday. These days, of course, big business has wrapped its possessive claws around the day and you can get any costume in any size for your kids. No need to panic when your girl says she wants to be Princess Red (Snowdrop and Primrose), your boy a black cat (Sparrow), or a pilot (Sandpiper). No problem in getting candies in small sizes. And plastic jack-o-lanterns for your front yard. All there for you with a click. Just give the kids a shove and send them running door to door, collecting candy that they mostly will never eat from strangers who have no idea what kids covet. (Snowdrop: tootsie rolls, Sparrow: kit-kats... and so on.)

What's there not to like???

Oh, there is, too, the intermittent ringing of the door bell if you're in a neighborhood with kids. You open the door and you want to give them more than just a piece of candy. I mean, they are so cute after all! A compliment maybe, a kind word, except all they really want is that candy, given quickly so that they can go on to the next door, and by the way, why does your front door have all those steps to climb? Parents shouting from the curb "dont forget to say thank you!" while their child and her pack of wild friends (were they always so wild?) are already climbing the steps to the next door.

What's there not to like?

And of course, the best part (for them, not for you) is the exhausted squabble among sibs afterwards -- who got more candy and will you trade two of those for three of the other? No? Come on! I gave you your favorite! I didn't get that one! And -- mom, dad, can we have just one more? Go to bed! You have school tomorrow!

Kids, gorging on sugar. Fun!

What's there not to like?

Here, at the farmette, all is quiet on Halloween. No ghosts, not even a black cat. No trick-or-treaters. But the wind! Oh, the wind!

I'm up to feed the animals and I note with great satisfaction that we have nearly two inches of water in the bucket. If we get more rain next week, the drought may well be a thing of the past. I am relieved.

(the robins are going hog wild over the crab apples)

(birds of a different feather)

It is still mild outside, but by evening the temps will tumble. Precipitously. Which is a shame. The kids will be out in their light costumes and within an hour they're all going to be cold. I suppose the one consolation is that it wont rain. To the litany of grievances I have against this "holiday" please add being a parent of an enthusiastic trick-or-treater on a blustery and wet October 31st. 

 

Breakfast? Back to the kitchen. Here now until... I'm guessing May.

I've become a reluctant mover and shaker. Meaning I'll choose couch over a nice walk in our county park. But, I believe in calendar beginnings. Tomorrow we leave October behind and start in on November. I will resume a more active lifestyle. I hope.

In the afternoon I pick up the kids. They are on a Halloween high for sure. All they can think about is the trick-or-treating that's ahead for them. Why, I want to ask, why?? You get candy, and candy that you actually like on most days of the year. What is so special about begging for it on a cold October night? But I say nothing. I'm excited for them. Just a little.

(Inside, Ed shows the girl how to read wind charts when you're sailing...)

I pack lots of fruit into them. And protein. For the night ahead. After that, it's up to them, their parents, their friends. And strangers, pushing candy into their outstretched bags.

(I drop them off at home, where the two older kids and the two older parents get ready...)

They split up then. Parents and Sparrow go to pick up Sandpiper, Snowdrop is off with friends. 

I'm hoping every trick-or-treater has a wonderful time tonight. And that the candy loot brings joy. The craziness of it all is reason enough to smile. Harmless and ridiculous as this day has become, it still does bring happy moments for the little ones. And sometimes their parents. Reason enough to feel good about Halloween.

the heat and then the crash

Isn't it an apt way to describe thunderous events in our lives? They simmer, then reach a boiling point, then spill over, soaking us in the raging waters of the morning after. Forget about the elections (how can one forget about the elections?!) -- I'm thinking of the weather right now. It's warm. Hot even. Pleasant for a very early walk to the barn...

...but you know that it will all come to a crashing end soon. And we feel that crescendo coming at us right now, as the winds pick up and the clouds roll in.

I have an early morning coffee date with an old colleague-friend. A sweet moment for me, for her as well...

And I have a screening type appointment right after. This I can analogize as well to a boiling caldron, where you don't know how things will turn out. Either you walk away with a clean slate (for another period of time), or it'll spill over to a year of medical issues. Each time I hold my breath. And thankfully today I can exhale. Boiling waters contained, I can walk away unscathed. For now. How can one not feel grateful for the gift of a good morning?!

Straight from there, I drive to Madison Sourdough, where they have the most awesome looking loaf of an October bread...

And I come back to a late morning post-breakfast with Ed. On the porch! Just incredible. On the porch! But, the winds are swirling and we know a change is in the air.

 I pick up the big two. There's a bit of wildness in the air. Leaves swirling, dark clouds forming. But, there are still flowers for Sparrow, and a hose ready to be turned on by Snowdrop.

Toward evening, we, the three of us,meet up with their mom at Barrique's. It's a complicated scheduling decision, but one that gives us a little time to spend together. (I haven't caught up with my older girl in a while!).

 

I drive home in the shadows of swirling dark clouds. And before I pull into our rural road, the rains come down. And lightening lashes out at the scorched earth.

At long last, there is rain.

We settle in for an evening on the couch. I'm so happy to have a chunk of the week behind me. To have peace before the next storm (elections!) erupts.

with love...

... and it stays warm

Up to feed the animals. My, it's pleasant outside!

So pleasant that we can again have breakfast on the porch. October 29th, breakfast on the porch. Unbelievable!

I'm just assuming it's the last of the extra unusual, beyond the pale, weird in the extreme warm days. A high of 79f (26c). Short sleeves for sure.

 

 

 

Most Wisconsinites have two thoughts going strong right now: the weather, which is weird (see above), and the election which is one week away and weirder still. No, you don't have to worry. I'm not about to run the millionth political ad for you right now. You've seen them all. And you've watched all four candidates come to our state, again and again and again. The big one may well be tomorrow's arrival of Harris on our campus. It's not to sway minds, it's to get out the vote. The weirdness is in the fact that both sides deliver an apocalyptic message. True, I absolutely believe one and not the other, and you can say the same thing about most Wisconsinites -- they believe in one cataclysmic scenario -- one that will bring us all to ruin if our preferred candidate loses.

Sometimes, in moments of great frustration (those happen when I go down that rabbit hole and read what the undecideds are thinking right now), I think -- wow, let that other side win and 48% of you will find out how wrong you were! But I really dont mean it. I have grandkids. I want a safe and beautiful planet for them. My bag of worries centers on them, not me, not Ed. 

So, one week before the election is over. Everyone is thinking this -- one week. One bizarro week where at least one candidate is spewing weird hateful stuff left and right, one week where it's painful to read the headlines, the polls, the pundits, the predictions, the counter-predictions... Ocean readers outside the United States, know that it is very tough to be an American right now! Choose your word -- helpless, hopeless, hapless. That's us!

Ed and I go for a walk. You have to keep moving. One step at a time.

 

In the afternoon I bring both big kids home with me. Fine moods, happy faces, hungry tummies. We stop at Hubbard Avenue Diner on the way. For the ice cream. If ever a day deserved ice cream it's this hot October 29th.

And in the evening I drop them at the pick up point and slowly I drive home, half listening to the stories on the news, half wondering if maybe I should take a break from listening to the stories on the news. 

I cook soup, we exhale together, on the couch, Ed and I, happy to find distractions, happy to be done with news reading and weather worries for the day.

with love...

farmette drought

No rain. At all. Our county is experiencing a moderate to severe drought and those are not words chosen by me. I just have to wonder -- how will this affect my garden? How many of the perennials will I lose? 

It is, of course, cooler here -- though this is relative: cooler as compared with Florida. Positively toasty as compared with a typical late October day. A high of 68f (20c) today, and climbing! And of course, we have such mixed feelings about it: yes, nice, so nice to have a very long "early fall." But so weird, too. 

(Pretty colors)

Breakfast with Ed. Nasturtiums from the garden. They survived the light frost last week.

We talk about machining. You might wonder -- what do you, Nina, know about machining! And the answer is -- very little. Ed, on the other hand, sees the demise if not total disappearance of higher status machining jobs as the culprit behind the rage that has percolated and finally boiled over in states such as ours. He's a guy who understands machines and has worked in machine design (and therefore with machinists, nearly all of them men) all his adult years. But he tells me he never fully understood their frustration, because he's not one to compare his own level of success to that of others (he always measures his accomplishments against his own past efforts). Status means little to him. Not so to the rest of the world, especially to those who feel its loss. Where nearly everyone seems to be doing better. Where the wife earns more as a health care worker, or a young tech neighbor, who sits by a computer screen all day brings home a larger paycheck. Hence the rage.

But is it productive? He shrugs. People will cut off their nose to spite their face -- one of those sayings my father liked...  Trip up others, "blow up the system," because they feel they've been tripped up and knocked down themselves. And it's playing out before us right now. So we talk about this human trait of wanting revenge against the perceived villain, even if that revenge will destroy us all. (For a very good piece describing these trends, and for very good comments to it, you might want to look here.)

And continuing in this merry vein, we talk about grizzly bears. It happens that on the long flight from Florida to Minneapolis, I watched a movie about Grizzly Bear 399 up in Grand Teton National Park. I picked that movie because I'm running out of stuff to watch on longer flights. Too, Grand Teton is the next park on the list of parks I want to visit and so it seemed appropriate. I had no idea that the papers on this very day were flashing the headline that Bear 399 had just been run down by a car. Died the day I watched the movie about her life. So bears were very much on my mind and here, too, you can tie yourself up in knots trying to figure out what to do given the frustrations of those who view grizzlies as a threat (to their livestock, to tourism, for instance), and those who worry about the grizzlies' near extinction.

I write about both these topics because in so many ways Ed and I are removed from the rest of the world, at the farmette here, in south central Wisconsin. We can lose ourselves for days, indeed, months in a very simple pattern of life, with chickens, kids, flowers, trees, where the looming conflict is whether to cut down a limb on a tree that's shading too much of my garden. I step out to travel, he steps out to sail, but we know the essence of our lives lies right here, in the yellow farmhouse, amidst crab apples and maples and the horrible (according to me) honey locust trees. Ocean posts are born here, in this calm world of growing things (plants, children, animals). But we are not blind to the fact that in many ways, this is not the real world. Even without the global conflicts, plagues, famines, there are plenty of threats facing so many. It's good to pause and talk about all that and to feel grateful that we can eventually shut it off and go on with our quiet, beautiful day.

In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here. 

 

 

Monday is the day I pick her up, feed her, read with her, drop her off at ballet. A bit complicated today because it turns out they are to show up to dance in their own Halloween costumes. Okay....

 

Monday is also the day I then go grocery shopping, late into the evening, because this is when I have the time for it. And so dinner is late of course. We don't mind. Eventually Ed and I come together on the couch and exhale. A moment, a long moment of total tranquility.

It feels really good to be back.

leaving Florida

It's our last morning in Florida. The hotel is letting us keep the room until lunch time. That's wonderfully convenient. Outside, it's no longer 100% sunny, but it will be warm. We can have a final swim splurge.

Breakfast here is great (and expensive!). Outside, with a buffet for those who want to put together their own selection. The girl, who normally is happy to skip the morning meal, loads up her plate and eats it all. (Too, kids start to open up their palates to new tastes with greater enthusiasm at her age. It makes for smoother travel!)

Yesterday, the pool in the sister hotel (the one with the water slides) got pretty crowded. Sort of like our community pool at the peak of summer. This hotel, on the other hand, offering fewer kid attractions, was more sedate. So it's a trade off. 

 

 

 

 

 

But we know to get to the slides early today -- before the families come out of the woodwork.

Traveling with me as she does, I always wonder if Snowdrop misses her friends. She's getting to that age when they're all important. But right now (or is it that this is her personality?) she's content to have this break with ancient me. Not in a hurry (yet) to return to her friend pack back home.

Still, I don't go into the pool nearly often enough. She mostly finds ways to amuse herself. In California, the kids her age banded together. Here, they're both younger and older and no one looks beyond their own family. This isn't a Florida factor. It just happens to have brought together a different group of people. Too, I have to believe most everyone at the hotel has some plan to go to one of the theme parks. They don't just do the pool in Orlando. They're here to cavort with Disney characters and go down rapid rides. The interlude by the pool is just that -- an interlude. And it is for us as well. A very wonderful interlude.

 

Eventually I have to get her out of the water. We pack up, shower, and get going. Back to the airport. Return the car -- so much easier than picking it up! -- catch our flight, this time to Minneapolis, where we pause so that Snowdrop can have supper. Pizza. We liked it a year ago when we were passing through the airport on our October return from California. 

I ask Snowdrop -- isn't that the same waitress we had here last year? She nods. I ask -- might have you been working here then? Indeed! A very coincidental and very sweet encounter!

 

 

 

And finally home, to Madison. Where her dad comes for her at the airport.

 

I drive home. Hi Ed! Hi gorgeous. Have a good time? Yes, we did...

with so much love...