farmette Monday

Yesterday, Ed and I listened to a radio talk show on University on the Air about happiness. The professor of happiness (well, probably not that, but he was a professor of something!) talked about how fleeting emotions such as sadness and happiness really are. They aren't the bread and butter of life, they're merely guideposts signaling directions we like to move toward (or away from). But you can, said the learned man, do a lot to foster a state of contentment (if not pure joy) and one way to do this is through feeling grateful for small (and I suppose large, but those are fewer in our life) miracles that we come across each day, each hour in fact.

People who knew me when I was small tell me I was a pretty happy kid. Was I grateful for the small stuff?

Here, on Ocean, you know at least in part what I'm grateful for. Perhaps I bore you to death with it, but it's so important to me to acknowledge the symbolism of this: breakfast with Ed.






I also have repeatedly told Ed how much I love the fact that we can enter a heated house in the winter time and, too, how much I never fail to appreciate our ancient washing machine. It's so easy to clean clothing these days!

Today I thought about all this, feeling especially grateful for the people I love. A funeral took place in Poland and at least part of my heart was there, even as I continued to have a beautiful day at the farmette with Snowdrop.

I'm so grateful for the good health of my younger families.

Here is Snowdrop herself expressing  joy so easily, so totally.






She remembers, I'm sure, that her family is somewhere not too far, she is tickled that Ed always comes in and plays with her...






... and she squeals with joy when we go out to feed the cheepers.






The ritual of sitting on the grass and watching them chomp on a stale bagel is one that will have to end soon, but this day is warm enough and so we extend our play. I show her how I used to make earrings for myself out of cherries when I was just a tad older than her. No cherries here now, but plenty of crab apples to make the point.






Oh, how absolutely grand it is to be outside now! A leaf, Snowdrop... You're holding a dry leaf.






Another secret joy that the little one finds is in maneuvering herself under a table or chair. She is fearless in this. I hover.





And so the day continues...

In the late afternoon, I have the treat of a walk around the little lake with Snowdrop and her mom and then, in the evening, there is a dinner at the farmhouse with our house guests.

You don't have to work very hard at contentment when events line themselves in this fashion. I am grateful for this and I understand that this is a gift, not necessarily generously presented in life to others.