Thursday

I do not understand how 55F (just shy of 13C) could feel so cold. It's not an unusual temperature for mid-April. It's rather average. This kind of weather just two months ago would felt like like a heat wave. But I can't shake the feeling that it's chilly.

I swap it with tomorrow: let me grocery shop this morning instead of Friday. And tomorrow -- well, I have to believe that I'll be more excited about working outside again.

But first, breakfast. A working breakfast of sorts, as I'm trying to put together a meal plan for next week and Ed is playing with some new gizmo that was just delivered for his machining project.






Outside -- well, everything is wet. We had significant rain last night and the daffodils are drooping.






There is a beauty to their wet petals of course and I have to admit that this is a far gentler weather downturn than in years past, when there would be wet snow shower that would bring down even the strongest of the daffodils.






Scotch, I'm sure is pleased. The chickens don't like excessive sunshine (did I mention that the skies are gray?) and the wet earth gives them plenty of scratching opportunities.






Well fine, but what will I tell Snowdrop when I pick her up from school? Too cold for a walk?

She wants to hear no such nonsense. Of course a walk is in order! She searches anxiously for the stroller...






Well fine. We're hardy stock. We can take a gust of cool wind. A brisk walk it is! With a pause at the playground. And then a very welcome pause at the wonderfully warm coffee shop. Once again, she turns down the high chair.






And finally we come home -- my home. The farmhouse. She knows every corner of it of course. She has her beloved play areas! But she knows it is a visit here. Home is elsewhere.






She plays with her babies.






Today, for the first time, she proclaims that she is mommy to them.






I need to take my baby to the playground -- she tells me.






Forget it, Snowdrop. It's your nap time.

When she wakes up, I take her to her home. Mommy's there. They settle in to read.







But Snowdrop wants to know about stuff. Like -- what's this book about?






I think back to books my daughters read when they were little. About animals. About children of war. About families. How much of what you listen to as a child shapes who you are? Is it significant that I never myself had a passion for rockets?

I go home and cook up a salad nicoise for supper. Tomorrow I'll not cook anything at all.