Monday

Following days of rain, this morning we have a dusting of snow. I'll take it. Even in meager amounts, it's a pretty sugar coating on the farmette lands.





I am in a hurry. This week is crazy busy. Nice, sure, all nice -- that is, if all goes well: there are potential glitches, but I will be optimistic! Nevertheless, without doubt, the days are packed. More packed than my suitcase, which remains open and waiting. Not to worry, I'm not leaving until Wednesday. There are many hours between now and Wednesday.

Except, of course, today is devoted not to thoughts of travel but to my awesome pair of grandkids. Sparrow in the morning, joined by his sister in the afternoon.

Let's start the day with a healthy breakfast. Sparrow and I wait for Ed to come down.






One easy way to get Ed to hustle is to tell him that Stop Sign has come around and is waiting for her grub. I'd fed the cheepers and put out her dry food, but the cat is smart and she hangs and hangs and hangs until someone notices her mournful face and comes out with something more to her liking. She likes best real meat leftovers, but we almost never eat meat so on nearly every day she is reconciled to the canned stuff. I can imagine her sigh of resignation as she looks at the pathetic glob of "kitty pate.".

Okay, Ed is here!






("Hey, can I show off my ever improving sitting skills??")






Afternoon. As I pull up on the farmette road with both kids, I dish out my usual instructions: Snowdrop, I'll unsnap you, then take in your school stuff, then come back for Sparrow. In the meantime, you can dash inside.

I am surprised to see the cheepers by the walkway. They typically hide in either the garage or in a mesh of dense bushes to keep away from the wintry winds.







Snowdrop has put aside her fears of a cheeper peck for food and looks around to see if anyone is up for a gentle pet. She scores big -- the ever unpettable Cupcake and the mild mannered but shy Java both stand still as she touches their soft feathers.






Inside, the girl sets up an "office space" for herself in her play area. I tell her that her "desk" (aka my computer table) is too high, that there are better options, but you really can't talk her out of a spirited idea. And I have to admire her aesthetic: she puts out a little carpet, a pot of flowers -- it's all deliberate and rather lovely.





What are you working on, Snowdrop?
I'm making money.

There'd been a lot of talk lately about the cost of stuff and seizing the opportunity to inculcate, or at least seed ideas about earning, saving and frugality, I'd more than once told her that we cannot buy things unless we first make money through hard work for it.

She takes it seriously. For a long time today, she draws coins with "D" for dollar and "E" for I don't know what (maybe Euro?) imprinted on them. She has me cut them out.






She seems satisfied. For now.






I'm not sure how or why she switches venue, but as I put the little boy down again for a nap, Snowdrop sets up a ship made of blankets and couch pillows. We are sailors! Searching the seas for orka!
I rock our boat a little. She protests. We are on quiet seas. She beams.
I just love the journey!

(A self released photo: we are pretending someone on an island is taking photos of the boat!)





She asks Ed to come onboard.

And there we remain, for a long long time. Until her parents come to take the little ones home.






Later, much later, the boat is disassembled, leftover chili reheated for supper. You would think I'd use this time to catch up, zip ahead with tasks, but no. The hours after supper are always reserved for writing here, on Ocean. For popcorn and a movie. For a quick exchanged of stories, for quiet time.