Tuesday tidbits

A cat crosses the farmette path. I call out -- Stop Sign! She looks up, meows an acknowledgement. I bring her food, she eats hungrily.

I hobble over to the barn, feed the cheepers, hobble back and start in on breakfast.

A cat crosses the farmette path. I open the door to call out, but wait. She (he?) doesn't have that white vest on her chest. You're not Stop Sign! The cat stares at me. I stare back. She wont know about food in the garage. Is she a cousin? One of the others from the littler that visited us last year? She decides to be shy and walks back to where she came from.

Meanwhile, the mouse catch (in the basement) remains unusually low this year. Coincidence?


Breakfast. Caught in mid-sentence.






The delightful sunshine continues.





As do the smiles.

Yesterday, when I picked up Snowdrop at school, she didn't have her shoes on and since she ran up to me for a hug and a hold, we didn't bother with them. I carried her to the car. But, I was loaded down with stuff and so I told her to get down on the street while I monkeyed with the car door and unloaded her various school packs, sacks and paraphernalia.
But I don't have my shoes on!
It's okay, just for a minute.
Are you sure it's not illegal?
I smiled. She'd asked that once before. With a mom who is a lawyer and a grandma who is a lawyer, her preoccupation with the rule of law is disarming. Or, genetic.


I visited my mom today -- her need for my driving services continues to be minimal, as she has learned to use the buses in Madison and has gone shopping to places like Trader Joe's on her own.





I may groan at the lack of snow in the Upper Midwest, but to her, this absence of snow and ice is liberating. So... let me make a bargain with the weather gods: how about a good snowfall that gives us a week of fun, followed by an instant thaw? How about it?


I visit the doc to make sure my knee hasn't some fracture or other critical problem. Ed  says -- I can bet anything they'll tell you to rest, do moderate exercise, and do not overdo it in the future. 
I come back and tell him -- you were right on all counts. You just missed the "take an ibuprofen for the pain."
He laughs.


In the afternoon, I eat a gingerbread square from Poland, sip luxuriously on my cup of milky coffee, then set out to pick up Snowdrop.






And as we dive into the world of play, I think about how content this girl is in her created imaginary spaces which she fills with stuff around her: hats, pillows, pencils -- anything within reach.






Her favorite toys these days are not toys at all -- they are words, her words, my words, that transform household items into vessels with galleys and beds, offices where money is made, sewing schools with yarns and spools and who knows what else she believes a sewing school should have.

Inevitably, Snowdrop explores the nooks of the farmhouse and finds something that I would have wanted to keep out of her curious little hands. Like the "most beautiful wrapping paper!"
No, you cant use it for play. I need it.
Oh please!!! And ribbon!






And another chocolate covered gingerbread cookie.






Followed by just a sip of hot chocolate, which mustn't be too hot, because to a little girl, hot is not good.





Evening. Ed comes in from putting away the cheepers.
I can't find Tomato, he says glumly.
I'll look.A second pair of eyes is always a good thing when one of your young ones goes missing.

I return to the farmhouse relieved. She's up higher on one of the barn beams.
He returns to the barn and, despite his height and huge long arms, he can hardly get to her. He climbs up a bench and finally grabs hold.

The animals are safe. The night is calm.