Tuesday

This morning, as I set out our breakfast, wondering whether I should call Ed down or let him sleep, I once more considered where to put the handful of holiday cards that have come to the farmette. They deserve a place of honor.

(Ed comes down. I'm glad. Breakfast is infinitely more special when he joins me, which he does, out of the goodness of his heart, daily.)





It would be completely not for me to even suggest that you or anyone should revert to sending out holiday cards (the time, the money -- all such good arguments for turning your back on them), but I do want to tell you why I myself love them so much.

To put a card in the mail does require more effort than simply saying Happy Holidays on FB or in a text, but the gesture is infinitely more beautiful. The physical presence of the design (or photo), chosen by the sender, expressing something of her or his whimsy, sends forth just about the highest form of hygge (Danish winter coziness), in my view. I'm charmed by each and every card I get and I study each one carefully.

(For now, the small handful can adorn our kitchen window...)





You are going to tell me that you do not want trees to come down for the paper that cards require. I understand your concern. Nonetheless, I'll stay with cards. I'll go so far as to give up my books in favor of  Kindle reading, and I'll part ways with news print in favor of online press. Too, Ed will have called every single company that sends a catalogue in the mail and asked them to take us off their mailing list. Pfft! No more catalogues! But I'm keeping my cards. Because I value so much what is printed or scribbled on a piece of paper, especially now!

We have very confused and confusing emotions at this time of the year, compounded by the stress of having too much on our plates. Still, I'm a big believer in sifting through these complicated  emotions and reaching for the stuff that brings us joy. Stuff that keep our lights of happiness burning brightly. Stuff that make you and me smile. Cards make me smile.

(This cover of the New Yorker also made me smile; too, it's a good reminder to be super kind to the people who make deliveries at this time of the year.)






It's a gray day in Wisconsin and I have a lot of very uninteresting things to attend to, all surrounding my mother's transfer to a rehab facility. She has a new set of needs right now and she can do virtually nothing for herself. Too, the past weeks are a blur for her and this means that I have to step into her shoes and attend to matters of daily life for her. A lost item that is important to her needs to be found. I search her apartment up and down and all around and fail to find it. I see the disappointment in her face when I tell her during my visit. Papers. Endless papers come in the mail. Others don't come in the mail on their own, you have to request them. Details of another person's life are complicated. This week they have become my details.

(driving to my mom's apartment)






I barely make it home in time to drink a quick coffee before I pick up the kids. But the candle burns and the music plays.






The kids, at pickup time.






And now at the farmette, Ed engages Snowdrop in a rousing game of volley ball. With a pillow.






Sparrow is a good cheering squad.






(That's Ed's capture: Olivia, at Christmas.)






Much of the play time with Sparrow today was spent on dressing and undressing this little bear.






Snowdrop is always fascinated by what's on Ed's computer screen. This time she finds a video on the conflict between secular and religious Jews in Israel.






Always interesting: the games the kitties play on the porch.






Evening. I'm glad I have chicken with rice and beans to reheat. Microwaves were invented for days like this!