The good thing about weather predictions in recent times is that they are quite accurate. If they say there will be snow, followed by an arctic blast, you can be confident that there will be snow, followed by an arctic blast.
The bad thing is that if you are not looking forward to the arctic blast, you can't hope for a reprieve. Just grin and bear it. It will surely come.
We are anticipating real winter stuff in the next couple of days. Consider this Wednesday a last puff of moderate winter air before it gets nasty around here. We're at around freezing now. There'll be a 45 degree slide in temps tonight. And snow. And wind.
My morning is full of stuff. Mom papers, mom visit, my own appointments, household errands. All smashed together into a handful of hours. It's a good way to handle life's hurdles: pack them in tightly, then exhale as you check off the last item on your list.
But before all this, there are the cats and there is breakfast. Both bring surprises: Miss Calico and Cutie are not porch cats anymore. Or at least not full fledged porch residents. Having discovered Paris (the warm sheep shed), they're not willing to give it up. They run back and experiment with going up the ramp and back inside the shed. We are hopeful that at some point they will fully integrate with the pack of half-sibs living there. Dance is the grand dame in that group and she will teach them well.
The second surprise comes from Ed, who comes down to join me for breakfast despite the early hour. This is a treat!
These are the morning's highlights. Fast forward then to the afternoon which, of course, brings the two grandkids here to the farmhouse.
Ooops! I let Snowdrop listen to a song on my iPhone in the car. Mistake. She is now glued to it.
And speaking of being glued, I've noticed that both kids are returning again and again to the Duplo Lego sets (which are perfect for an 18 month old Sparrow, but Snowdrop has found a way to create story setups out of them as well).
Book reading remains a delicate balancing act: how can we convince Sparrow that it is absolutely worth his while to snuggle with us on the couch as we read page after page of chapter books that he most certainly does not follow? Snacks help, but eventually the little guy wears down and asks for something more to his liking, using his limited vocabulary of course: help! down! momo? (Not sure what that last word symbolizes... perhaps it's really mama, as in -- I'm going to call my mother and tell her how bored I am listening to stories about a girl who appears to have strong emotions as she navigates life as a third grader).
In the evening, Ed plays volley ball. This Wednesday ritual of his makes for extra quiet time here at the farmhouse. Time reserved for letter writing, candle burning and, of course, reading. With a glass of wine. And popcorn.
The bad thing is that if you are not looking forward to the arctic blast, you can't hope for a reprieve. Just grin and bear it. It will surely come.
We are anticipating real winter stuff in the next couple of days. Consider this Wednesday a last puff of moderate winter air before it gets nasty around here. We're at around freezing now. There'll be a 45 degree slide in temps tonight. And snow. And wind.
My morning is full of stuff. Mom papers, mom visit, my own appointments, household errands. All smashed together into a handful of hours. It's a good way to handle life's hurdles: pack them in tightly, then exhale as you check off the last item on your list.
But before all this, there are the cats and there is breakfast. Both bring surprises: Miss Calico and Cutie are not porch cats anymore. Or at least not full fledged porch residents. Having discovered Paris (the warm sheep shed), they're not willing to give it up. They run back and experiment with going up the ramp and back inside the shed. We are hopeful that at some point they will fully integrate with the pack of half-sibs living there. Dance is the grand dame in that group and she will teach them well.
The second surprise comes from Ed, who comes down to join me for breakfast despite the early hour. This is a treat!
These are the morning's highlights. Fast forward then to the afternoon which, of course, brings the two grandkids here to the farmhouse.
Ooops! I let Snowdrop listen to a song on my iPhone in the car. Mistake. She is now glued to it.
And speaking of being glued, I've noticed that both kids are returning again and again to the Duplo Lego sets (which are perfect for an 18 month old Sparrow, but Snowdrop has found a way to create story setups out of them as well).
Book reading remains a delicate balancing act: how can we convince Sparrow that it is absolutely worth his while to snuggle with us on the couch as we read page after page of chapter books that he most certainly does not follow? Snacks help, but eventually the little guy wears down and asks for something more to his liking, using his limited vocabulary of course: help! down! momo? (Not sure what that last word symbolizes... perhaps it's really mama, as in -- I'm going to call my mother and tell her how bored I am listening to stories about a girl who appears to have strong emotions as she navigates life as a third grader).
In the evening, Ed plays volley ball. This Wednesday ritual of his makes for extra quiet time here at the farmhouse. Time reserved for letter writing, candle burning and, of course, reading. With a glass of wine. And popcorn.
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