One day at a time. Don't remind me about surges peaking at the end of this month, about young kids finally getting vaccinated in maybe two months, about spring being a mere three months away. One month, two months, three. Those are big numbers. Let's bring it down to one day, two days, three. Better yet, let's focus on each hour.
At the farmhouse, a phone rang before dawn. I put in a grocery order even earlier. And I was out and about when the light seemed feeble still -- a heavy, drowsy gray. Ed had been cooking up a chicken broth yesterday (don't ask) and the mudroom had a lingering smell from that effort, reminding me of village homes in Poland, which in winter, always had the smells of cooking soup hanging in the air.
After our septic disaster from the weekend, Ed had hosed down the basement floor, but of course, that was not enough for me, so I spent a chunk of time attending to the clean up of the clean up.
By then, we had just a little time left to ski and we did ski, because, well, there's snow and skiing is much more fun than doing some meditative deep breathing exercises in your living room. Both offer a calming of your inner turmoils. (Does anyone not have an inner turmoils festering within? What, you don't have Covid surges ,or little vulnerable kids or adults in your family? Well lucky you! Enjoy your inner calm!) But skiing also can give you a chuckle (it is at least a little funny when a grownup falls while doing a winter sport) and the cold wind against your frozen cheeks honestly does feel like a spa treatment of sorts -- one that isn't necessarily good for you, but feels other-wordly nonetheless.
So here we are, out on the trails yet again.
And then we are back to a familiar routine: I pick up the little girl at school. Madison schools are remote this week, but she is in a different school district and I guess the staff shortages aren't as pronounced there yet because at this point, everything is up and running.
(At the farmhouse -- resting, reading, snacking, and doing some math with Ed: if he is 71, and she is almost seven, does that really make him ten times older than her?)
The sun goes down early, so by the time Snowdrop is re-energized, dusk has set in. It would be all to easy to just read a little more with her and then take her home, but consistent practice is what's going to put the girl into the league of confident winter sports enthusiasts, so I offer her a run along the "real trails" in our park and she leaps at the chance. Even though it's getting pretty dark out there.
(More math while we drive to the park: if Ed started skiing when he was almost 60, and she started when she was still 6, how much younger is she as compared to him? I tell her that like her, I was just six when I started. And I had years of no skiing because no one in my family skied. I had to wait until I was old enough to go out by myself, or with friends. And yet, Ed will never catch up with me, because I started young and I kept at it. Maybe she will too...)
