Halloween

In some conversation about Halloween, I noted to Snowdrop that she'll likely stop trick-or-treating in another handful of years. Maybe by age 12... I offer as a possibility. She's dumbfounded. Why would anyone want to stop trick-or-treating? Why indeed... Maybe because it's cold outside on October 31st in south central Wisconsin?!

I remember when my kids were small and they'd finished their rounds -- first with me, then eventually just with friends, they'd sit at the kitchen table and go through their loot, offering up trades of dubious merit, especially with younger sibs (I'll give you two whole Hershey's kisses for just one of your boring KitKats!),  and I'd open the door to stragglers -- the older kids, with pillow cases instead of cute plastic pumpkins. Costumes that were little more than a sheet or a plastic spooky face. Trick-or-treat! -- they'd shout, grab and run to the next house. Somehow that felt wrong, though I can't really think why. After all, they liked a sugar rush as much as their younger counterparts. 

But the cold... oh, that Halloween cold!

This morning, indeed, we wake up to snow.

Not mountains of it. Just a dusting. I'd say a pretty dusting...

Except for the fact that it is snow and there is trick-or-treating tonight...

Breakfast, full of the Danish hygge that November calls forth. (I know it's not November, but it feels like November!)

Ed loyally pushes aside the quilt that keeps him company on the couch and joins me at the breakfast table.

I would love to stay at the farmhouse and hygge my way through the morning, but I have appointments, never ending appointments and so my morning is a little chopped up and when I come back I rush to bake the blueberry muffins that will fill up tummies quickly this afternoon.

And then it is time to pick up the kids.

It's not a normal farmhouse afternoon. We can't have that on Halloween. The kids have trick-or-treating dates and so I have to get them to their home where they get ready for the Big Night Out.

The question is -- will they wear their mitts? I can predict! Sparrow -- absolutely for sure yes. Snowdrop -- her fingers would first have to turn to icicles. Which they may in this weather! (In truth, a wet Halloween is far worse than a cold one. I speak from experience.)

Here they are: Pete the Cat, the Huntress, and a digger!

And they are off. Separately, with combinations of friends and parents.

I'm at home again, with Ed. We have a beautiful, quiet evening watching a PBS murder mystery. No trick-or-treaters come to the farmhouse ever. We're too remote. It's just us and the bats in the barn and the occasional owl that hoots at night. 

with love...

Monday

It was the most imperfect, expensive, beautiful, anticipated, delightful, worrisome trip! What was meant to be a small weekend getaway to a warm and new for Snowdrop place, turned out to be something akin to a run across a half frozen lake, with thin ice threatening to suck you in if you weren't careful. When we landed last night in Madison, my first thought was -- I'm so glad Snowdrop loved this adventure. My second -- I'm so glad we made it and that nothing unraveled for us!

I'm still not over Covid. Although according to the CDC guidelines, I have been safe to reenter for more than five days and safe to even shed precautions as of last night, I'm like you'd be after a bad cold -- still pulling out the tissues every now and then, still hackin' away occasionally. Remember the honey store I visited in Paris a few weeks ago? Their honey-lemon hard candy pulled me through my travels! Never was a spontaneous purchase so welcome, so beloved! Thank you, bees of Provence or Savoie or wherever you collected that fantastic sweet stuff! You saved me from sounding far sicker than I really was!

And so now I am back. For the first normal Monday of October 2023. 

After the tension of the past weeks -- will I get over this on time? can I protect her from it? does she have some other virus? will the Disney meetup work for her? -- I told myself that on my first day back, I will do nothing. Or at least I will expect of myself nothing. At all. Bulbs to plant? La di da... Let them marinate in the autumnal juices of our mud room! Bike to winterize? Ha! It's not winter yet! Movement circles to close? Forget that, baby! I'm not getting sucked into that game again! Nothing expected of myself. Just nothing.

Predictably, the morning is low on content. I shooed Ed out of the farmhouse for the night, since I was just on the border of my last "precautions" day, but by this morning, I rather arbitrarily proclaimed myself to be done with being a Covid storage center. And so after my walk to the barn...

Ed came over for breakfast...

Which was absolutely lovely. 

We're having a cold front pass through today and tomorrow. Many parents are very excited at having to head out tomorrow with their kids at night, as the thermometer plunges below freezing, just to add a gut punch to the challenge of walking up and down the streets of the city to collect candy (because surely their kids dont get enough of that each day). I am glad that the trick-or-treating days are long behind me! Who says aging confers no benefits?!

And in the afternoon I pick up a Snowdrop, who must surely be tired, but who has enough spunk in her to carry her through a full day despite our late night arrival. There is a bit of confusion because post-school Monday is when Sparrow spends time with his dad, except that dad's car wont start, so we do some scrambling, delivering, and jump starting. Sparrow has only one concern: will this prevent him from getting his rightful share of after-school cookies?? Kids think very intense thoughts about cookies. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that kids think intense thoughts about things we regard as trivial, and parents think intense thoughts about things grandparents regard as trivial. We let go of inconsequential worries as we grow older. Another good reason to love senior years!

Snowdrop and I read at the farmhouse. Back to our Vanderbeekers in Harlem books! Back to a bowl of fruits for her and a reheated croissant. 

It all seems so normal! I am hungry for that right now! Normal. Uncluttered and calm. Following our routines, watching the seasonal changes, appreciating the tranquility of the last days of October. It is, to me, a perfect way to end this colorful month of autumn.

And the evening? with Ed, on the couch.

with so much love...

leaving California

On our last brief morning in Laguna Beach, Snowdrop woke up early. The remnants of a full moon were with us still, there, faintly throwing light over the palm trees.

(what, you'd like more of an ocean view, seeing as this is Ocean? Fine...)

For once, she was the one in a hurry. Her friend had wanted to meet up for a morning swim before she left, before we left. Snowdrop was on board with the plan and so I did a quick calculus in my head and decided it could work.

We were down at breakfast, at our usual table, outside, enjoying the last such meal in the sunshine of a (soon to be!) warm day.

And by 8:30, the time the girl had set, we were at the pool. 

She didn't come and I'm not surprised. They were a larger family, they had a car to drop off, breakfast to bring in (they ate in their room) -- all the stuff that would stand in the way of the inspired but impractical idea of a pre departure swim. Was Snowdrop disappointed? A little. The girl, a year older, a traveler too, with parents from Germany and I'm thinking Uganda, had the temperament that beautifully matched my granddaughter's. Were they in the same town, they would surely be good friends. But of course, vacation friendships are like camp friendships: fleeting. They almost never carry over beyond the moment that you are there, together, swimming, sitting in the hot tub, roasting marshmallows over a fire pit.

So she swam alone for a while.

And then we went back to our room and got ready to head out.

It was the same long drive to LA airport, but without the traffic. Sunday mornings are always great for leaving a city. We're at the airport, crowded of course, because it's LA. We find a few snack foods -- nothing more than that and then we board our flight back to Minneapolis, where we have a proper pizza supper.

It's 10:30 at night before we touch down in Madison. I hand her over to her dad, find my car and drive home to the farmette. And to Ed.

Hi, Ed! 

with so much love...

California

At breakfast I say to Snowdrop -- I suppose we love looking out on the ocean because it makes us think beyond our own known world.

Why is there a horizon, she asks. You know why: the shape of the earth creates the illusion of a place where the sky meets the water. Hey, if you walked in a straight line out, you'd wind up coming (eventually) to the spot you're in now. This is true even if you walked to the left, or to the right. Isn't that something?

She thinks about this then asks -- who invented surfing? Do they surf here? So we switch to surfing. Topics that don't normally come up on our drive from school to farmhouse.

She was awake, like me, shortly after 7, but there was no rush to get going. It was 9 before we made it down to breakfast. And we lingered over that as well. I said to her -- breakfasts on vacation are the best. You never have to rush off when you're done. 

Snowdrop insists again that she misses the buffet, and I let her believe that, even as I have never, and I mean never seen her eat breakfast as well as she eats it here. Not even in Paris -- home of the super baguette/croissant meals.

This morning, I booked a ride into town. 

(waiting for our ride...)

They have a free shuttle service. We get in, others, without a booking have to wait. I insist that we can squeeze them in. I mean, it's a van that holds 6 plus the driver. 

We're joined by a three person family. From London. In LA for a bit of sunshine. City first, then Disneyland (same day as Snowdrop!), then Laguna Beach. Leaving tonight. They're lovely people. We exchange travel stories. Lives lived in different climates. One of those fleeting exchanges that bubbles and fizzles as you move on with your life and they with theirs. Only this time, the chance encounter has a lovely cap to it much later, in the afternoon, when the British girl asks Snowdrop to join her and a few other kids (yes, the horror boy and girl!) in a game at the pool. Snowdrop is always friendly and always just a little shy at the outset, but the girl is so delightful that she abandons her quesadillas and I lose her in the best possible way. To kids her own age.

But all that happens later. Right now, we are in Laguna Beach and I ask to be dropped off near the (weekly) farmers market. Well now, that's a wonderful reminder that we are in a different climate zone! All things grown locally. So many fruits! So many! With loads of free samples so that I discover what persimmon tastes like and Snowdrop falls in love with pluots. 

The market is small and when we walk past all its offerings...

.... we move on to search out souvenirs for her brothers. Snowdrop defaults to stuffies for them. Fine. This is not the time to think through other options. Laguna Beach is filled with shops. One block after the next, for all those visitors, tourists, vacationers. I'm not going to walk my way through them. We find a delightful little shop with sweet stuffies -- boom! We're done.

We reward ourselves with an ice cream pause.

I'm ready to go back then. I know the girl wants loads of beach time. That over shops and Laguna Beach browsing anytime! 

While we wait the few minutes for our ride, we stroll the park and beach strip in center town. You could not get a more typical California vibe.

Snowdrop says -- it must be fun to live here. Me, I've never thought California would be a fun place to live in. For many many reasons. I rejected it for grad school,  I rejected it when my then husband had a job offer in LA. But to visit? In October? Bliss.

Before heading for the beach, we stop at the CVS. Third time on our brief stay here! We're looking for pool toys. A noodle would be great, but none can be found. But there is a doughnut! She asks -- how will we get it inflated? Oh, children of this century! No app, no gizmo necessary! You blow!

And now it's beach time. 

(elevator down to the ground floor...)

I have no words to express how much she loves this: playing endless games, telling stories of who knows what, building castles, and today -- playing with, or against the crashing waves. I'll leave you with a few photos.

And then it's pool time and doughnut time...

and lunch time... (I insist she try fried calamari -- she once liked it, she likes it again.)

... and this is where her new friend from London comes in and another from Denver and Snowdrop is lost to the world of children. That crazy complicated delightfully uninhibited world of children. Privileged children, to be sure. Some more than others, but still, children who have traveled far in their young lives. 

(the hotel sets up a station for "s'mores by sunset"... Snowdrop and her new friend from Denver make at least three each: the perfect appetizer prior to dinner, no?)

Evening. We eat outside, at our favorite table. She chooses her favorite -- their pasta, and I choose my favorite here -- their sea bass. Snowdrop of course wants this to be our last dinner here of this trip. She wants to return. A sure sign of a happy camper -- you always want to return to the places that made you happy.

(oh that bread and butter with black salt...)

with so much love....

California

Snowdrop loves amusement parks. The twirling, spinning, dizzying array of thrills. Not the terrifying roller coasters that have you twist upside down while plunging at lightening speed downwards -- she tried it and said no to it going forward. But the fantastic offerings of whirlwind rides, games and inevitable additions to her stuffy collection is, for her, heaven. She is in this a total mother's child. Life was never sweeter for them than this August, when the two spent a day together at the world's largest water park (Noah's Ark at the Wisconsin Dells).

Her day in Disneyland begs the question: did it rise above all else? How does it compare? 

She thinks about it: if it wasn't for the feet, the Disney day would be tied with the water park day. I text her mom: Noah's Ark is still ahead! 

On the one hand, you want to go back and examine what you could have done to avoid the problem that arose. Pack Benadryl next time? We have never needed it before! I already pack a half a dozen just in case meds for my older self. For Snowdrop, children's Tylenol checks off most potential boxes of trouble. That and a thermometer, and even there I feel like I'm overdoing it. (I never once took my own temp during my Covid bout. I knew exactly when I had a fever and when it passed. What are cool hands for?!)

And in any case, aiming for perfection, trying to ensure a "best ever" day is not the point of going places, is it... When I go away, I do want a good room at the end of the day. Everything else is an adventure!

*     *     *

We get up late by our Midwestern standards, but early by west coast clocks. So, not yet when the sun lightly tints the skies.

And not yet, when the gulls start their squawking outside. There is no rush. The morning air is cool. We wait for it to warm up a bit before going down to breakfast.

She likes hotel breakfast buffets, but honestly, I think they are overrated for people like us. We dont need all that variety. We dont touch 95% of the offerings. We go for our favorites. Why not just order our favorites? I give her free choice to create her own ideal meal. She picks pineapple (huge chunks of it), a croissant, bacon. And she eats it all. (I pick oatmeal, fruits, yogurt and, because I'm making up for the Covid losses -- a croissant. With honey, because I am addicted to it in the mornings.) 

(pucker over pineapple)

We are so lost in the unrushed moment that much of the morning passes before we decide we are ready for the beach.

(she writes her comic, I read...)

This is fine with me -- the life guard comes on duty at 11. We head out at exactly that time.

*     *     *

(the hotel will give you a bucket and spade...)

By the great Pacific, she is tentative. The waves can be unassuming and then suddenly one will come with the power and fury of an angry brute. I want to encourage her to go out more, but the drop off is significant and I'm not sure she's up for the currents that come at you from the side. I see that only a handful of big people and a few local kids are actually riding the waves or swimming beyond their crashing power. So I say nothing and watch Snowdrop navigate the ocean on her own terms. She seems inspired by some construction idea that I'm sure wont quite come out as planned, but the joy is definitely in the build. 

Yes, the sun is strong. We did use sun screen, but still, I'm sure it wasn't in sufficient quantities. (The girl likes to put it on herself.) Her rash is still bothering her, but Benadryl controls the itch. She ignores the discomfort, the funny spots all over, choosing, as she so often does, joy over griping about what's not right.

(and only her head remains...)

(exploring the tide pools: we see many crab and little fish, but fail to spot the octopus we're told lurks here sometimes...)

Watching her play -- that is what makes this utterly crazy trip with all its intricacies and devious twists totally worthwhile.

We're two hours into it and she could keep going, but I think we've maxed out our safe levels of beach time. 

*     *     *

I was going to have us de-sand thoroughly in the room (there is a shower on the beach, but it's hard for her to get all of the gazillion of sand crystals off her clammy skin), but as we walk up and past the swimming pool, it tempts her too much and I think -- why not.

She plays, solo. And together, we do some people watching. Adults, some kids I'd seen yesterday. Crazy brother and sister, hitting each other, shouting at each other while the mother chatted on her smart phone. Today, they're at it again. Splashing every which way. I get some of that water on me and my exasperated look has the dad finally tell them -- move away from here so you wont make that lady mad again. How about, instead -- "take note of your surroundings, kids"? Snowdrop tells me -- they're just having fun. And I agree. It's the pool area. Kids play. They splash. It's what you do. But oblivious fun? Being oblivious or indifferent to the needs of those around you is never good, be it the person who brings you towels, or refreshes your water, or the old lady who just doesn't want to get splashed by a carelessly tossed ball.

Snowdrop and I eat lunch by the pool. 

Snowdrop comments -- I thought you don't use ketchup. Oh, but this is a throw-back meal! To days of shrimp cocktails! She looks unconvinced, digging into her own cheese quesadillas and fries, most likely thinking -- what was wrong with that generation?! 

More people watching. I see that we are definitely in a place that accommodates weddings. We have a huge, incredibly fancy one with guests and wedding party members from Japan. Christian Dior and Tiffany gift bags have been sighted. (Do the affluent from Japan not do online registry gifts, delivered to the home?) Then I see another kind of wedding: guests from Minnesota. So casual! Enjoying their time with friends by the pool. Beers, refilled. The hotel is as friendly, caring, solicitous to the likes of them, and to the likes of me, as it is to the Japanese contingency. I admire that.

(the parents of the groom maybe? or am I age-stereotyping? maybe the best man? he's wearing a boutonniere...)

We retreat to our bright and beautiful room(s). I skip out to the CVS to try another topical cream for the little girl. The sky is so blue, the sun so piercingly bright. Don't they miss the damp smell of earth here after a gentle rain? Every climate has its subtle beauty, only in Southern California, it's in your face grand. Perhaps just a little too grand?

The sunset, from our room, is beyond beautiful. In between the palms, the Japanese couple gets married.

*     *      *

Dinner -- again at the lesser eatery in our hotel. She goes for the noodles once more. Me, I'm feeling I need a small plate meal. The waiter recommends the risotto. Perfect.

And now it's time to unwind, with terrace doors open just enough, so that we can hear the sound of ocean waves. Beautiful for me because it is so very different from the sounds I hear each night coming through the farmhouse windows.

with love....