joyful weather

You know the kind, don't you? Weather that makes you sing. Seasonally appropriate of course, but still pushing the extremes of loveliness. 

We begin a several day period of joyful weather.

 Sunshine and warming temperatures: this is spring's gift for us. And I love it!

(Tuxie and Pancake: used to be at war with each other, but in recent months a fragile peace is in place)

Pancake update -- he had a quiet night. He ate ravenously yesterday evening and this morning appeared insulted when I "only" gave him a can of wet cat food. He doesn't like the "turkey" selection! He went off to study birds instead.

(several of the cats are good mousers; two are capable of bringing down an occasional bird; I've not seen Pancake do either, though living in the wild surely has to have given him such skills)

And the birds! They are a riot of sound this morning. I picked out cardinals, sparrows, red-winged blackbirds and a downy woodpecker. Did you know how melodious woodpeckers are? It's not all about the tap tap tap!

I drove to Madison Sourdough for breakfast treats. That place is surging in popularity. The line extended way outside. Luckily, I preordered.

And now for our celebratory breakfast photo. Why? Because it's International Women's Day and I feel very attached to my womanhood, even if it has had its troubles in the male-dominated epoch I grew up in. 

Happy March 8th, my compadres! 

Then came an hour, well no, three hours of toiling over a decision that has taunted me at the sidelines for many many months. It has to do with travel: I do a lot of it and I always just take a carry-on. My trips are usually in the 9 -12 day range and I can fit everything for that amount of time, with an extra tote added during winter trips to the mountains. But I'm going on a somewhat longer trip soon and I finally decided that the carry-on wont be large enough, especially since I'll be switching places -- country, city, you name it -- and, too, I'll be using the trains a lot, and it wont be easy to maneuver the usual supplementary tote in addition to the suitcase up narrow train stairs in double-decker wagons. 

So I need to purchase a larger suitcase -- one you can check in. One that will keep me from having to take along anything else.

Oh the agony of investing in this! I mean, I'm old -- how much travel do I have left in me? A lifetime warranty is a bit laughable, especially since I expect to do short trips again after this one. But I can't afford to have it break while it's being thrashed about on trains, planes and automobiles. 

By lunchtime I was down to two choices and I am absolutely incapable of deciding which is the better. (Basically it's the choice between soft and hardshell and I have read every review on the planet and yes, there are millions of reviews out there.)

I cant decide. I put away the computer and Ed and I go out for a walk. To Brooklyn Wildlife Area! We have the time. And it's a gorgeous day.

Of course, gorgeous March days soften the frozen earth, melt all snow, and create a messy hiking terrain. We expected the trails to be slightly muddy. They were significantly muddy.

Nonetheless, it was a glorious walk!

(it's still a brown landscape, but that wont last...)

(with a slice of moon overhead...)

And now comes a tricky part: there is a gathering of grandparents at the local pizza place. Some grandparents have come up from Chicago to see Snowdrop's final performance as Hero in Much Ado About Nothing. One has come from Buffalo. They're all (along with parents and Sparrow once again) getting a pizza and then going straight to the theater. I am going to skip the play. I love Snowdrop to pieces, but it is a long production (four hours!) and though I do make a point of seeing all of her plays, I limit myself to just one performance. Still, it is a very rare thing that all the Madison grandkids' grandparents are in the same room at the same time. In Chicago, we had such a gathering on Juniper's birthday (it is of course a different set of grandparents for Juniper and Primrose) and it was sweet to have us all there. So I hop over to at least share this meal with the guys here today.

Yes, I'm tempted to just follow in with them and watch Snowdrop do a beautiful Hero interpretation, but again, I have to place limits on the grandkid activities. I have plenty of these sweet guys in my days. Let the other grandparents delight in being with them to cheer her on and to play with Sparrow tonight.

I return to the farmhouse, hand over some pizza slices to the guy who does not attend gatherings if he can help it!

We watch a show, we exhale, totally looking forward to another day of joyful weather. And another after that! How wonderful it is to be creeping up on spring!

with love...

more of the same

I was sound asleep when last night's fight took place, but Ed heard it. More distant, but audible. Same problem: an animal comes, Pancake is attacked. (Or is it that Pancake attacks to defend his space?) And in the morning I see the results: our porch feral is even more beaten up, scratched, gashed, wounded. He doesn't even come out of his little enclosure for food. Eventually I coax him out for some water. (He says "no thanks" to food.)

 

 

I tell Ed - we have to do something! But of course, there is no solution. Unless we bring Pancake inside (not gonna happen -- he's really feral!), he has got to brave the menacing world out there. And maybe that is his fate? Maybe it's in his genes to keep fighting? This morning, as I walked to the barn to feed the chickens, I saw him come out of the porch and follow me at his usual distance. (He does this every morning.) And then he disappeared. For mny hours. It's cold outside, he's wounded and yet he chose to leave his warm enclosure (we have a heated blanket inside).

The day is on the miserable weather side of things. Light snow turning to rain. I wouldn't mind, except I'm really missing the early crocuses this year! Even the Helleborus is completely dormant here, in Wisconsin. And the snowdrops? Blooming profusely... in England. No sign of them in my yard.

(Here's our healthy and very pretty sheep shed cat -- Tuxie.)

 

(snow, eventually changing to rain...)

 

 

Breakfast. Dance, Ed, me. Granola, fruit, coffee. It's a winning combination.

Afterwards, I read.

And drive over to my clinic to test for measles antibodies. Not sure if I had an effective vaccination and my doc told me that my travels make me a candidate for upping my protection thanks to the antivaxxers out there.

Which brings me to this question: in listening to a report on NPR  on the consequences of suddenly canceling USAID programs that give humanitarian and especially medical aid to those in need of it, I learned that on the average, those life saving programs (and I mean really life saving... for millions of people) -- they cost $38 per American household per year. And I want to ask those who are chortling with glee over the removal of aid (to a child with TB or malaria or HIV) -- would you not want to hand over $38 if it really could save a child? Even if it meant you'd have to give up something meaningful to you, like, say, one ice cream treat (!!) for the family. (It costs me $12 to buy two single scoop ice creams for the two kids at the Chocolate Shoppe here, in the dairy-land state.) 

Speaking of kids, time to pick up my two grands. It's pajama day in school once again.

We have a quick turnaround, because the girl has to be at her Shakespeare production (she is tech crew tonight) by 4. The upside of it is that I get to hand over Sparrow to the parents over at Barrique's coffee shop and so we have a chance to pause and summarize the week behind us.

The sun comes out as I drive home. You have no idea how good it is to see it poking through, between leftover puffy clouds! We're going to have a fine weekend and a spectacular week! Blue skies and of course, daylight savings time. Leaving behind the vestiges of winter, leaping forward into spring.

with love...

born to fight

I do not want to criticize nature. It gives much more than it takes. I could not achieve a state of peace, calm, tranquility without it in my life, in copious amounts.

However...

Survival does require a certain amount of fight. Nature commands us to punch out the enemy. Maybe even eat them for breakfast. And nowhere is that more clear than in the animal world. 

Last night, strange sounds came to us from the outside. Eerie ones. Aliens, landing in our back yard kind of sounds. Our two farmhouse cats perked up and walked to the door, ready for combat (actually, they only appeared ready for combat: when I cracked the door open, they backed away). Ed went out, saw nothing, came back inside. I went out and the noise resumed. I made my way to its source. There was Pancake, our porch feral cat, in a face off with a giant newcomer. A cat the size of a coyote (or maybe the night shadows added volume to his body..). I took a broom and put it between them. The interloper backed off. Thankfully, no one attacked me, a.k.a. the peace keeping force. I went back inside. 

The next morning, as I came down to feed everyone, I glanced out on the porch and there was Pancake. Beaten up, bedraggled. With sores, dirt covering his black and white fur, and a limp. And sadness in his eyes. (One can only hope these animals are not carrying the Avian flu virus. How to protect them? I don't think there is an effective strategy out there at this point.)

I've never been tempted to make friends with Pancake because his presence on the porch makes it difficult to send cats outside (they are a bit fearful of him). Ed, on the other hand, has long petting sessions with him which, I admit, have helped tame the dynamics between all. Today, I could not help it -- I'm out there soothing the poor guy, finally offering him a gentle pet, to let him know that I understand his need to defend what little space he has carved out for himself on this planet. (I then scrub my hands. I mean, he could be exposed.)

Up and down the animal chain, we have fights, vicious fights. And I know that the way things work is that we need food and animals need food and we all cannot be vegetarians, but is there really no humane way to resolve this? Must there be fights?

Walk to the barn? Cold! The slush froze overnight, so slippery, too. 

 

Immediately after, I had a visit with my cardiologist. This is an annual thing and today it's rather amusing, because in the last three years I have worked my way through three cardiologists. I did not reject them -- they all retired! One by one! So now I got assigned to someone very young. And that's good, because the newer generation of docs is happy to talk to you about heart health as measured by, say, your smart watch. 

[My heart, by the way, is basically fine, and I see a cardiologist for quirky things that are not likely to kill me.]

One question (out of many) that I had was how much can you push yourself at my age. In spring, I garden hard. With shovel and rake work that lead to blisters on my hands. When I travel, I push myself with walks, hikes, treks that are very long. With or without elevation. Is that good?

Turns out this generation of docs thinks it is: every extra hour beefs up your cardio health (with the proviso that you have good heart function as you set out to add all those hours, which, of course, only a doc can assess). I have a season of arduous gardening/walking/biking before me. It's good to know that I am likely to improve, not damage the old heart with that effort.

And then Ed and I ate breakfast.

 

Yes, it was late and yes, we talked about the news of the day (no tariffs, a threat of tariffs, sudden tariffs, imposed tariffs, postponed tariffs, dangled tariffs -- we've had it all, within the first 6 weeks of the new leadership! And for what??). But, too, we noted the sunshine outside and the warmth of the house and how totally lucky we were to be coming into spring. Gently, slowly, surely.

 

In the afternoon, the kids are here once again. 

Sun's out, jackets are discarded (even though it's just a few degrees above freezing). Who am I to protest. Besides, it's a short walk from car to farmhouse.

Evening comes, the kids return home, I turn on the news. Which story sticks out? I'm at a loss to pick a winner. How about the interview with the former Commissioner of Social Security who advises us retirees to start saving cash as the combination of increasing numbers of retirees and crazy staff reductions is very likely to result in a malfunction and at least a temporary interruption of payments. So maybe that one? 

 

I reheat soup and make a salad, keeping an eye out for porch invasions -- raccoons, cats, maybe bobcats. I can only hope that the skunk family will stay away. And please, guys: no more fights. There's nothing to be won here. Nothing at all.

with love...

green

Maybe for you, March conjures up images of green landscapes. Or maybe you just see green because of the upcoming St Patrick's Day. Well, we're not starting off with a whole lot of green stuff this March. Indeed, either last year's spring came very early or we are now very, very late, because I'm noting crocuses in bloom in my photos from March 5th 2024 and there's not even a crocus tip poking through yet on March 5th 2025.  I had to canvas the fields long and hard to find just these tiny tips of future daffodils:

Green? Ha. Brown, with a slap of wet snow this afternoon. 

 (This is our beautiful and gentle Tuxie. Honestly, I'd give her over to cat adoption if it weren't for the fact that she seems so content here. She lives in the sheep shed but does love the great outdoors.)

Again, March is like that: wet rain, wet snow -- these are not unusual. We've had menacing ice storms too. The weather isn't really the problem for us northerners. Because we see through it. We appreciate the emerging signs of spring. But this year I'm left wondering -- where is the green stuff??

Breakfast -- I'm thinking oatmeal is appropriate for this kind of a day. (Hey! He's wearing a green shirt!)

 

 

 

And yes, we do talk about the News -- or at least I do. As always, I'm agitated -- by the absurdity of it all. When did disdain for elites move away from dislike for the wealth to the dislike of knowledge? Of expertise? So that the ethos of a billionaire is applauded, but that of a scientist struggling to keep us safe from a pandemic or from cancer -- ridiculed and ostracized? I try to make sense of an alignment of the poorest with the agenda implemented by the richest for benefit of the richest -- how did those at the top pull that one off?? I did not watch the 100 minute self adulation last night, but I read about it today. To applaud a brave child with cancer with one hand while tearing down the search for cures and the benefits offered to such a child with the other -- does this seem commendable to people? You're applauding this... why?

This is when Ed tells me to stop reading. That I'm not the better for it. And perhaps he is right. 

 

I look outside and oh am I glad we did the bulk of the yard clean up the last two days!

No way am I going to do anything at all that's outdoorsy. I distract myself with doing exercises for my knee. Exercises for balance (I love these because I'm good at them!). Exercises for upper body strength. For my neck. Did I miss anything??

And then I go (very slowly -- it's nasty out there) to pick up the kids.

("I'm holding an icicle!")

Of course they want ice cream. Of course they do. I'm past questioning the appropriateness of pairing ice cream with a blustery snowy day.

Me, I'm inclined to cook up a pot of soup for supper.  Steamy hot. With grated cheese and green kale. I think that's as far as we are going to get with green stuff this week.

with love...

 

the next day

In the course of the night, we were visited by a skunk again (the smell!), by a racoon (came to the porch looking for cat food), and by a possum (that one marched straight into the cage). Lots of activity for just a few dark hours! The good news? The chickens remain safe and accounted for. The very rickety coop that Ed beefed up with a layer of additional wire has held up well. The roof has been clawed by determined predators, deep holes appear to the side overnight, and yet -- the chickens march out the next morning seemingly oblivious to the smells, the ditches, the bits of tattered roofing. Amazing.

It's still warm today but we're promised rain later, in the day so early in the morning, I survey the beds and decide they could use a raking.

Ed chips all my cuttings (with the oldest hand mower you've ever seen, picked up from a ditch I believe), I spread the mulch back on the flower beds...

And only then do we go inside for breakfast.

The talk is of tariffs. The race is on for his company to introduce a machine design he has been working on. The hope is that it will save them. (They're raising the prices of course, to reflect the new -- call them what they are -- taxes.) Tense uncertainty is the name of the game right now.

My survey of the news brings up dismal stuff: 45% of Americans approve of the leaderships in place right now. I so want to ask them -- what change are you hoping for and what indication do you have that you will see your desired prosperity? And perhaps more importantly, are you aware of the suffering caused by these slash, burn and destroy tactics? And you're okay with it?

I switch to reading about A.I. There is an article in the NYTimes -- a discussion with Ezra Klein -- titled "The Government Knows AGI is Coming" and I do recommend it, but I wont provide a link because it is VERY long and I know most of you wont read it. I'll save my gifted pieces for stuff that I think will be more "of general interest." But here's the thing: I am sure that Artificial Intelligence will be at the center of our life within 2 - 3 years. (It already is there at the peripheries.) I don't think it's a good idea to shrug off the geeky details now, because we are too close to the time when we will need to understand the complexities in order to participate intelligently in the discussion. We have seen what happens when huge swaths of the population are left out of meaningful discussions (because they rely on soundbites delivered by their favorite news delivery). You don't want to stay uninformed now. You really don't.

After spending too much time buried in news, I go back outside -- to rake, to cut, to clear. Yes, I'm a little stiff, a little breathless, a little tired. But I have a garden waiting to emerge. I do not want to get off to a slow start. 

 

And in the afternoon I pick up two bouncy kids.  

Lots of play and reading to catch up on!

 

 

 

Evening: wet, but this is a good thing. Spring rain is an absolutely necessity for a healthy garden. Oh, did you notice my reference to "spring?" We'll be bouncing around between warm and cold in the next few weeks. Understandable. Regardless -- we are not in the thick of winter anymore. And isn't that just grand!

with love...

March 3rd

I was nine on October 16 1962. Oh, do I remember it! I was in New York, my father was then the Polish Rep to the United Nations. It was the start of the Cuban Missile Crisis and we were coming awfully close to a nuclear war. The TV was switched on the minute my father came home from work and it stayed on for a long time. I was terrified. I remember shaking and asking my father if this war would really happen. Shhh, he said, quiet now. But, but why would the leaders of our countries want to destroy our planet? They have children, don't they? My father stopped listening to the news and smiled at me. For a fleeting second, he smiled his closed-mouth grin and said -- yes, they have children.

As I listen to the surreal dismantling of our country's rule of law, to news of the destruction of towns, cities, families, lives in the Ukraine, to the indifference in the leadership to our collective health, be it before a pandemic, or the seasonal flu, or cancer, or Alzheimers, or ebola, or malaria, or even measles, to the bulldozing of efforts to slow down climate change, I have to ask again, at age 71 now -- don't these people have children and grandchildren? Is this the world they want to leave behind for them? Because honestly, I dont think Mars is in the running to take them in right now.

And now we are onto March 3rd.

This date in our northern hemisphere calendar seems to always make me feel stale... Like a loaf of bread that's seen better days -- dried out, maybe a bit moldy. 

I think it's because in the winter season leading up to it, I coasted in a winter fog. Everything I did or did not do had a good excuse. Projects stalled, movement -- hit or miss, money spent without a thought to frugality, foods eaten recklessly, resolutions -- a thing of another era. All because of the cold days, and salty roads, and short daylight hours, and brown landscapes. Like this one:

 

 

And then comes March 3rd, and I take stock and I cringe. What have I done with myself, my days, my goals and aspirations??

Spring is around the bend. Fresh, invigorating, beautiful, energizing spring. And here I am, feeling stale. Swamped by  horrible news stories, endless tax forms, spread sheets of expenses going forward, while the garden still wears its winter clothes which honestly look like rags right now. It's a post-winter mess out there!

That's March 3rd for you.

But it is an unusually warm day. And thus a good day to begin to turn things around.

After breakfast.

And after I do my Wisconsin taxes (which put me in a foul mood because they did not generate a refund this year and I'm sure it's because I made some accounting error but oh well, I'm not redoing them in search of $54).

In the early afternoon, I step outside. (No kids today -- there's a bug in their home making the rounds.) Initially I'm thinking I'll clear maybe one flower field. (I have 12 of them, some small, but some very big, like for instance the Big Bed!) 

And I work on it.

And work on it.

Until the sun has long set. 

I didn't do a great job, but it's adequate. And I cut back spent flowers not in one or two, but in ten out of the twelve flower fields. 

Ed said -- don't work too hard on the first day of yard work, but it was too late. I did work very very hard and yes, it was too much, but I'm alive and well so there you have it!

I will surely be sore tomorrow.

 

 

 

with love...

 

a March Sunday

Beautiful day! I should clear the garden! Go for a long walk! Maybe bike ride?

 

I do nothing like that.

First of all, another skunk meandered to the barn this morning. We decided to take him to an agreed upon habitat. That required truck transport. Because who wants to put a skunk in a car! 

Ed's new old truck wouldn't start. The hood to my car would not open so we could not easily jump start the truck. By the time all those messes were cleaned up, it was 11. Breakfast was, thus, very late.

 

 

And then? Tax filing time. I have to do this now. I'm not here in early April. I absolutely have to do this now!

And so this year, you get to listen to me complaining about tax filing earlier. (Last year, I believe I complained around April 12th.) And let's be clear: I'm not complaining about paying taxes, I'm complaining about the complexity of the enterprise!

As a retired former state employee, my tax situation should be rather straightforward. We're not dealing with large numbers here by any means. However, I take all kinds of small actions to boost my savings and they trigger tax consequences, so reporting all this stuff is one big headache. 

Most people would either hand it over to an accountant or use one of the software programs online, but Ed has convinced me over the years that you learn a lot by doing this stuff yourself and so this is what I do: fill out all those work sheets and schedules and do all my computations, tearing out my hair along the way.

The sweet guy is there to help, and I do call on him to give me advice, even though I'm the lawyer and once-econometrics major, so tax computations should be for me as easy as, say, fixing a bike would be for him. But it's not and I do some hand wringing and plenty of groaning along the way.

When the groans become too loud, he says -- listen, dont worry about making mistakes! They're depleted over at the IRS. No way will they catch up with you! 

No! -- I tell him. They got rid of those who would have gone after rich people. It's cheaper and more rewarding to go after the likes of me, because I wont fight back and my mistakes will be easy to detect!

After another louder than necessary groan he says -- it's actually a good brain exercise.

True, and an even better exercise in patience.

I finish the fed forms. I still have Wisconsin. Saved for next weekend. Groan, in anticipation of it!

 

Gorgeous, we really should go for a walk.

And we do. In the early evening, into the setting sun.

It is a total release. Of tension over the week's havoc and destruction. A week of embarrassment and shame felt after watching one once-supporter-of-democratic-regimes (Republican) after another tumble and crawl out to the dark side. Of heartfelt sorrow for the losses sustained by those brazenly kicked out of work for... doing their jobs expertly. Too expertly. Over so much more... 

I did not mention two things yesterday (because I got home so late...): first of all, if you are a subscriber to the Wall Street Journal, then you may have come across the article describing the horrible scrambling that has to take place because of the governmental chaos (tarriff and otherwise) in the company where Ed continues to do design work. Ed is interviewed  and I think the reporter did a fine job showing how much is lost when these smaller companies have to shift their production and marketing to places that can offer greater stability. (The article is titled "A Manufacturer Tried to Get Ahead of Trump's Tariffs. It Still Got Whipsawed." but I cant gift it to you because I am not a WSJ subscriber.)

The second memorable for me detail is that we heard yesterday the first calls of the returning sandhill cranes. And sure enough, on our drive to the local county park, we saw some today, co-mingling at the moment with the Canadian geese.

 

 

It's Sunday. Family dinner? No, not today. I was supposed to do supper for just three: my daughter, Ed and myself. Don't ask why.  It's one of those complicated situations of a visiting grandparent and time spent en famille and, too, it's Oscar night and Ed hates the Oscars, so my daughter was to keep me company. And then she woke up with a bug.

So I watch alone. I mean, Ed is technically here, but hiding upstairs. Nonetheless, it is, for me, a release to have this award show on: to take in goofy thank you speeches made by those whose business it is to act out our best and worst fantasies. How many times have I told a scared child who is watching a tense show or listening to a frightening story -- it's total fiction! Someone's imagination, on the screen (or on paper)! Tonight I am lost in those stories and performances and it feels oh so fine to think about nothing more than the jokes offered, the music performed, the dress or suit worn on this one occasion of total bland entertainment.

with so much love...

March madness

I've said it before: I am not a fan of spectator sports of any kind. Yes, the Olympics -- for the winter sports, because I like watching people ski and skate. But the competitive angle only makes me nervous. And team sport? Really, if I never had to watch another game of any kind I'd be just fine. (I am much relieved that neither Snowdrop nor Sparrow or Primrose appear to be headed in the direction of competitive sports. I can't tell with 3 year old Juniper and I am a little worried that Sandpiper, if give the chance, would throw himself mightily into any athletic competition, but so far, I've not had to be a "soccer (or any sport) grandma." Still, when everyone around you gets into a high pitched frenzy about big time events such as the World Series or the Super Bowl, I'm aware of the tribal banding that takes place and I know most people around me are tracking, and betting on, and watching games that are taking place.

I am aware, for example, that this month often sports (ha ha) the moniker March Madness, because basketball championships (the NCAA Championships, and yes, I had to look that up!) will crown the tournament's victor ... well, in April, but we still call it March Madness.

The thing is, I feel the label is fitting for this March of 2025. We are in a mad tailspin of ... well, I don't know what. Chaos? Destruction? And it is mad.

Nonetheless, it is up to us all to survive this insanity so that eventually we can rebuild. And one way to survive it is to take a stand, yes of course, but, too, to keep on truckin'. With a constant reminder -- this meanness and tyranny is not the will of any majority. This is not who we are. 

Now, together, let's remind ourselves of our better natures. and of the finer things in life.

And speaking of nature, here we are, first day of March and the temps swung downward! Way below freezing, all day long.

(nonetheless, the two robins came out to celebrate the eventual coming of spring)

 

 

But it is cold. And so I am greatly surprised when very early in the morning, Ed asks -- want to go to the winter farmers market? 

Madison holds a weekly market at the old Garvers Feed Mill every winter Saturday morning, but we never go. Why? Because it's all about root vegetables and baked goods and meats and cheeses, with a few hoop veggies thrown in. We already get our bi-weekly supply of hoop veggies and carrots from our CSA farmers. We dont need more baked goods. We dont eat meats. Why go?

Well, because it's fun. And it's not often that Ed is inclined in the direction of an early morning market outing.'s

The Garver's Feed Mill was once a factory (indeed, the largest factory in Wisconsin), engaged in the production of sugar. In the early 1920s it switched to storing, selling and distributing animal feed. But these days, it looks like what you see above, or better yet, in the photo here .

At the market, we do pick up a few things. Blueberry walnut bread. Cheese curds. Salad greens. Happy moments, milling once again with family farmers, cheesemakers, bakers.

And of course, we are on the side of town that has Madison Sourdough. On our way home, we stop there for our week's supply of croissants.

I have one for breakfast. Which is very late!

In the afternoon, I read. 

(on the couch, next to a sunning cat)

 

Do I have a suggested reading for you for today, this first day of March? I do. Much is being thrown at us right now about the Ukraine and Russia. One sentence summaries of a war that is aggressive, nonsensical and horribly destructive. I suppose being raised in postwar Poland, I'm not unbiased (against the then Soviet Union). However, this I also have -- a life long reading of "their side" of the story, initially because it was forced upon us, and then because Poland's fate remained intertwined with Russia's political ambitions. I tend to dismiss one sentence summaries and I'm always on the lookout for something that provides background and a more thoughtful explanation. I found it today in the New Yorker, in this article. It's very long, in the way that the New Yorker articles often are, but if you want to try to understand why Putin is so hell bent on destroying the Ukraine and why he has the support of so many Russians, you'll give it a read. And of course, you'll understand perhaps why our own two villains in the Oval Office haven't a clue about what is really at stake here.

 

Evening: unusual tonight because it is the night of Snowdrop's first performance as Hero in Shakespeare's Much Ado about Nothing. Hero (aka Snowdrop) is Count Claudio's love interest. A victim of nasty gossip, she almost loses the love of her life. She faints in dismay when he disparages her, but the truth prevails in the end and the two (along with bickering but in love cousin and her equally bickering but also in love bachelor) marry and dance toward a satisfying finale.

(you cant take photos during the performance of course, but this is the final dance and so I think I'm ok!)

 

 

Snowdrop is delightful. 

Her love of Shakespeare is delightful. Her engagement with play writing and her social contacts with the drama kids are delightful. I have to think it's a phase (because it was for my daughters as well), but it surely is a smile-inducing one for us all.

The Young Shakespeare Players put on the full play, all four hours of it, and Sparrow lasted all the way til the very late ending, so I think he deserves to be included in a photo!

 

 

Such a wonderful beginning to the month that will eventually bring us full blown spring!

with love...

still February

Well that's a stunning ending to this normally cold and indifferent month: a high of 52f (11C) today! And sunny.

And windy, but who's complaining! 

(Well, the chickens are -- not about the weather but about my coming to feed them on the late side...)

We have some small animal altercations which we've not been able to control well: a skunk keeps visiting the barn at night (he leaves his signature card behind). And a racoon came to the porch last night. We had to scramble to chase him out and hide Pancake's food dish (which normally stays out on the porch). One of these animals clearly visited the sheep shed as well overnight, creating a mess in search of food. You have to wonder why these beasts are suddenly desperate for additional food sources. And then you remember -- it's spring. Pregnancies abound. Appetites soar. 

There's nothing we can do really, except be diligent about hiding cat food and chicken feed. We do use the trap to scare off these animals (nothing like an overnight in a cage to give them pause) and sometimes we remove them to an approved place far away, but honestly, you just have to cross your fingers and hope your chickens will be spared and eventually that these invaders will look elsewhere.

 

Breakfast: I tell Ed that all his blood donations have resulted in me sitting across the table from a guy who has the word blood emblazoned on his chest. (The free t-shirts he gets lately have a message about giving blood, which is fine, unless you have to look at some iteration of that message every single day. He donates frequently and so there are many t--shirts!)

The topic of blood makes an appearance again later in the day as I tune in to the meeting between the leader of a nation ravaged by war and, well, two angry men who are at the helm of this nation. I'm not sure anyone can stomach the berating and finger wagging of our "leadership" at a man who has bravely lead the defense of his country in a hellishly bloody war. But I force myself to watch the details. And it is shocking. I know my Polish friends must be watching as well. What must they be thinking! Hard to believe we traded away an alliance with economically successful democracies around the world for a phony alliance with a floundering dictatorship headed by a war criminal.

 

At noon, Ed and I go for a walk in the new development. The wind is fierce, but this may be a good thing: chase those thoughts away, clear the mind, face the sun, let it go...

(Oh! The pond behind the farmette lands is almost completely melted) 

I pick up the kids at school and quickly drive them over to the farmhouse.

On the one hand, it's a rushed visit -- the girl is tech crew for a Shakespeare performance tonight and needs to be (who knows why) behind the scenes two hours early. We drop her off at 4, then Sparrow and I go to Barrique's where we meet up with my daughter for an end of week/end of month moment.  

I try very hard to stay with our favorite topics: kids, friends, events. Future plans, current small successes. Only toward the end do I let loose with my anguish over what took place in the Oval Office today.

And then I go home. The last day of February: lovely for us. Heartbreaking for so many...

with love...