Friday

What a curious day! Do you have them? Days that are filled with the great, the banal, the disappointing, the unavoidable, the dreary, the sublime -- but when you sit down to write about it, you think -- well now, it all sounds rather ordinary, doesn't it?

But it's not ordinary at all! Or rather, it's grand that at the end of the day I can sit back and say -- hey, my life is as good as it was at the start of the day and perhaps maybe just a tiny bit richer. 

Before I fill this page with details that probably will make no great impression on you, let me alert you to something that should make an impression: it's a film I watched early in in the morning. It's a documentary short, but it runs close to 25 minutes, so don't click and expect something the length of a tweet. The film is in Polish, but with English subtitles. It is nominated for an Oscar (category: documentary short subject; you might be interested to know that TWO of the five films in this Oscar category are Polish -- the other, "Joanna," is about the beautiful blog of a young woman/wife/mother who is in her last months of life and it is also stunning and I think likely to trump in this category).

The film I'm posting here is unforgettable. It is so deeply moving and so well done (in my opinion), that I may have posted a link to it even if it wasn't Polish. It's called "Our Curse" and it's made by a young couple about their first months with their child -- a boy born with a significant breathing disorder. But honestly, even if you are not particularly fascinated with the topic, watch it for its greater theme. I wont tell you what that is. You'll want to draw your own conclusions.




And now to the threads of my day.

Breakfast. Let's start there. It is predictable, satisfying and gentle. Yay breakfast.






And let's include the cheepers. It's a bit warmer today -- in the twenties and so again they are tempted by the outside world. I'm there, with treats! Such a simple thing: it's cold, but partly sunny, they're wistful, I reach out with cornbread, they are satisfied.






The clouds come and go all day and yet it feels as if the sun is always with us.






Next, I book a spring flight to San Francisco. These days, the entire enterprise of finding good, inexpensive connections on the best possible days that are satisfactory to all concerned is no small task. It takes forever!

As does my continued search for a replacement car. The one in Green Bay was too good a deal. I put off going for it until Monday. Ed said that was a mistake. He was right. The car sold.

Two mammoth tasks follow: weekly grocery shopping and farmhouse cleaning. I should never do them back to back. They take too big a chunk out of the day and they leave me with the feeling you would get from watching too much TV: where did the hours disappear???

I've saved the best for last. Because my daughter is, today, celebrating an enormous professional accomplishment, I agree to stay with little Snowdrop all evening long until a very, very late hour. Normally I'm good for baby sitting until 10, at the latest. You know how it is, once you are retirement age -- you get sleepy earlier every year. But tonight is special for the young couple and I want them to indulge themselves in all forms of celebration and so I pump myself with many macchiatos and I welcome this darling little girl to the farmhouse. Ed is unsure if he had a tiny cold the last day or so and so we decided he should use this evening to stay away from the precious one and work on his projects in the sheep shed. And so it's just me and little Snowdrop. And Isie the cat, who disappears upstairs when Snowdrop utters her first baby sound.




(with lily the rabbit)


I'll post now. The evening's young, but we have a lot to explore!



(with dancing mousie)

Thursday

Can a day be green and blue in February? In Wisconsin?

We almost drove to Green Bay, very early today. I found a blue car there that I liked and I made a deal over the phone -- good price, great make, only seven years old. Green Bay, blue car!

But at the last minute, I changed my mind. Too hurried a drive (2.25 hours each way), too much compressed into one morning -- so we did not go.

But I can carry the color theme in a different direction: Ed's a little blue about the loss of the stray cat. The vet said she was fading rapidly and yet it does feel like we hastened her death by taking her to the clinic. Yes, it was the right thing to do, but it was also a sad outcome for her and for us.


On the upside, the sun is out, the skies are a beautiful blue color and that's enough to put anyone in a better mood.






We eat breakfast in the front room, just because the colors of the nursery furniture and toys create, for me at least, a cheerful aura for a morning meal. Too, we get the late morning sun rays.






We both tend to the cheepers today -- I coax them out for some cornbread while Ed cleans the coop (hey, he has the arms for it! I can't reach the corners!).






And I take on the glass porch roof once more: the snow had blown into huge hills and valleys on top and though we don't think there is much danger of it crashing the roof, still, it is northern exposure and if I don't shovel it off, it will take forever to melt.


I hurry with these and various sundry chores so that I can be on time for my visit with little Snowdrop, whose hair, freshly washed, looks like a big mohawk...






... and who happens to be dressed in green and blue today!





Oh happy girl! Keep that curious gaze out onto the world! On this one month celebration of your life, know that you are so loved by so many!

the vulnerable

We are bracing for another Arctic blast tonight.


 



May it be the last one. I think the cheepers should be alright. They have learned to band together in true "we few, we happy few" fashion, emerging victorious from each bout of severe weather with nary a feather out of place. (Well, except for the two molters that have many feathers out of place; we cannot undo the forces of nature.)

To improve their chances, I did what a chicken loving internet writer suggested -- I baked that cornbread and handed over a big chunk of it to them. They were delighted!






Other animals are having a tougher time of it right now. This morning, Ed found a very young cat in the barn. We've seen strays before (remember Cammie? She came, stayed, then disappeared forever), but this kitty seemed different: stuck in the cold weather, probably weakened, somewhat traumatized. Ed took her in and tried to feed her...





...but she really needed a vet. She seemed terribly feeble. He speculated whether Isie boy would mind if she stayed here and again I told him that I thought he would mind. So off the puffy girl went -- the hope being that the vet could help her and that eventually, her seemingly sweet disposition would win her a home somewhere.

[Update: she does not survive. The vet finds shock, infection, significant trauma. Sigh.]

Our breakfast, which comes even before the trip to the vet, is a touch somber. It's tough to have abandoned cats appear at the farmette. Where do they come from? Who let's them go?






The sun comes out, though only for a little while.






In the afternoon, I play for a bit with little Snowdrop. She is one day short of a month today and though of course she seems to us robust and solid compared to the week after birth, still, she is so young! So in need of help!

I could just show you her dimple again -- clearly displayed in a moment of sleepy contentment...






Or her curious gaze in her wakeful hour.






But maybe I should end with her more vulnerable moment. She has those too. We all do.

Tuesday

Because it's Tuesday and an especially crowded Tuesday for the young parents, little Snowdrop will be spending the afternoon at the farmhouse.

That means everything else for me has to be plugged into the hours of the morning. And so I'm the one volunteering to open up the coop. It's a motivator to get me up and moving.

Still, I stall for a bit. It's too cold for the cheepers to come out of their huddle. As I look out at the very gentle sunrise -- the kind where there is just a faint wisp of haze, giving us a cornflower sky...






... I see that we have visitors at the farmette. I know they hope for young fruit tree bark. No luck, my deers! We finally protected the trees from your assault! And indeed, the deer move on...












Breakfast. A jubilant meal. I don't know why we are especially spirited today, but we are.






I tell Ed that if we're to ski, it has to be in the morning. And that's fortuitous, because we have that gentle sky now. The afternoon is to bring more snow.

Very quickly, after our morning meal, we head out.

The trails aren't groomed yet, but there are tracks now that we can follow and, too, we're back in the swing of things. Yesterday it took us 1.5 hours to do our park loop. Today we did it in 45 minutes.



(at crossroads)


And just before noon, little Snowdrop arrives! She's sleepy at first and so I am content just watching her and letting Ed have a swig at keeping her in her restful state...






... but in no time she is ready to be entertained. We explore the world of bunny rabbits and penguins.












(Is that a dimple, or what?!)






And she is such a good little Snowdrop, that I even have time to bake another cornbread. (The last one was to be shared with the cheepers, but Ed whittled away at it enough for me to feel the need to make a second -- this one with fresh corn and kefir.)






Little Snowdrop enjoys the fragrance of baking at the farmhouse.


The snow comes as promised...






I put on Raffi's Douglas Mountain. A children's record that I had played some thirty years ago. Snows are a-falling on Douglas Mountain, Snows are a-falling so deep, Snows are a-falling on Douglas Mountain, Putting the bears to sleep.






... and little Snowdrop and I dance and dance.

Monday

The day after the storm. Blue skies, calm winds. Cold, but beautiful!


















But we're in no hurry to get going. It's a long, slow climb out of the single digits out there and neither the cheepers nor the two of us (make that three -- Isie boy is right by our side) are anxious to be out and about. The blizzard had gusted snow into the barn and even after we swept a good bit of it out, the cheepers were greatly disappointed to see their sacred turf suddenly dusted with the horrid white stuff.



(what's this?? Yuk!)




(we'll just stay inside the coop... can you serve us your cornbread in here?)



Eventually there is breakfast.






And inevitably there is the shoveling. And by late morning there is that great desire to be out in the snow and sun. Even the cheepers consider (albeit briefly) stepping out into the world.


 



For us -- it is our first skiing of the season!





The trails in our county park aren't groomed yet and so it's slow going. We work up a sweat just moving across the deep snowbanks. Off goes the hat!






But it is truly magnificent to be skiing again! I remember why, in fact, I do not mind winter in Wisconsin.






In the late afternoon, I visit my daughter and little Snowdrop just as she announces her readiness to eat.






And here's a real treat for me: in the evening, the young parents bring her over to the farmhouse, so that they can finally grab that meal, just the two of them -- postponed from yesterday, due to the blizzard.



(Ed, with a cookie and with Snowdrop)








Little Snowdrop was magnificent!


 


Ed? He fell asleep on the couch to the sound of the wind up lullabies I played for the littlest one.

Sunday

Alternate post title: careful what you wish for!

As predicted, we are getting hammered by a good old fashioned blizzard. For February 1st, that's hardly news up here in Wisconsin, though this year it is indeed a show stopper -- it's the first major snowstorm of the winter.

Of course, I hoped there would be snow. You feel (or at least I feel) really cheated when the winter drags on without it. But, it is a ferocious storm with gales and the usual drifting snow.

Over breakfast, we talk about trying to ski later this morning...






... but a few adventurous moments outside (with futile attempts at clearing paths) convinces us to wait at least until tomorrow. It really is menacing out there!






Plans for this afternoon and evening change dramatically in various complicated ways for little Snowdrop's parents. Instead of hosting the baby and in part the mom this evening, I end up driving to their place while Snowdrop's dad braves the weather out on the highways for a necessary trip south.

So the good news is that I have a lovely bit of time with little Snowdrop and her mom.









The less than perfect news is that I have to leave the trusty but very rusty Ford up many blocks from where they live and of course, moving around in a blizzard is exceptionally awkward. But, I manage a roundtrip without slipping into a ditch or getting stuck in a snowbank so I am much relieved.

Art home, I make tomato bisque and bake cornbread, thinking that any leftovers (of the bread) would be popular with the cheepers tomorrow. They're in for a very cold night tonight!

Saturday

Alternate post title: "good news/bad news," or -- "how to waste your day without really trying."

I was up with the cheepers. I'm thinking --  lovely sunrise! It's going to be a grand day!





I open the coop -- oops, low on water. Let me get some refills here. I come back. Three chickens hover, expecting a treat.

Wait now. Three? Where is the fourth? Where is our egg laying, non-molting, ever enthusiastic Butter??

I search for her. The barn is big, the sunrise is beautiful...





No Butter.

I throw them their favorite snack -- Butter is always the first in line for that!

Nothing.

My worst fears realized. Ed was late locking them in. There are coyotes in the area. Damn!

Ed, we lost a chicken.
Seriously? You're not teasing?
Seriously. I looked everywhere. Butter is gone.
Any Butter remains?
No. Nothing.

We talk for a bit about whether to replace her, come spring. I'm against it. Ed reminds me how cool it is to have them stick together in their pack of four.

I go down to fix breakfast. Ed goes to the barn to look for other tell tale signs of a massacre.

He comes back quickly, with a grin: all four chickens in place, accounted for!







I'm not even going to speculate what happened this morning. Did she spend the night huddled elsewhere? Was she roosting in a hidden spot? Was she in some post traumatic stupor, so that she missed my morning calls? We'll never know. We are not likely to ever fully understand the workings of a chicken mind.






To continue with the report of good news from the day: Apple has (finally) released it's update to the new operating system! My computer no longer drops the Internet!


Back to the not so hot:

I talk to Ed about replacing my car. Generously, he offers to trade me his 2000 Hyundai. He'll take the 93 Escort and continue to work on it. In the alternative, I say to him, I could buy a newer Yaris (the smallest of the Toyota cars).

And now comes the craigslist search. And the calls. And the weighing of the possibilities. (There are many used Yaris cars in Florida. Do I want to go down there and drive one back? I do not. But the cars here are getting rusty. Some of them. And when there is a dealer, there is always an unpleasant discussion to be had. No, my limit is $5000! For a newer Yaris? Ha ha ha ha ha! But we have an excellent vehicle available at...  No! Leave me alone!  How about buying directly from an owner? So many of them are dishonest. Or stubborn. I'm hating this, nearly as much as Ed is hating the idea of me looking for a newer car!)

After many frustrating ineffective, stupefying hours engaged in The Search, after rejecting a drive to Gurnee, Lynwood, Menasha and Tampa, I tell Ed that I'm tempted by a Yaris sold by a dealer right here in Madison. It has an enormous amount of miles on it (190,000), but beggars can't be fussy. To me, at 2008, it is almost as new as a baby's bottom, though perhaps not as squeaky clean.

We go out to look.

Here you see my 93 Escort next to the 08 Yaris.



The price is greatly reduced. It drives beautifully. We almost finalize a deal. We get stuck on the last $500. We walk out. They don't call us back. I'm relieved.

The car project remains stalled.


In the early evening, I pop in to see Snowdrop. It would be entirely hoggish of me to linger. Her aunt (on the dad's side) has traveled great distances to see little Snowdrop and I stay just long enough to say hello and to touch Snowdrop's soft little cheek.

Her aunt is wonderfully talented -- she can answer all my questions about her fascinating current residence far far away and have Goldie the cat hover by her ankles (I would have tripped, or kicked Goldie by accident) and rock Snowdrop, all in one fell swoop.






Little Snowdrop is one lucky girl!






Tomorrow, her aunt takes off for her place of work far far away, a snowstorm will finally inch closer to our farmette land and if all goes well, I will be hosting Snowdrop for the evening. Ah, but that's tomorrow. Tonight, the skies are still calm, the chickens are safe and the cars are as they were yesterday and probably as they will remain for many days to come.

And maybe that's not such a bad thing.