a warm Monday

I mention at the outset that this is a warm Monday because I don't expect more such days this year. Let's enjoy it!

Rise with the chickens. Admire the now mostly harvested fields that stretch out into the hills, admire the faintly pink and cornflower blue sky.






And yes, do eat that one last breakfast on the porch. It's warm, no? Yes, it's really perfect out there.






Do some housework if you must, but when Snowdrop comes over (because you know, it is Monday), don't spend too much time indoors -- just enough to mess with grandpa Ed...






... then go outside! Feed the cheepers a treat of stale bread (oh, how she loves feeding the cheepers and coming as close as she can to their delicate down).






All under the swaying branches of the mighty (and it is mighty) willow...






I know you've seen similar photos before, but this is it -- that last warm day! It must be remembered for its grand beauty, right there, under the willow.






Let's settle down for a nap now. A quiet moment with penguin and with a book about penguins...






But I have a distracted girl here: her focus is on grandpa Ed who is adjusting her crib -- lowering the mattress to its nearly lowest position, she is that tall!






Finally. Nap time. And lunch time. Crawl time, stroller time, play time -- all in that warm air. Bask in it! Just today, love the last few whiffs of that wonderful warm, summer-is-over air.


And then all is quiet.





Dinner of stir fry, tidy up, write post.

Later, when dusk is no longer dusk, but the night has not yet eclipsed all light, Ed and I sit on our picnic table in the courtyard and watch the bats. Isie boy joins us.

How good it is to be sitting on the table, gazing up at the darkening sky!

Sunday

Like so many other avid gardeners, I run out of gardening steam toward the end of summer. In fact, Ed had picked up a fresh load of beautiful wood chips a few days back and each day he has asked me where I'd like them distributed. I have no more gardening imagination. I don't know, I tell him.

But today I worked hard to change my attitude. After a thorough farmhouse cleaning and a late breakfast...






... my sweet gardening companion had that inquisitive look in his eye again and I remembered how pleasant it is when we work together outdoors.

And so we unloaded chips and admired the occasional bloom...






... and I felt so content and deeply grateful that we have made such progress in our outdoor work this year. I'll still be trimming the yard with a winter plant cut, but for now, I can sit back and say -- we're more or less done for the year.

The afternoon is cloudy and not too inviting and so we spend many hours staring at the porch door frame and imagining that it is a lighter shade and wondering why it isn't a lighter shade.

After, we turn to our airline and miles dilemma. We all know by now that Ed does not want to travel -- at least not without camping gear and who knows what other adventuring paraphernalia. And yet he has accumulated miles in his Air France account and because he has been sitting still, the miles are about to expire. Unless someone (like me!) uses them soon. And so we spend the many necessary hours booking a trip for me for next month, under the deadline so to speak. (It takes a long long time to accomplish a miles purchase through Air France.)

Other bookings follow. Everything about this trip must be on the cheap and I brag to Ed how inexpensive the accommodation I'm booking is. He tells me -- I could easily find something even cheaper.
I groan.
He picks up his computer: here, you could have signed up to stay at a coop and be a student community leader. They'd even give you a few coins for bread and coffee in the morning!
Would you have gone if I had agreed to do that?
No.
Well then, I'll stay in my own cheap room elsewhere.


And then we are back to our lovely normal -- I cling to Ed on his motorbike and we zip to the hidden court for a game (by our own rules) of tennis. The ride, past golden fields and against darkening skies is as beautiful as the game itself...







Then a warm and happy Sunday dinner with the young family...



(Snowdrop always helps me cook)





(mom and babe)





("but I want to help you, grandma!")




(time for the p.j.s... and home)


... and finally, a quiet evening on the couch.

A productive Sunday. A lovely Sunday. The harvest moon is out and shining on us all tonight.

Saturday

Most any sane person would have spent the day entirely outdoors. How many more days will there be this year when the temperature climbs to 70 and the morning mist (lovely as it is)...






... lifts to reveal a cornflower blue sky?

I do put in some good outdoor time. After breakfast...






... and after a quick look at the flowers that truly make me smile (because, you know, it's September)...












... I pop over to Snowdrop's home, where I find her freshly bathed...


 



... and ready for our outing (and in the meantime, sneaking in one more fond caress of the queenly cat, who puts up with it, but only for one pat before scampering out of Snowdrop's reach)...






... and the three of us -- my daughter, Snowdrop and I -- set out for the farmers market downtown.

It's a great walk there and back and of course, there's also the big walk around the Square itself, considerably slowed today to a mere crawl because the weather is so fine and there are so many of us out there, pawing at the vegetables and fruits.

Snowdrop smiles at all who throw a smile her way and so it is one big smile fest...






... and she is rewarded by her mom with a cracker, which she takes about twenty minutes to nibble on. (Her mom tells me Snowdrop prefers a rosemary one, but this is almost as good.)






On the way home, she starts to doze off a little, which would have been ruinous for her "morning" nap, so to keep her awake, I take her out of the stroller and carry her home -- something that keeps her grinning endlessly (and keeps my arm muscles in good shape).


But in the afternoon, I stay inside the farmhouse. No excuses. I have to prime and then stain the porch doors. It's a tedious job and one fraught with dangers of the spill-streak type but what is curious to me is that in the end, the wood is a shade or two darker than that on the existing frames, even though I had stained those as well when I first moved in here now 4.5 years ago. Same wood, same stain, different result.

Ah well, you'd not notice it unless I point it out to you and in any case, aside from the final rub tomorrow (well, and the painting of the walls around it), the task is done and I am very happy about it, even as my outdoor time was less than I would have wished on such a beautiful day.





And it really was a beautiful day.

Friday

I don't walk on Fridays, I run. Inevitably, my posts are shorter, my stories less thought out, my photos less studied.

Oh, there's the beautiful opening to the day. Well, beautiful for me...






... I suppose for Isie boy as well (he is allowed only on the porch and only if accompanied by an adult).





But after that, I'm on the run. This is by choice and so I am not complaining. It is wonderful to make your lists smaller and your future days, therefore, more carefree.

One errand that I have for today is picking up my replacement lenses for my glasses. The glasses are still under warranty and so it is a blissfully cost free transaction, but I note as I take off my glasses to have them refitted with new lenses, that I am quite useless without eye-wear. That's a recent thing. I could, up until a handful of years ago, see quite well in the distance. But now, I wouldn't trust myself to drive a car without glasses and I certainly can't read anything unless I'm looking through a thick corrective lens.

But I have never had a second pair of glasses! Too expensive (I need bifocals, which automatically triples the cost), too unnecessary. It would be like an insurance policy that you hate to get because you know you wont need it.

Until you do.

I travel so much -- how is it that I don't worry about losing/breaking/misplacing something that links me to the rest of the world?

And so I'm rethinking my game plan. And immediately comes the dilemma: should my second pair be the cheapest available, because after all, chances are I wont ever need it, or, so long as I'm getting it, mightn't I want to make a fashion statement? Imagine! A second funky pair that I could cart out for that special evening out (not that I have many special evenings out, but I have one today and so my mind strays in that direction)!

This is how capitalism thrives, of course. From bare bones, you quickly move to something more special, costing, of course, just a wee bit more. Machines churn, production rises, the stock market improves.


In the afternoon I am with Snowdrop.

You'll see more photos here (and fewer words) because from a grandma's perspective, she is just irresistibly clever and radiant and awesome (sorry if you've heard these same words from other grandmas).

Here, she finally, finally catches up with one of the household cats. And she is thrilled. And the cat is patient.






Another playful moment -- where she is saying "okay grandma, go ahead and take your picture, but don't you think I may be needing a haircut soon?"






We play with musical instruments. The little Mozartina is especially grand with the tambourine.






And then, in the evening, the three girls -- Snowdrop, her mom, me -- go out for a celebratory drink. A month of the new work schedule, the end of the week, the coming of Fall -- pick your reason for a celebration. We go downtown on the early side, just before the official start of happy hour, just in case the little one has a restless moment.

But Snowdrop is excited. She is convinced that the waitress is there to smile at her and she reciprocates.






Oh, Snowdrop!






Of course, the excitement of life eventually exhausts her. But in a good way.






I come home at dusk. There is dinner to fix, cheepers to hide -- the usual stuff. The good stuff. 

Fall is off to a grand beginning.

Thursday

They say this is one of the warmest Septembers on record here, in Wisconsin. If you're one of those who likes crisp Fall air, one of those who likes the annual ritual of taking out the corduroys and fall sweaters, then you'd be impatient with this string of warm days.

For me, it's like summer only better. The mornings are cool (though unfortunately too cool for the porch), the sunrise is at a decent hour (so the cheepers aren't restless to get out at an ungodly time) and the early hour is quite pretty, in misty sort of way...






The garden is long past its peak blooming period, but we're not short on color!






And though we do eat breakfast inside...






... as the day progresses, I shed my sweater and take in the warmth of this beautiful season.

I'm with Snowdrop quite early today -- there to watch her wake up, there to give her a morning bath, there to feed her breakfast.



a delightfully original way to suck a thumb: she indicates her hunger here...



On my lap now, after her meal, with that satiated look of contentment... I should note that the girl really loves selfies and timed release photos:






We play upstairs...



chillin'





if you're happy and you know it...


... and downstairs...



mirrors are so interesting! they don't reflect just you...





if you're happy and you know it then your face will really show it...



And then, after her nap, grandpa Ed, who seems to have been missing us over at the farmhouse, comes over and when I look at her next to him, I think -- wow, she seems small...






... and the three of us go out for a lovely walk around the little lake.






Yes, these are the last days of summer-like delights.






Back at Snowdrop's home, we wait for her parents to return. I am amazed (but not really) at how different guy play is with little ones. And how much the little ones love it. Here's Snowdrop, chillin' on Ed's lap...






And here she is, delighted to see her parents come home.






The evening is a bit unusual in that Ed and I have a guest, a Tormach colleague of Ed's, but we're all rather casual and laid back about it and I have a chance to ask about various places to explore in England as the visitor hails from there.

The evening, of course, comes early and especially early for the two hens, whom we put away before 7 now and it's a lovely ritual, as they now doze calmly on the fence by the coop and swooping them up together is an act of protection and an opportunity for an affectionate pat on the back.





A summery fall day. You couldn't ask for a better one.

quiet Wednesday

I love days that are packed with all that you could possibly squeeze in. But honestly, interspersed among those, I love days that are quiet. No flood pf photos. No ambitious projects. No stunning weather report (just a very good one!), no great food to parade before you.

Just quiet.

Breakfast...






Appreciating what remains in bloom in the garden and this includes my beloved annuals, such as the honey-fragrant alyssum, which the cheepers love to munch on in early spring, but ignore now that there's so much else to turn to.






Eventually, I'm at Snowdrop's home, where, too, we keep it down to a quiet repetition of things she knows and loves (no real cheepers to admire today -- just pictures of them in story books).






Is it a serious day? No, not exactly that. Just calm.






(I have to smile when she admires the mirror image of herself, if only for a second: it's much more fun to pick up the piece of fabric and chomp on it.)






Two more photos -- of our walk around the little lake. I want to highlight the loveliness of the shoreline...






... and of course, there's the smiley girl herself.






The evening is quiet too, though I am stuck on the phone arguing with airlines about travel configurations, but it's okay. The thing about quiet days is that they make you perfectly ready to manage less quiet negotiations.