new week

It really does feel like we've turned a corner. Adjusted the course. Steadied the pace. Possibly it's because it really appears that we're finally heading toward winter. It's not that the weather is freezing -- no, not yet. That will come with the weekend. But, the trees are in their winter undress and the landscape looks dusty gray.

Not that you can't get color, though today your best bet was to look for it at the moment of sunrise.






Ed and I had a working breakfast at the farmhouse. This is unusual and not something I especially like, but we've had some paper work to get through (a funny term -- "paper work" -- as if we do anything on paper these days!) and neither of us wanted an interruption.






And then Snowdrop came (because it's Monday!) and a huge spark of color burst in through the doors of the farmhouse. Here you have the last photo of her funny ragamuffin countenance (meaning the "before" shot):






After, I sat her down in her high chair and, upon the request of her mom, gave Snowdrop her first haircut. Mind you, the girl didn't exactly sit still for it and my plans for a fancy layered trim were somewhat foiled by her vivaciousness, but still, I think we came out okay in the end!






And so a new era begins for Snowdrop: she is now a girl with a bob and bangs.






The reward for her cheeriness during the whole session? We get to go out and feed the cheepers stale bread and, too, some cookies that no one here likes.






The girl surely had a good weekend. She's all smiles today!






This next one reserved for Ed.












In the late afternoon, I take her back to her home, where she spends an exciting set of minutes playing with animal magnets on the refrigerator door.






It's hard for me to motivate myself to take her out for a walk. But I'm not a Polish grandma for nothing. Fresh air, Snowdrop!

It's so late when we do go out, that the sun has long set. Across the street, the holiday lights are in full swing. She's puzzled. She's pleased. She's puzzled.






She is amazed.

Yep: the seasons have changed on us over the weekend. Just like that.

Sunday

Morning. Our farmette visitor is no longer staying here. We're back to old routines. I get up to release the cheepers.

And I notice this one solitary flower, still holding its own, still giving that radiant color that we would normally associate with summer.

It is one of those treasured moments. Something that shouldn't be here. That should have given up long ago. And yet it's here. Feeble, but beautiful nonetheless.



 


I'm back, giving my morning report to a still drowsy Ed. He listens, then says -- we should do some volunteer work for the Ice Age Trail today. We hike it a lot. We haven't contributed much to its maintenance this year.
I hesitate. I give my time (happily I should note) to Snowdrop and to us, here at the farmhouse. Can't we be selfish and use the one free afternoon to do something decadent? Like maybe take a leisurely walk, or visit a winery? (Ed had clipped an article about a couple who made their own wine and a visit there sounded sort of interesting.)
Doing stuff for your family isn't exactly volunteering. I think we should work on the trail.

He is right, of course. We've hiked. We need to do our bit.

And so after the usual cleaning and the lovely breakfast...






...we set out to find the volunteers who are working on a segment of the trail that we have trampled over more than once.






The work is of the standard sort: pull out or hack down invasive plants, which in this case basically means doing away with the honeysuckle bushes that take over the forest floor.






We don't knock ourselves out. Just two hours of heaving, hacking, pulling. And then we are done and I am so happy to have put in those hours, because they felt so productive, so wonderfully laborious!






And the skies are blue and the day is warm, how good is that!






And in the evening, the young family drives straight from Minneapolis to the farmhouse and I have a wonderful reunion with Snowdrop...






(Who, after a five hour car ride, is happy to be free to roam and give penguin a great big hug...)






Me, I have  a chance to listen to all the stories of their wonderful visit with my younger daughter and her husband.






And the little girl -- she just seems to get satisfaction from being a the table and stuffing pasta and eggplant in her sweet little mouth.






We are an enormously lucky bunch!

Saturday

When tragedies happen (and is there a day when tragic events do not befall communities of bewildered families, friends?), I want to believe that they happen at the margins. That most people seek to aid, not to destroy. I look for that in the stories that emerge.

Paris is in the headlines. And the sad thing is that it really is not unique, not really unexpected, and not something that cannot happen there or elsewhere, again and again.

When I first heard the news yesterday (and I heard it within minutes, because being alone, I was plugged into my computer) my immediate thought was -- each violent death has a lifelong impact on the loved ones who survive. And then -- I always wanted to take my grandchildren to Paris... And then -- what a messed up world we're handing over to the next generation and the one after.

Forgive me for starting a post in this way. I work hard to steer Ocean in the direction of the simple but noble. I leave it to others to decipher and expound on the events that leave us gasping. But of course, I owe Paris so much of my good, reverent moments. I cannot ignore here the pain that has flooded the city right now.

I write the few emails to people I know who live in France. I'm sorry... I'm with you (but of course, I'm not really there, I'm here). I read the stories, watch the news videos. And I start my day with my sadness. For all that happened in Paris. For all that happens elsewhere to people who, like you or I, merely want to live a life of calm, where a stroll to a park with a grandchild takes center stage and a dinner (or even a breakfast) with family, lovers or friends is the most important event of your week.


Breakfast.






Cheepers. Getting along today.






And a hike with Ed.






Where all is as it should be everywhere today -- peaceful. Quiet. Beautiful.






With a path leading toward the brightest of blue skies.






Are you wondering if I will be less likely to travel to Paris, going forward?

That, at least, is an easy question: no, not at all. I will be going there in a couple of weeks, when perhaps the shock will have morphed into a more constant pain. I wont hide nor stay away from that. It's my turn to show gratitude and admiration for all that the city is and can be for the millions who call it home.


One more photo -- evening sky over the farmette.






And a last one -- the fields beyond.

a Friday alone

If I have accepted the fact that I travel mostly alone, at home, I rarely am without the company of either Ed or, these days Snowdrop.

Today, for the most part, I had neither.

Well, after breakfast. But that morning meal was rushed!






And here's a curiosity: minutes later you will have found me running, really running from a downtown garage where I parked my car in the last years of my law school work. Where to? Actually, the law school.

I had been back to the law school only once since I packed up my office and retired nearly two years ago. And now today I was doing what I did so many mornings where I had an early lecture: running.

The good news is that I can still run that distance as fast as I did a few years back. Seven minutes, if all lights fall into place. The last leg of it uphill.

It was actually a weird return visit: I wasn't there for the law school part. This was merely the place some medical personnel were using for biometric screenings -- part of a wellness program in our state where if you filled out a questionnaire and subjected yourself to some basic screenings of the cholesterol, BMI, waist size etc. type, you could earn $150 from your insurance provider. That was , for me, an easy calculation. Several years ago, when I was trying to put a few more dollars into my travel pouch, I would have had to work for a whole weekend selling French creams at l'Occitane to earn that much cash. You want to record my vitals now? Sure! Send the check to my home address, thank you.

After my "appointment" (hence the run), I suddenly had a huge amount of time on my hands. Friday is always grocery shopping day, but typically I have to squeeze that into the morning hours. Not so today. I have no Snowdrop to visit. My day is strangely bare.

So I walked down Bascom Hill -- where I worked for a quarter of a century...





... and I tried to get a handle on how I felt about it all. Time has passed. I think of my work more expansively than I did when I left it. As with raising kids, I see the good moments and, too, the missed opportunities. Do I wish I had done it differently? No, as my kind Polish friend told me just a few days ago -- then I wouldn't be me, would I?

The campus was empty, in the way that it gets in the middle of a class hour and especially on a Friday. I was fine with that. I wanted a quiet moment. I got a very quiet moment.


I then walked down State Street and I was really stunned how much this set of blocks, linking campus with the Capitol keeps changing. Stores come and go, new buildings go up. If anything made me feel like I was truly in a retirement bubble, this was it: the familiarity mixed with the unfamiliarity here.






Well, it was a good walk anyway. The air was cool and the winds were still gusting, but the sun was out and I gave myself the luxury of popping into stores, trying on a sweater here or there...





... thinking that it's good not to need that sweater. Putting it back, moving on...

And this was all really pleasant and unusual for me and the kind of thing I can do once every two years or so, because honestly, State Street isn't my turf anymore. I'm just revisiting an old haunt, much as I would revisit the neighborhood where I grew up in Poland.


After grocery shopping (which I stretched out to take up a ridiculously long time), I returned to the place that now does feel like it's my corner of the world -- the farmette. The late afternoon sun added warmth to the scene before me -- still dominated somewhat by the colors of the crab apples...






I watched the robins pick at the apples -- red and gray birds against a red and gray tree, all framed by the blueness of the sky and the yellowing leaves of the willow...





At the farmhouse, I put on the music that I've neglected for so long (trying to shake out of my head songs about sweet potatoes and clapping your hands) and made myself a pot of tea and sat down to write.

And then I read about the tragic events in Paris. Sigh...

a day in art

Because I am with Snowdrop from early morning til late at night today, my Ocean writing is going to be minimal. At the same time, because I wont see the little one again until Sunday eve (the young family is getting together with Snowdrop's aunt and uncle), I'm likely to include more photos than usual -- to carry me through until the end of the weekend!

Breakfast is just for Ed and myself today. Our young guest was off to work and our leisurely morning meal would have been a stress more than a pleasure for him.






The day is windy, cold and gray, but looking up, I'm still delighted with the landscape. Perhaps it's the crabapple. or the wind in the willows (!)...





I have another mouse to let out. Number eight and counting! And then I drive to Snowdrop's home.


Here we go, bits and pieces of her Thursday, in photos:

First we have the little girl with her post-breakfast, post-bath contemplative gaze...





I remind her that Thursday is art class day!

We were told it would be a messy class, but I'm prepared!

What follows is a series of photos that I took as we were killing time before leaving for class. Snowdrop just loves it when I roll her around on the floor.



























Okay, off to class.

Once there, we wait for the others to arrive. This may well be her favorite part. She is delighted when the kids (and adults!) show up.






She is the youngest today, but she sits with the rest at the table and weighs in on the project -- which is to create something that eventually will resemble a turkey. A lot of enthusiastic adults are saying "gobble, gobble," but this of course means nothing to her. She contemplates the orange on the squishy sponge.






It's a bit puzzling to her...






Assessing her work so far:






Don't be too hard on yourself, Snowdrop, there's more! Finger paints (or get-paint-on-everything time!):






Finally, the feathers.






The teacher sticks on turkey eyes, but by that time, Snowdrop was done. As was grandma, who couldn't wait to get her into the tub again.


Fresh and honest once more!






And so full of joy!







In the late afternoon, we joined Snowdrop's mom for a quick stroller walk (it was gusting close to 50 mph!) and Snowdrop and I lingered for a while in her home, where the poor girl again hoped for a cuddly moment with at least one of the cats...






But no matter. As the evening approached, Snowdrop and I left to give the young couple a chance to attend to their social obligations. We picked up grandpa Ed and went over to our local farmers market (indoors this month!) to purchase cheese and veggies.

Snowdrop was adored by the vendors (who did not have many customers while we were there) and she had the most wonderful time munching raw broccoli.






A poster child for broccoli love!






One vendor offered her a slice of market pizza and she was thrilled with this as well, though I removed the mushrooms because I wasn't sure if ten month olds could eat mushrooms.






It was a wonderful outing, followed by a wonderful reunion with her toys at the farmhouse and of course a bunch of magic moments with grandpa Ed.











True, the little one protested her evening nap to high heaven and was not appeased by our clever inclusion of Christmas lights in her room to chase away the darkness, but she can be forgiven: from art to broccoli -- the sweet girl had an exciting day. She wasn't ready to slow down.

And now the evening turns to night. The girl has left. The farmhouse is quiet. Goodnight, goodnight sweet child! Have a beautiful weekend. I know you will.