Tuesday

I almost did not wake Ed for breakfast. He has been working every day late into the night, or even early morning on his machine design and I felt that my breakfast whim and fancy do not justify an intrusion into his sleep. So I whispered (perhaps not very quietly...) that I'd leave breakfast for him on the table and he grunted an okay and then I whispered (perhaps even less quietly...) a good bye and within two minutes he was downstairs and we were reviewing the local news at the kitchen table.

I hope this means that he values this meal almost as much as I do, though more likely, he has accepted the importance of it on my account. Let me at least do him the favor of keeping the focus on the meal rather than on his tired face.





It's a foggy morning and a stormy day and it will be followed by a windy tomorrow and in all, the weather does feel very unsettled, as if pulling back on the promise of warmth, but not completely, because it really does not feel like winter anymore.

Snowdrop is bouncy and spirited this morning...






Typically, I take her outside in the afternoon, but the weather really is set to deteriorate by noon and so I propose a walk just before then and she is happy to put on her jacket (and a cap, and a mommy scarf around her legs) and set out.

Here she is, telling penguin abut the pinwheel (I think).






We go all the way to the more distant coffee shop. Here, she is at once happy and ready to learn about expectations. There is the waiting part. And, too, we have to trudge to get the high chair, then return it to its proper place, whether we feel like it or not.






And the crumb of cookie cannot be more than that. (In general, I'm not much of a sugar fan.)

(Did you ever notice how photos of adults eating are never good and photos of children eating are always good?)






And again I have to wonder if she follows penguin's gaze up, or if she just likes to study the different ceilings out there...






We barely make it home before the rain comes down. Our good fortune!

I was going to end there, but in the afternoon, Snowdrop did something that is so her, that I thought -- let it be recorded for the books: she studied the little books that explain the operation of the wrench, hammer, pliers and screwdriver. I do not know who gave her these mini books, but she loves them to pieces.






I try, rather lamely, to explain one tool and then the next and I come with such clever statements as -- you can use this to fix your wagon or bike. You can see that she has no trust in my explanations. She is pursuing this despite my inability to encourage her.






I'll leave you today with her smile. She's raiding the pantry here and playing hide and seek all at once.






So much in the course of a day can be made right with a smile. It's good to remember this now and then.

sensual Monday

We woke up to dense fog. The kind that makes you very glad you're not out on the road, or connecting to a flight. The kind where you hurry to the chicken coop at dawn (can you even tell that there is a dawn?) and then back to bed again.

And yet -- it is a deeply satisfying morning. The soil smells as if it's working magic on the new growth. And the birds! This is the rare time that I am glad Ed is slow to trim or cut back trees. All those branches fill with morning music. I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. (Have you noticed that if you breathe a deep sigh, your contentment quotient grows?)

Breakfast. To me, this meal is best when there is a visual high that accompanies it. Color, a view toward a garden (from the porch, come summertime), a favorite bowl, a tablecloth that brings back memories...






When I travel, this is no less important. If it doesn't look good, it doesn't stir up all your senses. Such a simple meal, so much pleasure derived from it!


It's Monday and Snowdrop spends much of her day here at the farmette. And talk about stirring up the senses! We start off our play with what is one of her favorite games: "smell this." Like any toddler, she loves the jars of spices in the pantry. I keep a dozen frequently used ones on the counter and I open them now one by one, smelling rather than tasting.






Does she get that her nose is getting a workout? I don't know. But the aromas are strong and she loves doing this, jar after jar.






And I love it too. You sometimes forget how aromatic cooking is and how it all works in tandem: smell, texture, taste, flavor. (Flavor in a food is essentially an exhale within your mouth that hits your olfactory receptors. There is much science on this now, telling us what we already intuit: if it doesn't smell good, it wont taste good. Some good and easy to read comments on this topic can be found here.)

And speaking of loving something -- I thought a little about how to get Snowdrop to fall in love with the red wagon. Would a comfy blanket, a pinwheel and a penguin do the trick?






She certainly relaxed, even as it is a bumpy ride to the barn.

The little one would have been even more excited if the chickens didn't run away from her (Scotch would not run away if she held out bread, but that's not an experience I'm aiming for right now).






We concentrate on learning the names of the four hens. Will she remember that the golden brown yakker is Scotch and the big black curious girl (as in -- what's that in the wagon?) is Java?






We'll see.

Snowdrop navigates the path back to the farmhouse well...






... but after a while, she is content to return to her wagon. Perhaps not yet in love with it, but surely the warm feelings are burgeoning, no?






Back at the farmhouse we read. A lot of books. Binge reading. No photos of this, but I do owe you one of a Snowdrop grin.






The little girl wont be visiting the farmhouse (or grandpa Ed) until Easter and so I let myself take a few photos of Snowdrop and the big guy.



(the barefooted duo, sharing cheese)





(her world turned upside down)

(left to their own devices, he provokes her best facial expressions!)





(and she makes him smile, and he makes her smile)


In the evening, Ed and I work outside: he moves loads of dirt from the driveway to my new flowerbed, I dig the wet, fragrant earth to find worms for the cheepers.

Just a farmette Monday. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sunday

It rained all day today and I'm glad! Good weather means outdoor work and outdoor work means I cannot admire my replacement camera (which arrived today), cannot search through a million camera cases online and pick the right one, cannot find an extra USB cord for 99 cents on eBay, cannot clean the farmhouse properly, cannot do anything, because the outdoors would tug at me so hard!

No tug today.

Yes, there is that classic beautiful beginning to the day -- breakfast.






And I did take one photo of my pot of out-of-control annuals (I'm wintering them over in the sun room) that surely think summer is upon us. Take it easy, alyssum and pelargonium, it's only March (do note rain outside)!






And then I shamelessly mine the dinner visit of the young family to take a couple of photos with the new camera, all the while terrified that I will damage this new thing -- in the way that you worry when something young and fresh comes into your household.

So, a few dinner pictures...
















And now I am off to sleep. The week will be a busy one. I will be prepared for it!

the reluctant landord

Ed tells me this morning -- there is an article you might find interesting in the NYTimes today. An opinion piece called I'm Not Evil, I'm a Landlord.

I mention this because it is Saturday -- a very pretty Saturday, but one where after breakfast...






... I do little else besides work (with Ed's help) to clear the yard of fallen winter branches and other debris. It is a huge chore, but it gives me time to think and my thoughts stray to this new identity that I currently have -- that of a landlord.



(first flowering tree)


I did not want to be a landlord. Indeed, when I decided to purchase the apartment in Warsaw, it was understood that I would not rent it. The law requires that I put it to personal use for at least five years and though I intend to have the occasional person spend time in it, the purpose would be to apartment sit, in much the same way you would stay with a cat -- to make sure that no disaster would befall in my time away from it. But no rents will be collected and the apartment would be my home in Warsaw.

So how is it that I am a landlord?



(the white lilac)


Well, when I made an offer on the pink horror -- let me just call it "the Apartment" for now -- I was told that I had to honor an existing rental obligation. Two music students are living there now.
How long?
Oh, a month. They must move out within a month of the final signing of the property transfer.

The final signing took place March 10. You'd think they'd be out by April 10th. You'd be wrong.

Soon came the gentle suggestions.
Maybe you could let them finish the semester... It's so hard to find a rental at this time of the year...
When is the end of the semester?
No one knew for sure. Something like the beginning of May.

I do want to begin construction work on the unit. And I want to be able to use it on my next trip to Poland in July.
There really are no other rentals they could move into?
Well, maybe there are, but these students have big instruments.

Ah yes. Big instruments. Of course they love the Apartment. It's a few houses away from the College of Music. Convenient. No lugging of big instruments across town.



(the great willow)


I think about letting them stay an extra two or three weeks.
But under the law, I cannot be a landlord!
Well actually you can honor the completion of an existing obligation.
So I must throw them out by April 10, no?
No, because they have a lease until the end of June, but with the stipulation that they can be evicted earlier if the new owner so desires. So you'd still be honoring an existing obligation if you let them stay into June.

They're now thinking they may have some exams in June.

But I want to use the apartment in July! I have hired a renovation person. Construction work was to begin this spring. I've scheduled my summer around this!
They really are such good, serious students. Everyone wants them to stay...
I see. Good music students. What if they were awful students? Pursuing a degree in real estate perhaps?



(in full bloom)


My images run to a room full of people staring me down: it's my legitimate use over the students' (if what I'm being told is true) legitimate need. 

As I pick up fallen twigs and larger limbs at the farmette, I think about how sometimes, it's tough to foist capitalism down Poland's throat. The maligned communist era did have a handful of perks that many would agree were fine perks indeed: far reaching educational outreach, free health care, full employment, social security. None were exactly up to western standards, so you could say that we all worked toward a low common denominator, but rip that denominator to shreds and you have a country with a widening gap between the affluent and the poor. In other words, capitalism. (At the same time that in the States, we are in the thick of an election year where many are turning their fist toward capitalism -- all that free market stuff that has chased jobs to distant lands, a wealthy class that grows wealthier by the hour while wages for most remain stagnant -- dreadful capitalism! Let's do something about it! -- So long as it doesn't raise our taxes, or move us to socialism. Funny how all this plays out.)

So now here I am, the reluctant capitalist landlord, trying to decide if I am to proceed by the rules as written (April 10th, boys, April 10th!), or by some higher rules where you tuck your interest aside because, well, there are these two students who, if you ask me, signed a really bad lease.  (The seller didn't want to lose a sale in the very tough right now real estate market, so the move out clause was slapped in.)
What were the students thinking?! 

Nobody thought the apartment would sell! It's so ugly!

Yes, but it did sell. Meet landlord Nina.


The branches are stacked, the spent stems raked away, the leaves, the pods -- mostly mulched. The work outside is off to a good start.

Friday

From misty skies that seemed to portend of a cooler, grayer morning...






... there arose a beautiful, gentle sun. Slowly.






But surely.






And it gained strength, and the air turned warm, and the crocuses felt safe enough to release their golden petals.






It is a gorgeous day to be in Wisconsin!


Breakfast in the sun room.






The rest of the day is devoted to Snowdrop. Oh, you may look at photos where she runs this way and that and think -- she has run before! But honestly, to this grandma's eyes, she is, each day, magnificent in spirit...






And full of uique energy. (I might note that, for the first time since birth, she refused both naps today. Life was just too interesting!)






The girl clearly has succumbed to a strong case of spring fever.






Later in the afternoon, I take her to a coffee shop, where she shows incredible patience (the service is on the slow side). And curiosity: penguin, what do you see when you gaze straight up?






At her home again, she shows me her new commitment to scribbling.






And if that isn't enough to make me think she's growing by leaps and bounds, surely this next photo leads me to imagine that she wont appear that much different fifteen years from now: thumbs moving fast, foot thumping -- a girl born into the world of smart phones (at this stage -- Fisher Price pretend smart phones).






It's an unusual day, because the little girl and her mom are at the farmhouse for supper. It's rare that I have much time with Snowdrop and her mom: if I am there, then my daughter is typically away at work. But tonight, I revel in watching the both of them, together, doing what they always do...











Supper is on the informal side, but I am sure to cook up some brussels sprouts. Snowdrop eats every last one.






One more giggle...






... and now it's time for this grandma to go to sleep. Good night, good night spring moon, clear skies, happy girl, penguin, crocuses and all exquisite blossoms that follow.

Thursday

This morning at breakfast, we talked about the ongoing lawsuits against various holdings of the billionaire who happens to be running for president. This quickly morphed into a discussion of lawsuits in general, about tax codes that are difficult to follow and tougher still to enforce, about making savvy decisions in light of complicated pools of information, and about chickens who are no longer waging war, but are nonetheless making sure that the younger hens understand their place in the group.





All this caused me to blurt out -- it must be difficult to be prosperous, or to be a top chicken.
Ed laughed at that: a sudden sympathy for the powerful and wealthy of this world?

No. It's so much harder to be powerless and poor, or to be little Henny, who is so terrified of violating the social order that every time I raise my hand to throw bread (a gesture that the other girls understand means a dispersal of their favorite treat), she runs away, concluding that her station in life dictates that she should flee. But I do think being top hen (and perhaps being rich) must come with its own perils: look at Butter -- she can never relax. She follows the younger girls to make sure that they're not getting a better deal in life and that she, Butter, should have the first turn at fat worms or pieces of bread. Yes, it must be tough to guard your holdings or your premier status in life. Even as my heart goes out to Henny and my gratitude -- to Java who guards the littlest hen with her own huge presence, making Henny feel safe and comforted.








And as I am on the topic of little ones, let me go straight to Snowdrop's home. Here, I want to just mention two games that have positively grabbed my granddaughter's attention this morning.

First, the spoon series:






There is the spoon dance (where she does a lovely little step with her right foot):






And then there's the "bang the dishcloth" dance:






But it's the second play that really gets her chortling. After working diligently to sort shapes, she thinks up a funner game: peek-a-boo from behind the basket lid, which she deftly holds with her teeth. Just because.






I get my face very close on the other side and then she just can't help herself! It's so funny!






Of course, no day is complete without time devoted to carrying jackets, shoes, penguin, all at a run. Case in point (yes, it's kind of a wild hair day):












In the late afternoon, I pack her into the car and drive to our Big Mall. I'm not a great fan of malls and I am sorry to subject her to it, but I'm running low on errand time and I must return an item purchased under pressure (well, purchased when I succumbed to an email ad) and so I tell Snowdrop that I will happily pay for that overpriced toddler car stroller thing if she will stay good humored during our venture.  It's a $5 expense, but I'm desperate.

Of course, she's fine with the car, but loves much more the freedom to romp up and down the mall on her own.







Evening. I come home to cheepers, to Ed, to the quiet of the farmhouse. I would end my post  with this, but I do want to note just one more thing: as of today, I am the proud owner of a tiny tiny Warsaw apartment, all pink and awful in the photos that I inspected. Of course, that's the end of chapter one. What to do with it, how to transform it, and more importantly -- how to create good memories in it -- that surely will fill many Ocean pages in the future.