Thursday

I am more than a little confused as to which day of the week it is, so perhaps I'll stick with reminders in the post title to help me get back on track. (I mean, I do not shop on Wednesday but I did shop yesterday, Ed doesn't go to work on Thursdays but he did go today, and so on.)

A foggy mind comes, perhaps, from the densely foggy weather outside. Perhaps you'll not appreciate the rich color of our morning breakfasts, but on these misty gray days, I surely do.






In my free morning hours, I go to the post office to mail in my passport with an application for a new one. That means for sure I will not be going anywhere, even if the airlines were to be giving me free airline tickets in the weeks ahead.

It is a nostalgic moment because the old passport had ten years of travel stamped into it and there is this slightly archaic thought that every stamp represents a grand adventure. I say archaic because I am convinced that passports will soon become obsolete and even now, stamps do not match the countries you'll have visited. One stamp upon entering the EU is all you'll get in your European travels (well, I suppose if you also go to the UK you'll now get two) and when you return to the U.S., the immigration officer wont bother stamping your book announcing your return unless you ask her or him to do it.


Then I go to pick up Snowdrop.

Passing the lesser lake, I look out at the ice fisher people (I've never seen a woman out there, but of course, I could have missed one or two in my informal gazing). The fog and the coldness from the (one hopes) iced over lake makes this such an odd place to hang out for hours on end! You have to give people credit for loving every conceivable form of adventure -- distant travel, sitting still on a cold lake -- we really are an unusual species.






Snowdrop and I have been reading a book about a little boy, Alfie, who loves to stomp his feet in puddles and I don't know if this is behind the little one's recent love of puddles or if it's just a developmental thing where all two year olds love puddles, but Snowdrop has grown really fond of splashing her way to wherever she's going. I'm a bit apprehensive, not only because her rubbers are at home, but also because there is still a thin layer of ice underneath that puddle formation and I can just see her landing on her rear end in that muddy, icy water, but I try not to appear to be the kind of grandma who minds, so I hide behind my camera and watch her do her thing.






On the way in, she picks up the pinwheel that once clung to the side of the snowman. She wants to take it inside, but it's muddy and a bit wet. I tell her there are others in the house. Okay, she'll take this and play with it along with the others!






And play she does!






After she tires of running back and forth, I give her something I had purchased in Poland -- two little magnets of girls dressed in traditional costumes. Not that anyone but a Pole would notice, but one (top) is from the highland region and the other (bottom) is from the Warsaw region so I think I covered my travel route by including both.






She is delighted by them! (Honestly, I'd seek out a Polish outfit for her -- I know she would love it -- but she grows like a torpedo and opportunities for showing off a glittery vest and a colorful skirt and apron are rare indeed if your days are filled with school, then afternoons spent at gaga's house.)






After her nap, I bring out another Polish gift -- this one from her great aunt (my sister). She is just at the age when this is just fascinating for her! (Too, the Polish model is delicate in sound -- lovely to the ear.)






Ed is home now and she wants him to try. They play together.






Then she goes back to playing alone.






Together again!





Music! May it fill her days!


If I have trouble with remembering the day of the week, I have no trouble whatsoever remembering that it is January 19th -- my youngest daughter's birthday. Let me post a picture of her from when she was close to three times Snowdrop's age. Scroll up to Snowdrop photos... You can't doubt that they are related!





Happy birthday my sweet sweet child! I wish I could bake your favorite cake for you... Snowdrop would help, I know she would!

spring is in the air, part 1

When do you change your way of thinking -- from "well, winter is finally upon us," to  "hey, it's not that long until spring?" For me, it happened today. True, some would regard it as a tad early and possibly too optimistic given that I live in Wisconsin -- a place notoriously stingy with warm early spring days, but still, I felt that we are on our way!

The cheepers would agree. It's just a degree or two above freezing, but they are, at least for a short while, out and about!





Of course, it's the weather that has me spinning into the next season. Looking ahead for the remainder of January -- well, it's just not going to be that cold. And yes, February can really dump on us severe winter weather, but February is so short! And the days are getting longer and plant catalogues are starting to make their annual appearance in our mailbox. I tell you -- spring is in the air!

On the return from Europe, jet lag is rarely much of a problem, though I do usually wake up a tad earlier. All the more time to catch up on home stuff!

It's great to be eating breakfast with Ed again...





... after which I scoot off to pick up food. Ed nicely finished up every last bit of everything while I was away. I rely on my absence for us to clear out our refrigerator.

And of course, by noon, I'm off to pick up Snowdrop.

Spring is in the air and the girl knows it! She runs to gaga's car...






And runs to her toys...






(So many things to play with, what's a girl to do??)






I have a slice of fresh baguette for her and she is thrilled of course, but she also wants to continue playing, moving from one thing to the next, even as it really is hard to imagine how one can chomp on bread and play baseball at the same time.







(She still insists on holding the bat with one hand. Ed, of course, is all about letting her do it her way.)






She cooks...






She dances...






Spinning in circles...






Until I ask her -- are you dizzy? And she responds laughing -- yes, I'm dizzy!






And here's something new: she tells me -- I'm snapping fingers! And she does that cutest of kid things -- clenching her fists back and forth, back and forth, hoping to reproduce a snap that clearly someone has been demonstrating for her.






All this within the first hour.


And then she remembers the thrill of visiting Ed's sheep shed. Like a bullet, she is at the door wanting to go there. I ask -- shouldn't we feed the chickens in the barn?
She hesitates, then accepts that responsibility, breaking off a piece of stale brioche for herself.






But she really wants the sheep shed. There is a huge puddle in front of it (there are puddles everywhere, as the ground is quite frozen and so the melting ice just stands still, waiting for a miracle) and Ed tries to shovel it away. Snowdrop watches, fascinated.






I know what she is thinking: let me in that pond of water! She loves puddles but no good would come of it: despite my spring thoughts, it's too cold to play in melting water, especially when she is scantily clothed. I whisk her into the shed.

For me, Ed's shed is filled with things that are part of his world mechanical and not anything I want to really delve into. Too, when I used to visit him (before moving here) and we hung out in the shed, he'd keep it approximately ordered. Those were days when he'd send a robotic floor washer on an orbit to buff up the place for me. Those days have long passed. I see that Snowdrop recognizes the need for some tidying!






(Where do you even begin??)






But the real attraction is in the tools.






Picking them up, examining them, placing them back and yes, wondering about their usefulness.






Ed is happy to show her what's what.






As we walk back to the farmhouse, I point to the robins in the tree. There are so many!






Yep, spring is in the air!






Meanwhile, after her nap, Snowdrop settles her penguins and her cow in for a reading session. Not so much about the coming of spring, but about the love of cookies. Clearly she doesn't yet appreciate that the budding of crocuses is nearly upon us. Maybe.

to Madison

Near the front door of my apartment building there is a tree. I think it's planted firmly into the ground. Perhaps it started as a wee thing. Right now it's taller than me.

Last month someone (I assume a resident from my building, possibly the same guy who feeds boiled potatoes to the pigeons that come to his window sill) decorated it a bit and with the snowfalls that passed through Warsaw, I think it's rather pretty.

As I leave, I pause for an appreciative glance.





I'm on time for my cab: 4:45 a.m. -- it's there and I'm there.

That, I suppose, is no small miracle. I finished putting away dishes and getting the apartment in order for my absence (it has to sparkle!) just at 2 and my last chore was to put the tablecloth, towels, napkins in the dryer for a good spin. Well, you'll have guessed that I didn't quite figure out how to properly set the damn thing because as I was getting to leave, I noted that the items were still a tad damp. Oh, technology! At the farmhouse, our dryer must be forty years old. You turn it on and an hour later all is dry. No sensors, no special settings just a bunch of hot air blowing on whatever is inside. Three tries in Warsaw on the snappy new thing and I still can't get a load to dry on time.

But, everything else is in order and I give a fond nod of appreciation for this sweet place that is now my second home and turn toward the waiting cab.

It's foggy outside. Not especially cold, not snowing either. A winter mist that sometimes crawls in here (or in Wisconsin for that matter) and settles in for the duration.






It isn't until I'm well in the air that I see dawn break to the east.






Another smooth set of connections -- three hours in Paris (slightly misty there as well, but colder too, so that if I were to step outside in some rural setting, I'm sure I'd see pretty patterns of frost on the landscape)...

(From the airplane window, at CDG airport)





...then a couple of hours in Atlanta, and then, finally, a quick flight to Madison, where the bitter Arctic blast has long retreated and the air is damp and barely at freezing. Ed is at the airport and it's as if I had never gone to the mountains, or to Warsaw, or anywhere at all: we drive to the quiet of the farmhouse where we munch on some nuts and catch up on spending a late evening together.

in Warsaw

You know you're in town only briefly when on your first morning there, you wake up to an email message from Air France telling you it's time to check in for your departure.

It's true: I may have two nights here, but considering my late arrival yesterday and my predawn departure tomorrow, I barely have one Warsaw day.

And that day is spent mostly with an eye toward preparing dinner for tonight. Which means I spend a good bit of time lugging grocery bags and then hanging out in my apartment.

I've become quite familiar with my Warsaw home. Oh, not only my unit, but with the atmosphere, the sounds, the rhythms of the whole building (and, too, of the street outside). The life stories of its inhabitants are quite likely book material. The older man below me, who brings his world outside a bit by first hanging a map of the world on the stairwell wall, then putting up a Christmas tree not inside the house, but just out by his door. And last night, perhaps because he didn't have room in his wee apartment which he shares with his son and possibly with others, he hangs his pants and a few towels on the banister, presumably to dry. This morning the pants are gone but two quilts are there. Or the the woman upstairs who vacuums at strange hours. Or the tall gentleman living a few floors up who last night was carrying out his Christmas tree just as I was coming in. The tree had not one single needle left on it. Not one.

So I feel I know the place. At most times it's intensely quiet. At other times, some neighbor raises his voice (to be heard by a deafer co-inhabitant) and then I know they're not asleep yet. A peel of laughter and then all is quiet once more.

My morning begins at the Rue de Paris, a cafe just down the street from me.

(Here's my street: the haze tells it like it is. You can barely see the Palace of Culture. But unlike during the deep freeze last week, the air isn't heavy with pollution. I dare say it feels rather fine.)






I wanted a breakfast out and there I'm joined by my brilliant architect and now friend, Karolina.






It's a brief visit. I consult about a few things, she has picked up a few things and of course we exchange quick stories of what the past month has been like. Too, she gives me some food shopping suggestions.
Go to the Hala Mirowska on the other side of the Palace of Culture. They have the regular market stalls there but they also have an Asian shop where you can get good shrimp and, too some more unusual items.

I quickly add it to my list of places to check for various items on my grocery list.

The thing is -- I can just take the metro to my favorite supermarket and buy everything I need there. But at the last minute, I choose not to do that. Poland is a country where people still frequent the smaller neighborhood shops. The trip to the supermarket is a bigger deal, the smaller store or stand is for the every day. And so even as I walk back to my apartment, I begin to fill my list in the smaller places.

For example, peppers and onions at this neighborhood vegetable and fruit store that boasts many organic goods.






Bread next. There's a great bread bakery (to be distinguished, like in France, from the pastry store) just down the block. Poles aren't satisfied with just a handful of bread types. There are a dozen of dark bread varieties and a dozen more white loaves.






This time I choose a dense dark one with prunes for the liver pate I'll serve before dinner.

And then I visit a kitchen supply store. I don't need much in my Warsaw home, but there are recurring items that I see that I do need for my cooking here, especially since I have fallen into liking meal preparation for my Polish friends. A jumbo frying pan. A can opener. Essentials, no?

(The store is on the north end of the Palace. I'll give you a view of that. Looks much the same as the south end, no?)






I meet up with my sister there and together, somewhat loaded down already with kitchen things, we walk to Hala Mirowska, passing through a simple little park that provides the much needed vegetation in this very traffic heavy city center.






What impresses me about this market is that though there is an indoor section, most of the food stalls appear to be outdoors. And yes, it's January, but here they are -- vendors standing outside selling their goods. You see this throughout Poland. You'll never see this in Wisconsin or any other norther state.

(A blur of winter produce...)






(Stalls, inside and out.)






From there, loaded down indeed, we take the metro to the stop by the river. (A war memorial, a bridge that is the extension of my street, and the mermaid statue -- a symbol of this city.)





 And now it's a just a short walk to the neighborhood grocery store (for such staples as milk, butter, mineral water).

Oh, our bags are heavy. Not done yet! I tell my sister there's one more stop: at the Italian deli, where I pick up bottles of wine. Not one or two. More. It's impossible to tell how much we'll need. Left over bottles are easily stored in the closet. But oh, we are really burdened now!

One more stop, I promise, just one more!
I pick up some goat cheese at the deli. I need a different loaf of bread for that. Back to the bakery. (A grandma and a little boy are in line before me. Such a typical sight here.)






Finally! At home again. My sister retreats to her tasks and I am left with the very pleasant and oh so familiar task of chopping, cooking and organizing my kitchen for this evening.


All is (almost) ready. The gang arrives.

The next photos are of our evening together. Perhaps you wont be able to take away more from it than to recognize a few happy faces enjoying an evening meal. That's fine. The evening had all of that -- good friends, sharing good food. Here we all are, doing exactly what you'd expect us to do.

Yet for me, the evening was, well, all that I come back for again and again.

It's okay if dinner is still a few minutes away. We'll just talk...






Oh no you don't! Get to work and stir!






... and eat your predinner munchies!






Ha! I am so ready now for all of you! Dinner!!











Not that this is reason to let go of our various threads of conversation!






Most of us are serious amateur photographers and I'm not surprised when my camera is snatched by someone who begins to snap away.






That's okay. I snatch it right back.

Dessert... I take a pic of my friend, slicing her gift for us -- a home made apple cake...






And soon enough the meal is done and we've all lingered,  and now there is this uncomfortable truth: we need to disperse. Most have work tomorrow and, me, I have that predawn flight... Ooops, I've lost my camera again...






Hey, honestly, it's time to call it a night.






Day is done done done done done!





See you in March and yes, I'm glad it'll be March and not, say, April!