the great outdoors

This day is a teaser: here, take a look at what's coming!

By the time Ed and I sit down to breakfast, the clouds have parted and the temperatures start to climb. Not for good. The rest of the week will be wet and cold. But I get that: we need the rain, we need that reasonable progression toward full blown spring. And yes, I'll take today's sidestep and peek at the gloriousness of what's to come.






And though it's true: the farmhouse framed by a bed of blooming daylilies in July is more regal than its plain old facade in late March, but hey! Do you see those bunches of narcissus? And the plump buds on the lilac (to the right)? We are so on our way!






And yes, there are, finally, the emerging flowers of early spring.






Ed and I spend a few minutes working outdoors, but unfortunately, neither of us has the time to do as much as we might have done with a freer set of hours. I rake, of course. Clearing the flower beds is a priority and though I did much of the work during our February heat wave, there are still things to be done before the flowers emerge full force.

Too, we need to get started on the tomatoes. Last year we planted seeds on March 29th. I don't think this year we'll pull it off that soon!

Never mind. We're still only in March. We'll get to everything in early April.

In the meantime, we all get a real thrill out of having this gloriously sunny spring day.  I pick up an excited Snowdrop. She knows there'll be a flower hunt and a stroller ride in store.






The little girl and I both sing songs as we walk the blocks of her neighborhood. True, she sings a different song than I do, but that's okay. We're singing! That's plenty good enough!


Later, at the farmette, she has no intention of keeping her jacket on. Nor does she head for the farmhouse. She knows it's outdoor weather!

She saunters to the cart where we had been piling fallen leaves and spent plantings.






I want to climb inside!
Sure, Snowdrop.






The cheepers hear us and they come running, excited at the possibilities!






Snowdrop watches them, amused at their enthusiasm.






I don't think, though, that a ride in the cart is what Scotch, our older brown girl, had in mind!






I tell the little girl that perhaps her new doll Rosie (yes, I know -- her new doll has the same name as my scooter; I can't help it -- she chose the name) would enjoy being wheeled around more than Scotch does.

Oh, Snowdrop loves the idea of taking out the doll with stroller! She would be running down the rural road behind her charge for hours on end if I didn't remind her that the roads are off limits for play.






Time to redirect.
Look, Snowdrop! The crocuses are blooming!
Just yesterday, they were only a bud. Today -- perfection.






We go inside now. Snowdrop looks around for Ed. He comes over from the sheep shed and she is just too excited, explaining to him every detail of her life right now. The girl loves to recount what's happening in the here and now.











I suppose there is now a certain predictability to these posts: they start with breakfast and they end with Snowdrop enticing us to her tea party. I understand her happiness. After all, I too relish that time around a table.





And yes, I admit to the predictability. The thing is, with every new week, it all seems so different to me. Snowdrop grows, the seasons change, inclinations and perceptions shift and so in fact, nothing stays the same. It's as if each day I begin with something unknown and unexpected. Sure, it's the same good meal, but nothing about it tastes like the one from the day before. To me, it's always one incredible, beautiful surprise. 

first day back

I wake up and look outside. It's a cloudy day and not unlike Warsaw temperature wise. Still, in the same way that people were grumbling about the later arrival of spring in Warsaw, I can tell (and grumble) that here too, at least as compared to the last March weeks of recent years, we're behind.

It's not that there aren't evidences of growth. But last year, I see on Ocean that we had lightly yellow heads on the daffodil stalks. Today -- well, we're still not at that stage. The stalks are up and out, but there aren't the flower buds yet. And our crocuses really should be exploding. In reality, just a handful are showing some color:






But there is no going back. We're on our way to spring. Right, cheepers?






Ed and I have a bit of a thrown together breakfast. Half sleepy, with a fridge that's rather empty (this is a good thing: I always tell Ed to eat his way through everything in my absence), and in a slight rush, as I want to finish tidying the place and get some shopping done before picking up Snowdrop.







The reunion with the little girl at her school is predictably wonderful. She, too, had been away (with her parents) and so everything old and familiar was suddenly fresh and new again. She couldn't wait to step out and look to see if the stroller was waiting for an "a'venture." It was.






It's still in the mid forties (about 7C)  and so I am not ambitious. She wants to go on a flower hunt and we do that, though the number of flowers we spot on our walk can be counted on the fingers of your hand.

But it's pretty in that pre-bloom kind of way, where there are promising buds sprouting everywhere. We walk to the park by the lake and I have to admire how serene and lovely the waters are today.






Snowdrop is nonstop chatter now and even as she swings, I hear her explanation of what she is seeing and what is happening in the world around her -- all this from the delightful and delicate viewpoint of a very young person.






I told her I had a surprise for her at the farmhouse and she is oh so keen to get to it...






I have finally acquiesced and picked up (across the ocean) a pretty stroller and a doll to go with it. Neither of my girls, to my recollection, cared for pushing a stroller around and their interest in dolls was marginal until the horrible (in my view) Barbie came along, but Snowdrop just loves to place everyone and everything in a stroller and she is beyond happy to be able to do it at the farmhouse as well.






Up and down, around and back again. With gusto!






Add to it a croissant -- bliss.






Then there is the sweet reunion with ahah...






I am not surprised to hear her ask him for a polka dance. It's wedged in her head that Ed is the polka guy and she waits with happy anticipation for the sound of the accordion.

And they dance.






And all is right with the world.






(Do you think she never made it to the tea set? Oh, but she did. And she was ever so happy to set a place for Rosie, the name she chose for her new doll.)






Evening. I cook up a favorite soup for Ed and me, and then I try to let go of the day. It can be hard -- not because the day had any drama, but because it was, in fact, quite normal. Different time zone, but normal.  Peaceful. Calm.

coffee and tea and a final cafe creme

My last day in Warsaw. In many ways it is the most normal of all days here. I do routine things that would keep me busy if I lived here year round. And it begins, predictably, with a lovely and relaxed breakfast...





And I finish tidying the apartment after last night's merrymaking. Normal stuff.

And in between, I meet up with friends.

It's a blustery day, but at least in the morning, there are hints of sunshine. Another friend from university days suggests we have coffee in a place some of us frequented when we were students. (It's called Telimena and it claims to be the oldest cafe in Warsaw, tracing its origins to the 18 century.) It's a lovely walk to it, but I hurry. Up late at night, up early in the morning -- it's tempting to slow down the pace today, but I cannot do that. Not on my last day here.






My sister joins us for the meet up. Boundaries of friendship are loose around the edges. She is always made welcome by all my friends.





Inevitably we step into a review of the political situation in Poland (and, too, in the U.S., but they know about the U.S. in great detail and I know about Poland in less detail, so we concentrate on what's happening in my country of birth). 

Poland, of course, is a younger democracy and you could argue that not everyone there has learned the lessons of how fragile the enterprise may become if you hammer away at the institutions that secure its enduring position in our way of life. But you could also say that those who have lived in post war Poland are especially stunned and disappointed that so much can be tarnished so quickly. Ocean isn't a good place to take up this topic in all its complexity, but I must mention it because all my friends are concerned and preoccupied with it and with good reason.

Back at the apartment I conclude I need yet another coffee. This will be my third! At the farmette, I never need coffee, I just like it. But toward the end of this trip, I'm thinking it's coffee, or a long nap and I don't have time for the latter.





In the later afternoon, my nephew -- one I haven't seen for many years  -- stops by the apartment. He lives away from Warsaw and we do not usually overlap in our visits here but this time we do.

I refrain from having yet another cup of coffee then (hey -- they're espresso cups! Tiny!).


And now it's evening, but I have one more meeting -- with my enduring friend who has woven herself into this week fluidly, patiently, with the dedication that only the most solid of friends can display.

We go just down the block and since I have such an early flight the next day, I dare not have YET ANOTHER cup of coffee and so I switch to herbal tea. We split a cheesecake and an apple cake -- the quintessentially Polish desserts --  and they are both so not good (one is half frozen, the other is warmed unevenly in the microwave), that we have to laugh. What a way to end a delicious week!






And now I've said my good byes. Damn, that's tough. Two worlds: my beloved family and Ed, and these guys. And if you add a third -- my law school friends, also scattered up and down the continent -- well, where is the fairness?  The world is too vast!

I hate to toss the flowers that were such a beautiful addition to my time in Warsaw, but there is no choice. Goodbye sweet bouquets!






At 4:30, which is really 3:30 here, because of course, Europe HAS to take this weekend to institute daylight savings time, I go downstairs and find my cab waiting for me. (I was terrified that my alarm clock, which happens to be my iPhone, would not make the switch to daylight savings promptly enough and so I asked Ed to call me. He slept through his own alarm. Oh, Ed!)






And so that's it for the trip, right? Good bye Warsaw, hello Wisconsin!





Not necessarily.

On a last minute impulse, I check my bag through and so I have no hand luggage other than my small back pack. My Warsaw to Paris flight arrives in good time and the weather here, in France is lovely! A six hour layover... Dare I?

I do hesitate. I'm tired. Even I do not feel peppy when I've slept all of two hours. The thought of that train ride to central Paris, especially if I miss the express and am stuck with the local, is tediously dully. Both ways? For what?

For this!






(To give me credit, I do alight at a different exit of the Luxembourg station and I enter the Gardens at a different gate. I am not in a Gardens rut, I am not!)

(Well, maybe I am. I mean, the chestnuts!)






Parisians take a while to rouse themselves on a Sunday morning and today, that hour deprivation after the time change slows things down even more. It's not quite 10 and the park begins to fill with joggers who run the perimeter of the fence, but few others are out and about.






(On the street again -- a selfie in a mirror.)





I want a light breakfast. An image of eating out on the sidewalk keeps flashing through my mind. But where? You think that's a really dumb problem, don't you? But hey, it's a last croissant, and though the weather is still a tad chilly (getting close to 50F or 10C), it's good enough to sit outside and watch the world go by! But where?

I wander around, determined not to sit down until I spot a croissant on someone's plate that meets my requirements of fresh and honest (and fluffy and long). Finally! On the Boulevard Saint  Germain. In sunshine. With a very satisfying cafe creme.






(I'm not the only one who is hunting down a morning coffee and sunshine...)






And now I turn away from this neighborhood and head toward the river. Yeah, that one. For the crazy dreamers! Head straight, then turn left.






Cross it to the island, amble through the bird and flower market, cross it further toward the right bank... What a gorgeous day!






My final destination is Les Halles -- the old market place on the right bank that had turned into an awful shopping mall, but after a multi year renovation, has been utterly transformed into a thing of great beauty: very modern and luminescent. Here's the entrance to the east.






Dipping toward the entrance to the west...





It's really quite beautiful and very empty on a Sunday morning.

But it's getting close to noon and my flight is just after three. Time to pick up the train and head for the airport.

After the usual passport and security crunch at this very major airport, I'm finally at the proper terminal. Finally. And here I have a small tucked away surprise: there is a very tiny airport museum in this section of the airport (2EM) and this spring it is hosting an exhibit of Picasso art. It's not a large exhibit, but oh my gosh, four beautiful canvases, some ceramic pieces, a good text and of course, it's all completely empty. I mean, who thinks to look for Picasso at CDG airport?






It seems wrong to end this post with Picasso at CDG, so I wont. Instead, I'll roll us back to the Luxembourg Gardens. You've seen this guy many times (including just a few days back), but I think he best shows off the mood of the season. Flowers are blooming, spring is with us. Dance!





And now to Detroit, where I have another set of hours of waiting (this really was possibly the most onerous return!). No matter: I'll be in Madison soon and Ed will be waiting and we'll drive home together to the farmette, where I expect to find at least a few crocuses in full bloom. 

Mexico comes to my home in Warsaw

You live each day by the principles that have guided you throughout your life and mine surely include a deep appreciation for the mixing of peoples. From my early childhood years at the U.N. International school in New York, to my adulthood movement between cultures, I've come to thrive when those around me are not all of one similar background.

Living in the U.S. now, I admire all that the south-of-the-border Latin culture brings to this country.  The music, food, language, the social habits --I've profited from being exposed to them.

So of course, if I'm to share in Poland a bit of my life in America, it is obvious that I will want to cook up a dinner in Warsaw that has an eye toward Mexico.

Good, Mexican food in Europe is a rare thing. You'd be hard pressed to find a spicy chili sauce in a grocery store of Poland and don't think that's just Poland: you'd be hard pressed to find such sauces (in abundance in every American supermarket) in France. (I finally did find just one in the grand food halls of the Bon Marche, only to have it confiscated at the airport! Damn! I must improvise!)

The plan is simple: cook up a Mexican storm, play good Mexican music, and let the rhythms of the night take hold.

But first thing's first: I wake up to a beautiful spring day in Warsaw. My street is dappled with spring sunlight!






Even before breakfast, I hurry to my local green grocer (who boasts organic foods on the shelf and the freshest of produce in the vicinity) to pick up stuff that I've put off buying until the last moment: beautiful lettuces, cucumbers, tomatoes and a crate of berries.

I want to take this store with me back to Wisconsin! I love the care they give to the vegetables. And I love the fact that I only casually asked at the beginning of the week if they'd be getting fresh berries in on Friday (they come from Spain) and the lovely couple put aside the crate that I wanted, just in case I did show up in the morning (I said I'd be shopping then).



 


Immediately after breakfast, I set to work. The menu is simple -- or, it would be simple if I had my pots and pans and my trusty stove and if I could properly understand the way that my Polish oven functions. I cheated and brought jars of salsa from Whole Foods. The guacamole I can make here. I've been ripening avocados all week.






The main course;  shredded chicken in tomato-chili sauce, with corn tortillas (again, from Madison), rice and beans, and a salad, because I am a nut about salads. The dessert -- a Rick Bayless strawberry tres leches shortcake.

I start with the cake and stumble over combining ingredients -- no, Mr. Bayless, I don't have a paddle attachment to a stand-up mixer here! Indeed, I don't even have a stand-up mixer. I am determined to keep things simple in my apartment. If a Mexican cook can make a tres leches cake without the modern gadgets, so can I!

(A mixture of ingredients -- from Madison and Warsaw...)






On the other hand, I am all about presentation: in the course of the morning, I decide that I cannot hope to serve margaritas without martini glasses. I come up with all sorts of justifications: I will become a mixologist and bring with me a repertoire of interesting cocktails during future visits. I will support the glass making industry in Poland (we are famous for glass products here). I will surely not regret the investment.

Ah, but finding martini glasses in a city where the drink of choice for a long time had been something that can be chilled in a freezer and downed in one gulp -- now that's a challenge!

Instead of concentrating on the meal, I ride the trams and buses of Warsaw, chasing down one lead after the next.






And I find them. And they're beautiful and Polish. And now I am severely behind in my prep plans.

On the upside, it really is a gorgeous day and I have a chance to stick my foot in the park, loaded down with twelve martini glasses (I only need ten, I tell the vendor... another customer intervenes -- Pani kochana, but what if one breaks??). Not yet as green as Paris, but surely giving signs of new life.







(The classic Polish grandma: on a day like this, you see a lot of them.)






A quick coffee break at home (as seen through the new martini glasses)...






And now I get crazy busy and I can only say that if it wasn't for my sister, we may not have ever eaten anything but the guacamole, salsa and the tres leches cake. With margaritas out of very beautiful martini glasses.

My sister is an excellent sous chef. She does everything you ask her and she does it with decades of kitchen experience. And I've had years of practice bossing my daughter around when she helps me cook, so I've become good at giving directions!






I set the table quickly. Things look deceptively ready when a table is ready.






And then the guests arrive -- the usual wonderful crowd of friends and the evening moves to full speed ahead!

The men take over the margarita shaking, salting and pouring (thanks, Rick Bayless, for your terrific "honest to goodness margaritas for a crowd" recipe), the women have their glasses freshly topped on demand.







 



Come eat now!






And then I put my Sony down because I am just too busy moving between stove and and friends to think photo thoughts.

But, as is so often the case during these evenings, a friend will pick up my camera and take over and so these next pictures are not my own work (notably those where I am present). I'll post just four, under the theme: it was a lively and beautiful  evening!






















Perhaps the gaiety goes to our heads (I mean, how can you not laugh when your hostess volunteers to give a demonstration on how to cut a guy's eyebrows -- assuring the victim that she's had lots of experience doing just this task back at the farmette!), but before the evening comes to an end, we are hatching plans for this group of great friends to come visit me en masse in the U.S.!  You never know! (Are you ready, Ed?)