Saturday - 204th

It's a day that went in a direction which I did not anticipate or support. On the upside:

I winter-readied part of the garden.

I had a very pleasant text conversation that went on for a long while with my son-in-law.

Ed and I had a sweet breakfast that did not start until close to noon.





And, I picked up a brimming box of veggies from our farmers who will be supplying us with produce all the way through November.

On the downside -- well, the day did not move forward. You know how it feels to be suspended? Like you're waiting for something, though you really can't tell what? Yeah. My Saturday, to a T.

Perhaps we need days like these. Transition moments. Moving from early Fall to late Fall, from one state of equilibrium to another.

October is a tricky month for us northerners. On the one hand, the colors are stunning. The gentle movement of a golden birch, or the magnificent display of red on a maple -- you really can't ask for better eye candy, though perhaps that expression -- eye candy -- deflates their worth, because it implies an insignificance, a triviality, even as the progression of Fall is spiritually moving, a heady experience that makes you think deeply about life and beauty and the passage of time.

But aside from colors, there is the matter of the shortening of days and the unpredictability of the weather. October is cold, but not always. Wet -- sometimes. Dark by dinnertime, with the expectation of even more dark thrown at you by the imminent return of daylight un-savings time (for us -- November 1).

You have to work harder to boost your spirits in October (and even harder in November, even as you're already working overtime on this because of COVID and everything else that the last few months have unraveled for us.) 

So okay, let's work hard and add some steps to the day; I did make it to 10,000 yesterday, but just barely. As for today -- let's walk the garden and take a look at what's blooming in the yard. Dahlias!











And asters.










Imagine yourself to be taking in a deep breath of autumn air! Earthy and fragrant, with plants that are quietly settling into their wintry repose.


Inside again. It's nearly evening. I have a predinner FaceTime with Primrose. Happy child!





Busy child.





Kids never have still days. Their wheels move at a constant high RPM.

Which reminds me, there's the matter of movement. So, isn't it time for you to do the Irish jig with us? Or, rather, with me. Ed did two steps then gave up. If we are ever in Ireland and the music comes on, he'll be the one having a Guiness (even though he's not normally a beer drinker, but when in Ireland...) and I'll show off my learned accomplishments. Want to try? Here's the lesson I found to be doable, even by a 67 year old:

I have to say, despite the kick kick squash the can, I'm still behind on my FitBit steps today. It's raining outside, but I must do my around the barn in eighty days!

New habits, new routines. You know the French saying plus ça change  (the more things change, the more they stay the same)? Don't buy it. We're all capable of even transformative change. Yes we are.

Friday - 203rd

Okay, I admit it: today I felt good about our erring on the side of extra caution during the pandemic. We do it because we can, of course. We no longer have work obligations. We live alone. But we do it, too, because we believe in our safe protocols. They're good for us and they're also good for all those whom we deliberately avoid. Weird how avoiding someone, anyone actually, can be a positive these days, but then everything about this year is really weird. To put it gently.

Another admission: we were up very late at night. Ed often takes a break from sleeping right between midnight and three and of course, he clicked on the news and then we were both up reading and talking. So I was a reluctant waker upper. Still, one has to feed the animals...






And, too, I admit it, we still appear to be very much engaged in the kitty hunt. This morning, the future owner of Elsie texted us. (Elsie is a very clever new name she gave to our Cutie, as it is another way of saying LC -- which stands for Lost Cat.) Yesterday, Ed and I had set a trap near a cornfield, in the area where she was purportedly last seen. A cat was caught alright, just not the cat. The future owner released the poor animal and asked if we may want to move the trap. She herself was in a hurry to get to work.

So, after breakfast...





Ed and I once again set out for Stoughton. This time we have the cooperation of the Garden Center to place the trap closer to where this cat, possibly Elsie was often spotted. We still think it's a longshot, because there seem to be dozens of cats roaming the town of Stoughton and they all really do resemble our girl.

Too, we go back to last night's search in a neighborhood nearer to us -- one which I never even knew existed. If you go on a cat hunt, you learn a lot about housing developments within a twenty mile radius of where you live.

(On our drive home, a view of the beautiful clouds... they look like venticular, or saucer clouds, but are they that? we are far from any mountains...)





At home again. The afternoon is threatening to degenerate into a reading marathon once again, so Ed proposes that we take a break for a lesson on how to dance the Irish jig. He thinks it may come in handy someday.

We watch youtube videos. I follow instructions. In slo mo, it's doable, but put it to Irish music and I'm panting.
Can you find a jig for slower moving people?

Hmm. I'm thinking that I better put some dance into my everyday or else I may never jig again.

Late afternoon and I am nowhere near my stepping goal. I pace the courtyard. I walk from kitchen to living room and back again, many times. This adds shockingly few steps to my tally. Fine. Out I go for an around the barn in eighty days walk. Next time, we'll hunt for Elsie longer and further, whether or not there is even a wee chance of her being found. I need the steps!

Thursday - 202nd

I had an idea for a short story and I actually sat down and put it down in real words. Now, normally I'd think this to be a good thing. I did something! Finally, after sitting quite still on my own little island (did you know that the word "isolation" is derived from "island?"), I did something that I haven't done in years: I had an idea and I typed it out, from beginning to end. With an edit throw in for good measure.





That's the good thing. But it comes at a price. First of all, I'm tired. We got a call last night at midnight from someone who thought he had spotted the missing cat. In the end we did not drive out to Stoughton to search around the dumpsters of a Subway store. Calls at night are almost guaranteed to be misfires. You can't see details in the dark. But I had pangs of guilt, which meant that I had to badger Ed for a good hour with questions such us "are you sure we shouldn't go?" And then I was so wide awake that I had to read down my mystery book for another hour before I could even pretend to be sleepy.

Too, I decided to resume monitoring my activity with a FitBit device, starting October 1st. You know the gizmo: it tracks your steps. I had tried using it years ago and decided it was stupid (meaning I wasn't getting the results I wanted), but now I am worried (aren't we all) about my inattention to exercise and I'm thinking that the little wrist device may motivate me. As it's the first day, I took a lot of extra steps. That's what you do when you start in on these things: you're all enthusiasm the first day and then it fizzles and you go back to slumping comfortably on your beloved couch.

And I'm also worn out with cat calls. We got another call this morning from the Stoughton Garden Center and again they swore the missing Cutie was a repeat visitor there. And this time we decided to go. It's daylight. What if it's her. The usual push to do well by the little girl. Of course, nothing came of it.

First, though, the animal feed... (many steps! yay!)






Then breakfast...






Then the trip to Stoughton, where we actually set a trap somewhere at the edge of the Garden Center's property where it touches the cornfields.  Pointless? Probably.

Drive home, lovely sky.






Write until my head pops with exhaustion.

I'm tired, too, because things aren't going that well for people who are dear to me. It's draining for them and I pick up the vicarious lethargy that comes with problems.

On the upside, I talk to my two old friends on Zoom and of course friends have a way of sucking tiredness right out of you!






Evening. Hey, do you miss my weather reports? It's getting cold! We have the first frost advisory for tonight. I take it seriously enough that I pack up my geraniums (plus a beloved begonia) and take them inside for the winter. I put them in the play room. Ah yes, there was a time when a little girl played many many minutes with these birds...






Another phone call. Another search for the cat, this time halfway between here and Stoughton. Another disappointment.

At the end of the day, I have to say -- tonight, only a frittata will do. Onion, garlic, spinach, mushroom, corn. And purple potatoes! Which turn blue when you cook them.

A quick but joyful FaceTime with Primrose...




Bake frittata, eat, and add a few steps. Because I really do need to get to my coveted goal of 10 000.

Wednesday - 201st

There is such a thing as too much reading. Oh, you can blame it on the weather (cold, with bursts of rain). You can blame it on the readily available material online. Or you can just blame yourself. Learn from mistakes! Limit it next time. And go out and enjoy the season. Any season, any weather. Just take it all in and be glad that you have some contact with the rest of the world. Distractions can be a very lovely thing indeed.






On this last day of September, both Ed and I woke up cranky. I suppose I egged him on by telling him about the UN Summit on Biodiversity that's taking place today, with the participation of all major countries of this planet, minus one. (You guessed it.) Ed is a committed environmentalist and as such, he belongs to the group of pessimists who see everything as coming too little too late. Hopelessness does not sit well with me, especially at the breakfast table. I chose to take this photo when he was somewhere else.





When I dug into my oatmeal, I was saying things like "you don't get it, that's not the point," and he was saying things like "you know what I think about all this, you brought it up."

But by the meal's end, we were aligned once again (oatmeal with fruit, kefir and honey is a great mood stabilizer; perhaps it should be required food prior the next debate). But then came the reading, the reviewing, the review of others' reviewing, and the reading of comments on such reviewing. Too much!

And so I was happy as anything to pack up my things and head out this afternoon for my distanced, masked, outdoor meeting with Snowdrop.






I have to find a spot where the wind would not blow us away.






And it is, as always, lovely if incomplete. But, lovely. Most important to remember: lovely.






Eventually, the temps dipped sufficiently enough for her to want to crawl into a present from Gogs -- a sleeping bag, rated as good enough for temps down to freezing! It's the only way I could think of that would allow us to keep on reading together outside, given that this is Wisconsin and we are heading into the dangerously cold part of Autumn.






We were cut short by sprinkles, but we did log in some 90 minutes of reading, interspersed with just being. Someone said a few days ago that for a grandparent, reading to a grandchild is his idea of heaven. I'll agree, though just being in each others company is also right up there.





Afterwards, I drove to do a curbside pickup (wine! you're thinking -- what, did I run out last night? ha ha. maybe) and this had me pass by Owen Woods, a nature conservancy right smack in the middle of Madison.

I was curious if fall colors were making a significant appearance. The answer -- just a little bit. Here and there.






Ed's out biking this evening. He'll have colors for sure on his route -- of golden corn fields and bronze soy beans. It is the season of color.

But, biking has its perils. He comes back late, shin bruised by a massive dog bite. A farm dog, identified by a neighbor as an Australian shepherd.  I've biked by an angry dog before. You can't get away fast enough. You hope for luck. This one pounced on Ed. So, there was the need to call the police, to get a report and hopefully sue the pants off the owner. Not for the small claim, but to put a muzzle on this guy, so that his dog doesn't bite again and do perhaps even more damage.

As we all sit around reading too much and worrying even more, we would do well to remember that October is, for us northerners, perhaps the most colorful month of them all. I hope you have a chance to go out, take it in, and feel its gentle climax as we shed another year of growth and get ready to bury in and hunker down for the cold months ahead.

Tuesday - 200th

On this 200th day of social isolation, of not venturing out to stores, cafes, eateries, I'm sitting around thinking how on earth should one celebrate National Coffee Day at home. Because this does happen to be, I'm told, National Coffee Day.

The company from which I buy all my coffee would like me, of course, to purchase more coffee today. I can hardly call that a proper celebration. I drink two cups each day and since COVID, that second cup has been a decaf (you can guess why). Restocking a rather stable supply can't possibly be a source of celebratory joy.

This same company also offers gifts today with every sale. Cups. New espresso cups. Latte glasses. Some with saucers. This, to me, is surely a terrible thing, contributing to excessive collection of things you don't need. I mean, if you buy coffee from these guys, you already have cups. Indeed, who among coffee drinkers does not have too many cups? And if I tell them to please skip the cups, I'll feel cheated. Like I'm paying too much, because with that price I should have had cups included. So, no coffee purchase for me today.

I write about this, because of the COVID quarantine. It does make you pay attention to things that will have passed you buy in other years. For instance, I learned that last last Saturday was National Daughters Day. I did not learn this until close to midnight. Thankfully I managed to dash off a message to my two sweet and wonderful daughters. Phew! Almost missed it. But the thing is, in years past, I did miss it. I never remember doing anything on a Daughter's Day in the past, even though I truly have amazing daughters.

The virus locks us up at home, all 200 days, closed off, glued to lots of reading material, some of it flagging obscure holidays and national days, triggering within you that feeling of resignation: it could have been so lovely to sit at our favorite cafe and sip a delicious brew, but hey, let me instead do what I do every single day of my life, Coffee Day or not, let me just brew that damn cup at home and call it special.

(Breakfast, inside, because it's really cold out there!)






Walk to barn -- with signs of Fall everywhere. And Happy, with his missing tail. (Molting.)











Afternoon cup of coffee.






Evening. I have to do something with the squash, the cauliflower. How about a veggie curry over brown rice? Let's get to work!






It's comfort food. Ed would probably say -- unexciting. He often thinks my veggie melange is unexciting (in this one, to the squash and cauliflower I add onion, garlic, spinach, and peas and plenty of spices, coconut milk, and lime juice for that needed bite).





But for me, it's perfect. When you have an evening like this one (presidential debate raging over the airwaves), you need comfort food.

Monday - 199th

Sometimes I think it's all in how you frame the question. Here are three versions of this query:

Would you make an effort to watch the northern lights?
Would you travel to, say, Norway to watch the Northern lights in a comfortable spot in pristine wilderness?
Would you go out after midnight if someone told you that you live in a geographic region that might witness the northern lights tonight?

I'd answer "yes" to the first. It's a hypothetical that doesn't commit me to anything. You bet, I'd like to see those lights!
I'd answer "it depends" to the second: I mean, how comfortable is the viewing spot? Will I be treated to a good meal before and after? Will someone be traveling with me?
I'd answer "no" to the third. I want to get a good night's sleep! It's cold today. Forget it.

[In fact, I did read that we may have the privilege of seeing the lights tonight and the idea of getting out of bed and perhaps driving to a spot without light pollution, even if it's just minutes away, does not appeal to me at all.]

Perhaps this is a good introduction to the shift we have had in our weather patterns, starting yesterday and surely continuing into this day. It's cold and wet. I walk quickly to feed the animals, trying to ignore the drizzle. No stopping for weeding this morning.






Breakfast? No question. In the kitchen.






And here's a wonderful activity on a cold Monday: a Zoom meeting with my Polish friends.





Inevitably we talk about the virus: raging infection rates in Wisconsin, somewhat increasing numbers in Poland. It's interesting to talk to people who are apprehensive about being where you are right now! Still, as always, we all come back to the subject of our grandkids. For all of us, I think, the necessary precaution feels endless, especially since kids grow so quickly. To miss a year (more?) in their lives (especially for those, whose kids live and work abroad) is beyond tough.

Curiously I am more optimistic about a slow return to better times in 2021. Or maybe it's because we, here, have been lead to believe that there will be a vaccine and that we will get it and that's fantastic, except, well, what about the others? Those grandparents who, too, miss their grandkids dreadfully?  I'm told Poland is all out of the flu vaccine, even as only a tiny portion of the population has been vaccinated.

Very quickly I am reminded of yesterday's topic of "good countries." Remember? Shouldn't we worry equally hard about the hardships of others, even if those others live outside our boundaries?

On a happy note, all my Polish friends are well, some are even traveling, others are as cautious as Ed and me. But we are all grandparents. We want the same thing: safe contact with our grandkids.

Sunday - 198th

Here's a question for you, posed on this rainy day, here, in Wisconsin: say there was a God of Locality. You are about to come into this world and you get to decide: which country would you like to be born in? The God of Locality will make sure you get your wish.






It's an interesting question to ask yourself, because it doesn't necessarily lead you to stick with what you know and love best -- your home country. In all my travels and from all that I've heard, I do believe that people really love their home country and would readily choose it as home for life, provided that it offers some economic opportunity and doesn't trample on their human rights. So if you were asked -- where would you like to live now, most people would say "here!" [Again, don't forget the caveat: so long as you can secure a livelihood for you and/or your family, and you're not thrown in jail for speaking your mind or looking different.]





So back to the first question -- where do you think you'd like to have been born?

Yes, I know -- you can't shake that bias. It's that strong. You're going to say -- the country I now live in! It's the best!


This morning, just before breakfast on the porch...





... Ed and I listened to a TED talk. It's a little dated I suppose (2014), but the person (who is a policy analyst and government/municipality consultant from I believe the UK) presented findings that he and his research team compiled on a country's "goodness." They ranked all the nations of the world based on their compassion toward their own citizens, and importantly -- toward all peoples of the world. At the top of the list aren't necessarily rich countries, or happy countries, or beautiful countries. But they're good, demonstrating an outwardness and kindness toward all of us, even if we don't live there, or don't look like or act like their nationals.

Why create such a ranking of countries? Well, listen to the TED talk. It's only 17 minutes. Here's one reason to listen -- you'll get an answer to the question of which country, by their complicated matrix, is the most "good" country.

[If you don't have 17 mins,  and, too, if you want an update to the original TED talk, you can look up good countries on WIKI. The countries have shuffled a bit in recent years. Nations that were in the top five still remain in the top sector, but their ordering has been shifting just a little. The US, on the other hand (a hint here: it's not in the top five) has changed positions significantly.]

Simon Anholt (the primary investigator and TED talk speaker) challenged us to think beyond our own back yard and to press our governments to strive toward improving our country's ranking on the good country index.  Or, in the alternative, I suppose you could ask a God of Relocation to place you in any country that ranked high on the goodness scale. But since we love our homes, the more realistic admonition is to prioritize goodness and let your leaders know that it's important to you.

Idle thoughts. People stick to their home turf. Though here's a thought: if your home turf is down there on the goodness scale, well, from the bottom, there's only one way to go: up.




In the evening, I go over to my older girl's home to bring Sunday supper.

It's a challenge to have our few minutes together. For one thing, it's cold now. And wet. In addition to the food, I bring a few segments of a kid fence to their deck. We're thinking it may help Sparrow identify boundaries. It does... Until it doesn't anymore. He just cannot accept distancing: it makes no sense to him. All his life he could run to me and I would catch him up and hold him high in a big hug. And now, there's a fence.






Distraction: let's play ball. Sparrow's way.






And now Snowdrop is out and I never realized what a sweetly soft voice she has until I tried to understand her recount of her issues of the day, as spoken through a mask.





Despite the challenges, it is a superb few minutes. The kids make me laugh and dance and move and forget everything else that's floating through my head these days.

But it is cold. Autumn in Wisconsin is cold. No surprise there. We're ready for it. I think.

Saturday - 197th

What do you call a day that bounces madly from one edge to the next, unpredictably, wickedly, with the force of the winds that seem to have made south central Wisconsin their home these days?

Cloudy and cold. No, make that warm. A little warm.











And here's a sweet surprise -- blueberry pancakes with Primrose!

(so little pancake left!)





Well, it's not as if we are at the same table. She is in Chicago. I have no pancakes here. Still, I can imagine the maple syrup sweetness!

(here's my mom!)






For Ed and me breakfast is more, well, ordinary. But on the porch! Warm enough for that!






Since we are really at the tail end of unseasonable temperatures (and I mean the tippy tip of that tail), I do not go inside after breakfast. I take my laptop and read and write out on the porch until the juice runs out. (Because it is soooo difficult to go inside and fetch the chord and plug it in!)

Memorable: an email exchange with an old college friend. People my age really appreciate friendships that are packed with a long history. I've known this person since I was 19. Pretty damn long. So that's definitely a swing in the up direction.


And how's the spirit of the farmette holding up these days? In addition to DIY fix-it projects, there's been a lot of reading and news analysis taking place here in the farmhouse. Ed and I are quite on the same political page, so you'd think this would be calm and perhaps even boring. Nothing worse than listening to someone express something that sounds exactly like a thought coming out of your own mouth. Yawn!

But where we differ is in reaction to events transpiring all around us. I'm in a "do nothing" mode right now. The pandemic has zapped my "let's talk about it some more" energies. Ed is much more focused on scraping out all exigencies and permutations. And so, perhaps for the first time, the tables are switched. I want more quiet, less of the brutal analysis. I have a wait and see approach to just about everything right now. Ed's more fired up. Indeed, in the fifteen years we have been together, I've not ever seen him this fired up before. From my perspective, that's a bounce in the wrong direction. I understand his animation, but when things get rough, I look for calm and calm is proving to be elusive this Fall!


But here's a bounce up: a visit with Snowdrop. Outside, distanced, with masks.












It's supposed to be warm. Perfect for an afternoon outside.






Sometime in the middle of reading with her, I get a call from Stoughton. There has been a sighting and this time, there is a video of the stray kittie. I'm sure it's Cutie! The white paws, the white chest, everything matches! I call Ed and send him to Stoughton. He and the prospective owner walk the blocks where the kittie was seen. They aren't lucky, but they leave a trap with food. Apparently she little cat has been hanging out there for a few days. [Only later, when I am back at the farmhouse, do I carefully study the video. A white chest, four white paws. Wait a minute... Cutie has only three white paws! Nearly identical, but no bananas. It's not her.]

As I continue to read now with Snowdrop, I pause and watch her, appreciating her increasingly big girl movements, her careful storytelling. She's hanging on to some of her little girl traits and habits, but they're getting to be more polished. In all these grandkids, I see the next age take shape, and then the next one, and the one after that.

And now it's really cold. I give her my sweater to cover her legs.


 



She doesn't want to go inside, we linger. Finally it's time to pack up and get going. She tells me she wishes I could come in with her.





I cannot come in with her.



And then I'm off to the CSA pick up point where a box of Fall veggies awaits me. You can go ahead and love your spring and early summer stuff, but these are veggies both Ed and I gobble up in one sitting. Cauliflower. Bok choy. Potatoes -- purple today. Garlic, onions. Tomatoes -- big, lovely. Peppers, mixed greens for a sautee or to throw in with a salad. What's there not to like?


Evening. Finally, over popcorn, we let go of the angst and revel in all that's good right now. We watch the next episode of our crime drama, I pour a glass of Chablis. Total calm. So very wonderful.