Thursday - 265th

We start our December schedule today. After isolating for 14 days (and testing), the young family rejoined our bubble for this one month and the sitters stepped aside so that I could pop into the lives of the two kids once again.

The morning is hurried. Breakfast, with a groggy Ed, in the kitchen.

 

 

There's just enough time to feed the animals, to attend to a few chores and tasks and then boom! The kids are back at the farmhouse.

They haven't been here since late August and although both of them were eager to plunge into their world of games and toys here, I'd say that Sparrow was just his usual happy self...

... whereas Snowdrop, a girl with big feelings, was besides herself with joy. Words like "I can't believe I'm here" and "it's like a dream come true" were spoken and she bounced with glee from one set of favorites to the next, settling for a long while with her dolls for which she loves to create imaginative contexts, roping me in of course, as we pretend to set one group of her "kids" into one story line and another in some competing place. This is such a common and uniquely farmhausian play scene (the well behaved kids versus the less obedient, the model eaters versus the sugar gobblers, you get the picture)!

Sparrow? Oh, he'll still spend a lot of time with toy foods and duplo blocks. I call him the "take out kid" because he loves to take out a lot of stuff, piling things from every corner in one heap, otherwise known as a mess. I spend not a small number of Fitbit steps chasing after him and putting things away.

 

It is a school day and at different points, Snowdrop has to check in with her class for 20-30 minutes at a time.

 

She is quite familiar with the routine and with the Zoom shared screens and all the rest of it, which is good, because I still find the whole set up of online assignments and random videos and questions rather puzzling and there isn't a cohesiveness to the school day, nor much opportunity to engage socially with the kids, which I suppose is understandable, as many of the kids are on the quiet side and engagement is not always easy.

Somewhere in there I'm supposed to fit in a lunch and I thought after the 11:20 mini lesson would be great, but during this class segment the teacher asked everyone if they had had a good lunch so I suppose the expectation is that they eat before that class. Oh well. We ate after.

I'm supposed to take the kids home in the mid-afternoon so that Sparrow can do a full nap there (he never sleeps long here: the house is small, the noise carries). Leaving the farmhouse turns out to be hard for Snowdrop as she has a long list of things she still wants to do. It takes a bit of effort for her to let go, but she does rally and we have a quick but lovely walk around the farmette lands...

 

 

... before I take them home.

 

It is, of course, tough to bounce around like that: from all to not much of anything, to all again, then later in the winter back to nothing. On the other hand, we have this gift of December and who knows what the world will look like in January and so I feel immensely grateful for the days that I do have with at least these two bandits!

 

When I come home, Ed asks -- do you want to play tennis? We should seize the moment, before it gets too cold! 

I'm amused. Ed, it is too cold!
Not as cold as it will be soon, so let's go!

And we do play. I'm terrible today, possibly because I have been on my feet since early in the morning and I hadn't even paused for lunch, but still, chasing after missed balls is surely great exercise, don't you think?

Evening. I need to make a frittata. 

 

 

 

 

 

I mean, something warm, with lots of eggs, veggies and cheese, for a cold December day that for once was full of movement and energy and child noises. You can almost pretend we're living in normal times. Kids, melting cheese, a game of winter tennis. What more could you demand...

With gratitude. And love...

Wednesday - 264th

Morning walk thoughts:

I have the sense that we came around full circle from our starting point back in March, when Ed and I announced that we were isolating and the young family assessed their options and decided to join us in an isolation bubble. Because as of this evening, we are in that bubble with them once again. For the next five weeks.

Except it's not the same, because all this time has passed, all these months of such utter caution on my part, on Ed's part, of needing to mask up and stay distant and outside with the kids, months where I couldn't enter their house, and in the meantime one season morphed into the next and now we are in December and the holidays are upon us. In other words we are back where we were, even though we're not at all where we once were. And it feels very strange to jump from a yes world with the kids to a no, no, keep your distance!, and now back to that yes world once more.

Then there are the cats: six of them now here, at the farmette. All sibs and half sibs, all more or less getting along, all eating together in the sheep shed, so that I don't have to worry about feeding one but not the other, or about having the cheepers go after their food (which has a lot of ground chicken in it so ugh! Not good for cheeper snacking!).

Except that this morning, I see someone new loitering by the writers shed. As if waiting. White with big black patches, matching none of the litter here. Quite beautiful actually. Silent. Watchful. I want to give her some food, but to do so, I must distract the other cats and also the cheepers and -- wait a minute, wasn't I in this place already once? With two little kittens who tried so hard to stay here even as the rest of the cats chased them to high heaven until I had to isolate the kittens to keep them safe and fed? Please, let this not be a rerun of that dynamic! Cats do come and go and you always wonder -- where from? where to? How kind will fate be to them?

Breakfast. With sunshine.

Little tree in the corner, now decorated.

 

A little later: 

The passage of time. Never is it more evident than on the day you pull up to the Christmas tree store and ask for the fattest tree on the planet because you want the kids and grandkids to be happy, and so you really want a fat balsam or fraser, with branches spilling out to the other side of the room!

Except that this year, I do a curbside pick up, which means that I don't actually go into the tree lot but stand to the side while the young store staff members hunt around for fat trees. Finally satisfied, I let them tie it to the roof of the car and I drive over to my daughter's house and they all take it inside.

And in the late afternoon:

I return to my daughter's house and here we are, all bubbled up again, safe, without masks, without worry. Well, part of me will always wistfully look south toward Chicago, where my younger girl lives. Still distant for a few more months, still with masks, outside, etc etc.

 

The plan for tonight is that we trim that fat tree. And we do!

(how fat is it?)

 

And yes, Snowdrop is totally set on appearing in her same-old leisurewear option, nothing else will do (can't I wear my most special shirt on this special day??), but she graciously agrees to wear it underneath her lovely matching-with-brother sweater dress. Sparrow, in the meantime, looks like your Christmas poster child in his sweet holiday pullover.

 

I do try for a classic photo that would document this Christmas, at this moment, for these two kids, but you know how it is: first one child looks great while the other moves...

Then the other looks joyous while the first one wiggles...

 

Still, there's a lot of love and good will in those two...

 

Pretty soon to be these three. Did I tell you that my older girl is pregnant? An end of May baby. Smart wee one: hiding at a time where the world is rough!

I stay for dinner. Not that I'm hungry: tree trimming came with an abundance of delicious snacks.

 

So strange to have had to be close, then far, and now close again. (For a while anyway.)

I'll take that strangeness, oh so gratefully. With precious hugs that have been withheld from so many of us even as we all need them. A lot.

Tuesday - 263rd

December! How cool is that! In fact, I'll take that literally: it's very cool. We wake up to 18F (-8C) outside. Crunchy earth, frozen waters.

But so very sunny. Isn't it true that many things can be tough or discouraging, but you have one glorious big ticket item -- like sunshine -- and your whole mood is given such boost.

We eat in the sun room. Ed, I'm ready.

 

I know that I said I'd be rejoining the bubble with the young family in December, but that doesn't happen until tomorrow evening. We're following the 14 day isolation requirement (plus testing) literally. To the hour. So tomorrow, not today. [As we approach their 14th day, there is rumor that the CDC guidelines are changing as we speak. A shorter period may be sufficient. But the details are sketchy and we are close to our 14 day goal anyway.]

I do have a sense of urgency today. If there's stuff that needs to be done, this is the day to finish it up before I get very busy again. So, one final run through online shopping. And yes, I'm satisfied that all the orders went out and if I'm lucky, all deliveries will be made before Christmas. Maybe. Things have been iffy lately, but I surely am sympathetic to those who have to play the elves and get our stuff delivered so very rapidly. We just have to sit tight. They do all the tough work. I am grateful.

 

Once more I coax Ed to do something active with me in the afternoon.

 

It's not that cold! -- I proclaim. Indeed, it's a couple of degrees above freezing.

You want to play tennis?
Like, outside? On the court?

Why not?
Because it's a couple of degrees above freezing!

We try it. At our local deserted, forested tennis courts.

At first I am so tightly wound up, possibly from the cold, the winter clothes, the absurdity of our game, or possibly because we haven't played since summer, that I can hardly return anything. But in time, the tension leaves the elbow, the shoulder, the leg, the other leg and disappears somewhere in those tall pines behind us. I can't say I would want to do this every day, but today, a wintry game of tennis felt just right.

I return in time for a Zoom call with my now southern (New Mexico and Florida) friends.

 

As I listen to them recount their holiday weekend, I'm thinking -- there is something remarkable about being able to eat at least some of your meals outside in December. I have pangs of wistfulness when I listen to their description of the weather there. But only for a few minutes. I have this soy candle with an amazing aroma of apple cider burning right now, and another one that promises to bring a faint whiff of pine boughs right into the farmhouse living space. Neither would have the pleasurable impact had we warm weather in December. The Danish or Norwegian hygge (cozy comfort) only makes sense because it's so damn cold in both places starting right about now.

It's soup weather, wouldn't you say? Time to take out the yellow pot and stir up the veggies and beans and spices in a chicken broth. Winter food. Just right for December.

Late, very late, a big box arrives with any number of holiday odds and ends, including the tree lights. I can end the first day of December with the tree.  And yes, it does make the walls glow with purple light. Utterly fantastic.

 

 

 

Monday - 262nd

Today was much like yesterday, only colder and the walk was better.

I'm not talking about the morning famette walk -- that early lap around the backfields of this property, to the rear of the barn and home again.

True, I love these first minutes of outdoor time. I get a feel for the weather, I can smell the dry crustiness or the damp slushiness of the earth. The day is fresh and young and I'm ready for it. But I get how this isn't particularly exciting to you: oh, another sprint around the familiar. Yawn. 

And it's nearly always followed by again a very familiar breakfast. Today, in the sun room, even though there is no sun.

But these steady and stable routines are not what turned the day into a more adventurous and pretty one for us. As I said, the walk, the big walk, the hike was (in stark contrast to yesterday's stroll) glorious.

Once again, we really hesitated about going out. The temperature never passed the freezing point. For the last day of November, that's not totally strange, but it is on the colder side of cold. Still, a morning of shopping (online once more) needs an afternoon of rejuvenation. I call Bruce Company -- a place that always has abundant Christmas trees, all freshly cut in Wisconsin -- and purchase a small tree for curbside pickup. And I suggest to Ed that as long as we're driving 15 minutes to Bruce's, mightn't we drive another 15 and hit the trails at Indian Lake County Park? 

It's a beautiful park with nearly perfect trails, but the drive to get to it, plus its weekend popularity push it off our usual list of favorites. But on a cold Monday, late afternoon no less, it's nearly empty. And the clouds part just enough and the colors are sublime. Want to walk with us?

On the way home, we stop to pick up the tree. So pretty, if a bit unusual in shape! No decorations yet. I'm waiting for the little lights to arrive in a day or two. Still, it definitely feels grander doing life's chores and tasks with a tree in the corner, bringing that bit of the outdoor world straight into the farmhouse living space.

Sunday - 261st

Do you remember the commercial that implored you to let your fingers do the walking (through the Yellow Pages)? Funny how, sixty years later, we've come around to just that: finger shopping. I should be pleased. I so dislike malls and department stores and long check out lines. (I do like small shops, but they are a rare breed, unless you live in the city or in a place rich with small shop tradition.) Nonetheless, finger shopping, aka online buying can be numbing. Today is proof of that.

It's not that I wasn't excited to start in on heavy duty holiday gift purchasing. After the morning walk, of course.

 

And after breakfast -- which I moved to the sun room because of... the sun!

But you just should not do long stretches of it. Too much clicking and digital page turning will drive you nuts. Or, near nuts.

In the afternoon, Ed pulls me out of my screen stupor and suggests we take a walk:  a path that sort of kind is okay. Couldn't be more than a mile from where we live. One might even call it a "river walk."

But it doesn't really go anywhere. It deteriorates into a muddy wetland. In the winter, we sometimes ski here and even then, you feel you're not exactly on solid ground. And did I mention the winds? They are ferocious!

Still, the walk clears the head. And we do get to wave good bye to the sandhill cranes who are ready to make their journey south.

Evening. I do a dinner delivery. Hi guys!

And home again. Same Sunday dinner. Same ingredients! That's what they want, that's what I cook. For them, for us. There may be great uncertainty in our lives right now, but my kids know this: if there's a dinner food they crave, I'll cook it for them.

Saturday - 260th

It is still Thanksgiving weekend and we are still making Thanksgiving connections. Today, for example, I drove to Illinois for an outdoor, distanced and masked (except when eating and then super-distanced) meetup with my younger girl, her husband, and of course Primrose.

And so my morning is rushed. Hurry up, animals! Eat! Hey Ed, you'll need to de-ice their water dish, I didn't have time to do it!

 

Breakfast... (thanks for coming down, I know you're half asleep still)

And I'm off. 

We chose the same park for our time together -- Raven Glen Forest Preserve -- because it's convenient, uncrowded, and with wide paths. And don't forget the lake to throw sticks in! Again, we are so very lucky to have radiant sunshine and relatively mild temperatures all day.

It feels good to be in this now familiar space with the three of them.

(Arrival!)

 

(Ready for an adventure)

 

 (But first a snack)

The worry evaporates, the pleasure of being together sets in.

And of course, it's grand to watch Primrose grow in confidence and maturity. (Again, I am grateful for a Zoom lens...)

(Classen treats!)

 

(A final look...)

I'm the first to complain about longer car rides (anything over 30 minutes feels long to me), but for this particular meetup, the ride is just fine. The radio is on (I'm so old fashioned), my thoughts fly to my kids and their families. And of course, the sun is out and the world looks lovely, even in November.

On the return trip, I stop at a farm that is selling Christmas trees. I always get a small tree from my Madison grocery store, but they are refusing to do curbside pickup or delivery of their trees and wreaths, so I'm happy to pick one up now, in this southern corner of Wisconsin.

 

But as I get out of the car and one of the young men approaches me to help with the selection, I can't help but feel disappointed that he is not wearing a mask. Neither are his siblings (they look like their sibs). I say no thanks and get back in the car. I want a tree I can feel happy about, from a business that cares about the safety of its shoppers. The tree purchase will have to wait until I can get to the nursery in town that does indeed do curbside pickup.

I get home in mid-afternoon. Ed has been knocking around the farmhouse. That wont do! It's a beautiful day, we need to walk! It's a challenge to find an empty space on this weekend, without hunters shooting at you, but we do find peace (and safety!) along a Nature Conservancy trail.

 

Such a beautiful day! And once again, there's a no fuss dinner (turkey leftovers!) waiting for us this evening. Thanksgiving just keeps on giving!