Thursday - 279th

So many lovely moments! Perhaps not in the predictable places. Morning walk was okay, but I held a can of rotted cat food in my hand so I missed my moment of meditation. Less like ahhhhhh and more like yuk. 

A message then from my friend who was in the hospital, undergoing surgery. It went well! Yes!

And breakfast is sweet, though we have a visitor who grabs Ed's attention.

Then the kids come. Their arrival is always so terrific that I make sure I can be outside to greet them.

Inside, we are preparing for something that I cannot mention because it's a wee surprise for parental types. Suffice it to say that Snowdrop excitedly brought from home bits an pieces of an outfit she wants to use as a costume. Good for her! Making do with what's available. (Checking it out in the mirror upstairs.)

We practice.

Well, just Snowdrop. Sparrow balks. He only wants to practice something that would have him "dress up" in the only way he knows how: with a dress. I try to coax him out of it, but he dug in his little heels.

Snowdrop then begs for a reread of one of her favorite books. I agree, so long as Sparrow is engaged in independent play. And the little guy more than cooperates and we are able to finish the whole book. We do, of course, pause for remote kindergarten.

What a difference a day makes: Snowdrop has an interesting combo of kids in her "playgroup" and I could see she is, for once, engaged and happy.

(Sparrow tries out the school desk, at other times used as our wee coffee table...)

I have the kids back home by 2, because the teacher is doing something sweet this afternoon -- visiting each child in her or his home. To wave from behind a window or a door. To exchange greetings. Real contact. A real treat.

 I hurry home to Ed and propose skiing. Sixth day in a row, on a modest base of snow -- not bad. 

Sunset...

This is when I get the message that there has been an unexpected death in the family. A father to my son in law, a grandpa to the kids. Covid did not kill him, but dying at the time of Covid is especially tough on those who are left behind. I know Grandma T is a loyal Ocean reader. Let me just end with a warm hug.

Do know that we are all with you tonight.

With love.

Wednesday - 278th

I know that for a long time I will associate Wednesdays with no school days. Like French children only different! (Until very recently, schools in France used to be closed Wednesdays.)

All the sunshine streaks come early today. I get them for my morning walk, then they disappear.

And speaking of disappearance, where is Ed? He sleeps through breakfast and I don't have the heart to wake him.

He awakes (to a degree) just as the kids show up.  

So, no school, all play! They offer no objection.

But as the sun disappears, so does the motivation to play outside. And I'm okay with that! I'm still living down pulling a sled load of trouble (she is 40 pounds, he is 30...) and, in the alternative, holding a boy whose snow pants are as slippery as the skin of an eel. 

We do art instead. That's always fun and requires nothing more than taping together pages of the next Super Pig book. By Snowdrop. Sparrow sticks with drawing monsters. Eating spaghetti, he tells me. I can see it! A smiling monster!

Lunch, with Ed. Because there's an extra pizza slice.

And eventually they go home and I return just in time to squeeze in a loop of cross country skiing in our county forest. This time with Ed.

[Someone noted that I should be cautious skiing alone. Sure, though I cannot emphasize how tame these trails are and how many decades of skiing I have behind me. Though I don't much care for skiing after sunset. That wont happen again.]

On the way home, we pass a small herd of deer. Not unusual for around here. Deer visit the farmette every night. Still, when you see them against a snow covered field, they take your breath away. 

Your eyes probably aren't drawn to the gray skies, but up there above them (can you see him?), a powered paraglider is doing his rather regular evening journey. We spot him almost as often as we see deer around here. But the animals are spooked by the noise of the motor and come running toward us. Yes, it's a beautiful gallop...

... but it's sad, too. They were disturbed and now they're coming closer to the road.

 

 

This is so dangerous for them! And of course, for drivers too. In Wisconsin, a car hits a deer several times each day of the year and our county has more road accidents involving deer than any other (it has the wrong combination of heavier traffic with a significant deer population). Indeed, you want to watch a hawk tear up the flesh of a deer? Just walk a quarter of a mile up our road. On full display.  So I slow down now, much to the dismay of a pickup truck behind me. Honk away, buddy! It's dusk. I'm not speeding ahead!

Evening. Time to cook up those summer tomatoes and open up some good kidney beans and black beans. Yep, chili night! So appropriate for this cold December night. Ed says -- a real after-ski supper. Yes it is.

Tuesday - 277th

Change can be nice and in these days where Ed and I are isolating at home, even small changes can seem interesting. So today counts as, well, interesting and therefore good!

Winter is really digging in. I wake up to 14F (-10C) and quite frankly, it's not going to get much warmer than that today. But we're used to it by now. And we are lucky to have a lovely snow cover -- there's nothing bleak about the landscape.

Breakfast, cozy once again.

And immediately after, Ed and I go skiing. This is the big flip: in our period of isolation, when the kids are here, they almost always arrive early in the morning. But today it's all moved about. Snowdrop is coming a little later (while her brother naps at home), which means that if Ed and I are to ski, we must ski now!

I feel like I was the last person yesterday on the trail of our county park and perhaps the first out on the trail today. But that's just fine -- it's a reasonably good snow cover and the ski trail is a favorite of ours.

And only a five minute drive from the farmette. Talk about lucky!

Shortly after, the little girl comes and we have before us an afternoon of play. First on the agenda? Go outside!

And can I really turn down those pleading eyes when they ask once again for a sled spin around farmette lands? I cannot.

(Added fun: spraying Gaga with snow...)

 

(Snow pants are magical: they let you lie down in snow to no ill effect...)

And eventually, quiet play inside.

 

Evening. A bit emotional actually and that, too, is different. Sad for the losses endured this year, but also so proud of scientists who developed the exit out of this mess. If you didn't cry watching those trucks roll out with the first vaccines, then you're made of stronger stuff than I am!

Yes, a good day.

Monday - 276th

I look outside and I think -- looks like January out there! It's bitter cold, but the skies are clearing and that streak of sunshine is glorious. It's what makes winters not so bad here, in the upper Midwest. Gently blue skies, clinging snow -- all so beautiful!

But slippery. Our walkway to the farmhouse has patches of ice that I cannot get rid of. I chip away some more because one child I know has a very enthusiastic gait as she saunters to the farmhouse door. These are not good days to nurse broken ankles.

My morning walk...

And our morning breakfast.

The kids arrive soon after.

It's a (remote) school day for Snowdrop and as usual, she has two of her lesson sessions here at the farmhouse. It is to be expected that some of these are more successful than others. I'd say today's classes ranked a bit low on the satisfaction scale. There was the usual scramble to get the right materials -- some we anticipated, others not so much. Instead of counting blocks, we substituted with plastic toy fruits. But it was the second session that was the real challenge.

There was a lot of fast coloring and fast cutting and fast gluing, all in the supposed companionship of a class mate. This may have been okay, but Snowdrop's mate does not engage and so the mandated conversation is... nonexistent.

Of course, this is school: sometimes tedious, but nonetheless teaching you skills -- in this case at maneuvering difficult collegial relations. Though in remote learning, you don't get to break away from the tedium to play with your pal. Snowdrop managed to get through the sessions without complaining, but I could tell she was dispirited by the day's class times.

I might add that there is a benefit from having an adult there at the sidelines: I have a chance to coach the little girl a little. To suggest that perhaps making silly faces while on screen is not a good idea. (Sometimes I'll hear her say something a wee bit testy and I'll look at her with wide eyes and she'll smile and say -- don't worry, Gogs, I muted it!)

Sparrow plays some and watches some and in general is quite the agreeable little chap...

 

... until it is time for the three of us to go out for our big outdoor play. Snowdrop had been looking forward to more farmette snow time and the sun makes this more than pleasurable, despite the deep freeze.

But for Sparrow, the burden of winter gear is just too much. He can stand...

... and he can take some steps, IF the snow isn't too deep and the ground isn't too slick. On this wintry day, that's a tough order and the little guy inevitably opts for the sled. 

And once he chooses the sled, then so does she.

And this is how Gogs winds up pushing two lugs up and down the paths of the farmette lands. It is not easy going (except for the downhill parts)! 

Okay, everyone, get off!

Snowdrop is energized by the winter romp... 

 

 

 

... and I try to do some fun sled stuff with just Sparrow to keep his spirits high, but one sharp turn causes the sled to flip and the boy to fall into a drift of snow. That pretty much puts the lid on his willingness to do anything more out there. Gaga hold me! 

It's time to take the kids home.

The sun has almost set and still, I am determined to do a cross country ski loop today. Ed unfortunately is tied up with work and so it's just me out there in our county park.

(The first thin layer of ice on Lake Waubesa)

It's nearly dark by the time I return home.

But darkness is pretty in December. The lights, inside and out are colorful, the candles -- very evocative. I put on the music of the season and wait for my cheeks to defrost from the outdoor spin on skis.

Sunday - 275th

 Is it better to do a small bit here and there, touching everything but finishing nothing? Or, should you do one thing but do it with care and exactitude? Don't tell me the latter, because my day was a ragbag of odds and ends. But, as is often the case, scraps and bits of cloth can be so pretty in their own right. It may not matter that they're never sewn together to form something useful and enduring.

A cold day. Let's start with that. Below freezing, all day. Yesterday's snow is crispy and in places, a bit slick. But very lovely!

 

 

 

(The cats keep an eye on me as I do my morning walk. Perhaps they believe I'm on a mouse hunt myself...)

Inside again, I do some spot cleaning. I just don't have time for a major anything. But that's okay! If you came over, you'd think things were tidy enough!

A late breakfast.

I realize then that I am short on a bunch of groceries. An hour of shopping. On line. For delivery later in the afternoon.

And then it strikes me that I am supposed to wrap gifts today. 

I carry them all down, I decide on papers. I get to maybe 5% of what I have to do before Christmas. But hey! The few boxes under the tree look very pretty!

Ed reminds me that we promised ourselves a skiing adventure. Not a long one. Just to our local park. Let's go! Now!

Again, it's a minimalist adventure: one loop, in the silence of a beautiful winter afternoon.

But it's enough! You don't need a whole day in the forest to feel regenerated by its quiet embrace. A hug never lasts long and yet it soothes you. Is a short moment in the woods any different?

And now I am home and I need to get dinner going. I have just enough time to cook up a standard family supper. I can throw in some roasted beets and peppers and cheeses for a predinner munch. Sometimes you can stitch together something special out of nothing.

The young family comes.

And now there's nothing rushed about the day. This is when we allow ourselves to slow down. I'll go back to hop scotching my way through the day tomorrow and the next day. But now -- t's evening. Me, I still have to write my post, but you -- maybe you can allow yourself some couch time. With someone, alone, with a book, maybe music? Definitely a candle. Maybe some popcorn.

This is the time to work on generating hope for the next day and the one after that.

With love...