Wednesday

Ed wakes up this morning and mumbles through his half sleep -- I really need to be in a (Zoom) meeting in 15 minutes.

Well that wont do. It takes me all of an hour to tidy myself up, tidy the house, feed the animals and prepare breakfast.

Okay, but you're on your own for breakfast. There's no point in rushing the day for a quick crunch of fruit together. 

You know I told you about this.

You did not.

I did too! Last night! 

All we talked about before I went to bed was why there should be a strange cat outside on the porch.

Well that too...

 

It is not unusual for us to have this kind of back and forth. Ed intends to say something and then, in his mind, he thinks he said it out loud. Of course, you could say that I'm just not remembering things -- a fault of older years after all! But I tend not to be that forgetful about trivial details of our lives. 

Which brings me to the other marker of older years (in addition to from forgetfulness, leaving aside for the moment whether it is his or mine) -- hearing. When we watch our movie or show in the evening, I decide the volume, because whatever his choice would be, it is too quiet for me. Last night, as he handed me the remote, he said -- you know, there is this excellent hearing test on the internet that you can run for yourself. It tells you the degree of attrition in one or both ears. I took it to see the effect of being around a loud machine.

Ed always wears ear muffs when he rides the tractor-mower or operated heavy machinery. I do not. I get off the tractor with my head buzzing and I'm full of regrets about having passed on the ear guards, but somehow when the time comes around for me to ride that thing again, I neglect the guards and hop on once again. So maybe I should check my hearing?

All this is why in the morning -- a very lovely November morning at that! -- I feed the animals...

Eat breakfast not alone... 

(Wait, how did that happen? Well, he was on a break from his meeting and ran over to join me. Both silly and sweet all at the same time.)

... And at his meeting lunch break, we go out for a walk in the neighborhood (where I take no photos, so I'll just show off the farmette crab yet again!)

And then I sit down and run the hearing test. (You can do it here, but it has to be at a time when it's very quiet in your house!)

And the results? Probably much the same as Ed's -- some mild hearing loss that comes with our demographic. So why do I always ask him to turn up the TV? Because, I like it louder, and he likes it quieter. Is there a test for personality differences? Because I'm sure we'd score wildly differently on that one!

Tuesday

What's on my mind? Honestly -- food. I am still not going to grocery stores to shop (habit and caution are a powerful partnership) and so I have to weigh the size of the fridge (small) against the availability of core ingredients (uncertain) and the time I have to pull it all together (varies), in my stocking of foods in preparation for the upcoming holidays. I'm on top of it! -- I tell myself. But that's not really true. Until a the final dish is scraped clean after the last holiday meal, you're foolish to think you're anything but trotting along, with zigzags, faltering steps, setbacks and uphill climbs still before you.

Adding to my load, Dance is "mysteriously" let into the farmhouse this morning, waking me up with her sudden lumpy presence on the bed. Ed!

Morning walk...

Morning breakfast...

And then it's back to getting foods together for the week ahead, while Ed proceeds to paint the interior of the farmhouse.

 

 

You heard it here: he chose this moment to touch up big water marks in various rooms where the roof (ultimately repaired by him) sprung water leaks into the house. He's been meaning to do it and, well, it's cold outside, so this is seemingly good planning on his part. Me, I'd grown so used to the water marks (they're all on the ceiling), that it's like the ugly wallpaper you found in the house you moved into: after a few months you don't even notice it. I'm sure it will look great once he's done, or at least it wont look bad, but in the mean time, with ladders and paint cans everywhere, the house very much feels like it is in a state of chaos.

I turn my back on it all and mow down fallen leaves with the tractor-mower.

To this chaos I bring the girl, who notices some things with the precision of a Swiss horologist (like the presence of infinitesimally tiny spiders) and other things (like the presence of paint cans and ladders) not at all. 

We read, we play, and now it's time to head out again.

Home. Where Sparrow is just coming in from his day at school (only he is more bundled; Snowdrop can ignore the cold and skip the jacket on her walk to and from my car).

(Sandpiper - happy to have both sibs around again!)

("I'm hungry! I want some cashews!" "I'll wait until you ask nicely.")

For Ed and me, it's getting to be chili weather out there. Beans and tomatoes and bits of this and that, bubbling in my big yellow pot. The cats are content (all seven of them -- another came along for the ride tonight), we're content. What more could you possibly want! (Ed, can we put away the paint cans by the weekend? Thank you!)

oldest - youngest

I do not know a single person who does not contemplate on a fairly regular basis their age. Oh they may claim otherwise -- all that nonsense about not counting, not paying attention to it -- but from what I've seen, people proceed being mindful of where they fall on the timeline of one's life. I mean, how many times have you heard me say "I am 68!" As if you cared. I say it because I suppose it has meaning for me.

November 15th has always been the day I regard as belonging to my mother. She turned 98 today and so she is officially the oldest person who makes a regular appearance on Ocean. Until a couple of years ago, she lived independently in her own apartment downtown, but just as the pandemic hit us, she moved into assisted living units (what incredible timing!), so that the chores of cooking, cleaning, resupplying medications, driving to see a doc -- these now belong to her providers of care rather than to her. 

My mom doesn't like celebrations so no one is making a fuss on her birthday. Nonetheless, on this still rather colorful day of November...

After an oatmeal breakfast...

Ed and I go to her place to tweak some technology for her and deliver some trivial stuff.

Happy birthday, mom! 

She lives not too far from my older daughter's home and so we stop by there next to drop off stuff at their place. The two big kids are at school, but Sandpiper is home. He is, for now, the youngest person to make a regular appearance here on Ocean. In ten days he will be half a year old! Wait, only half a year? He looks like he owns the bean bag! Lord of hygge coziness! King of the blankies, delightfully cheerful just about all the time.

There you have it: family, with all that it represents, from the wee months of babyhood, to the (one hopes) calmer moments of senior living. There's a lot that happens in between. My mom can reflect upon it, Sandpiper can look forward to it. Life, as we know and love it to pieces!

With love...

 

Sunday

Each year, right about this time, I make food lists for the coming holidays. Anything that you can do in advance is a great help. And so I begin.

My starting point is always a review of what I did last year and what I can carry over into this year's holidays. It's tricky because our holidays are never the same. Sometimes we have the Madison young family for Thanksgiving Day and that's it. Sometimes (rarely), it's just Ed and me. Sometimes (also rarely) everyone is here. And of course, last year was crazy lonely for everyone, since no one ate with anybody else. We were all in our separate bubbles, zooming, but otherwise keeping our distance.

Compared then to 2020, anything is an improvement. And indeed, this year is several steps in a terrific direction. Still a little funky and goofy, but pretty good, considering.

The trick this year is that the holiday for me starts early and lasts for several days. So meals have to be carefully planned. Grocery lists have to take into account limited fridge space. My energy level has to be split perfectly between all days, since one is no more no less important than the next. And it's all saddled into the regular rhythm of a week. I mean, it's not as if for Thanksgiving week there are meals to do and nothing else. Kids still come to the farmhouse, Ed still messes up the couch cover, the cats still demand their time of face and belly rubs. 

I'm thinking of all this on the cold days of a nippy and wet, but still mightily golden mid-November. 

(Last year at this time, not a leaf was left hanging on the maples or the crab apples. This year? Look above, look below.)

Sunday is the one day of the week when I have much to do inside and rarely need to be anywhere beyond the farmette boundaries. The kitchen is my focal point. From breakfast onward.

 

 

 

Evening dinner for the family is my anchor. 

I rarely take many photos when the young guys come over. There's a lot of activity everywhere! But today, there were these clusters of kids in various places that just begged for a camera shot.

(And then Sparrow joins in...)

(And mommy takes the babe...)

(And of course there is dinner...)

(And then there is this cluster again, this time on the couch...)

Seems to me winter snuggling urges are starting to take hold. I have no problem with that!

With love.

the books we read

There was this period of time in my daughters' lives when they were already readers, nonetheless we still had evening hours where I read out loud to them. They are three and a half years apart, but I never dumbed-down the books to meet the needs of the younger girl. I could always find something that would be good for the three of us. 

I loved those reading hours! Kids' books can be very very good -- from the classics (my adored Anne of Green Gables), to more contemporary stuff. The goal was to keep the themes moving through different times and places. To shed some light on economic disparity and cultural traditions that were foreign to us. But what was often difficult was to find books where the protagonists were of mixed race or of a different race. It's not that there were none, but my local bookstore (Borders) didn't carry many. Oftentimes there would be the token Black or Asian girl in the mix, but they seldom were the central characters to the story.

Too, what I really missed were books with diverse characters, but that weren't necessarily accounts of extraordinarily accomplished people. I have always loved stories where the characters are ordinary, complicated people like you and me. Only with various perspectives born of different life experiences. 

Two things I can say right now: such books are easier to find these days (thank you, internet), and also my grandkids are at the age where reading with them is an act of total pleasure. The books are good! I get as much involved in the dramatic twists and turns of the daily lives of these people as they do. I shed happy tears when a problem resolves itself in a good way! 

I say this because my Saturday had some of those reading hours smack in the middle. It's wet and cold outside and we pretty much ignore the Great Outdoors. 

I eat a bowl of fruit alone (Ed sleeps in)...

... and then I go off to do my Saturday run to the bakery to pick up croissants and baguettes. Some for the farmhouse, some for the young family. (And I am surprised to see a looooong line at the bakery! This is a great sign, in my view. We are all becoming delicious bread addicts!)

I hang out with my daughter, with Snowdrop, and Sandpiper (while Sparrow is at his multi-sport activity with his dad).

(She is teaching him relaxation techniques...)

And then Snowdrop comes home with me and we finish the several remaining chapters of Ways to Make Sunshine, by Renee Watson. It's like Ramona (down to the Portland setting), only modern and the family is Black. Does it matter? Yeah, I think it does. We aren't at a stage where we can ignore race in our recounting of daily life. I think Watson's books are fantastically clever in their simple recounts of daily life. Such welcome additions to our collection of favorites!

 

(Just one photo! Okay...)

 

 

Evening. That beautiful November quiet sets in. Candle flickers. I start in on the planning of Thanksgiving week meals.

creating something

Putting together ideas gathered from the shreds of your day. Building something out of bits and pieces of nothing. Searching for words to form a clever or colorful sentence. Arranging bits of plastic and toilet paper and painted wood to create a story. Having some of this in your day is what makes it sing! Snowdrop would agree. Yesterday, after we had had our fill of reading, she went off to the playroom and brought together these important elements of a story that was churning inside her. She worked tirelessly in arranging everything on the table just so, in the same way that I might struggle with a sentence in one of my book projects, or reach for threads of the day that might create a post for Ocean. (Today she returned to it.)

People say you need nothing tangible to spark an imaginative thought. Creativity will allow you to use anything within reach or nothing at all to build something satisfying. Maybe. But we have our muses and props and candles and plastic Lego pieces and glass birds and toilet paper rolls that fuel our creative juices. So, what did you use today to help you along? Me, I stuck with the candle (Holiday Pine, by Kobo) and some rose hips in a vase. Same stuff that adorned the kitchen table at breakfast.

I like small props. A cup of tea, a tiny Christmas tree in December. Beautifully crafted chocolates. Things that relax the brain and inspire me to look at life in a new way. 

Lately, I haven't been writing much (except for Ocean posts), but today, as we went through typical November stuff -- a wet mix of rain and snow -- I had that urge to put the candle on my writing table and dig out my Great Writing Project no. 2.

November is the perfect month for writing. I did not get to it, but it doesn't matter. The strong urge is there -- that's a step in the right direction. A gift from a beautifully wet November day.

 

 

(Do you remember a school day from your past when the first snow came down outside? A child would notice the wet flakes and spread the word. Kids would be on their feet, the teacher would seek to restore order, but there would be a smile tugging at the corners of her or his mouth. The first snowflakes are always magical!)

Today's moment of snow-showers:

In the afternoon, I again bring the little girl here after school. By then, any wet flake of lingering snow has melted. But the memory is there. That and the promise of more to come in the weeks ahead.

For some known only to her reason, Snowdrop goes immediately to the art room and begins to draw. She has an idea (it has to do with love) and a need to run with it.

I think kids have a constant stream of sparks pushing them to create. Me, I'm still feeling good about my one moment of inspiration from this morning! Hmm... maybe I need to bring together a few more small props...

Thursday

Three memorable chunks to this cold and wet day. 

First of all, my friend, the one who lives in New Mexico, is in town. Usually we like to meet up in coffee shops, but I'm not that bold during the pandemic and so instead, we spend our morning at the farmhouse kitchen table. Like this:

I think it's been a while since we had a good, long visit. There was a lot of ground to cover!

 

Second chunk? Oh, picking up Snowdrop, not only at school...

... but then, even more importantly, at another school, where she went with her dad to get her Covid vaccination. I sat in the car and waited, because she wanted to come to the farmhouse afterwards. I watched many, many kids walk in with their parents. Some took pictures by the sign (as I did too, when she came out!)...

All were practically bouncing to go in! Brisk steps, on this momentous day when they finally inch closer to safety -- for themselves, for their families, for their schools and communities. Snowdrop was exuberant and proud! 

 

 

 

We'll be waiting now for the younger guys to get their turn...

 

(At the farmette, it's cold. I hope Snowdrop wants to go straight in! Yes she does. With just a quick detour.)

 

 

Third chunk? Oh, the beautiful evening at home, with Ed. I've started lighting a candle that has a very faint pine forest aroma. It's not at all perfumy. Very subtle: you say to yourself -- is there a candle, or is it a window cracked open unto a forest?  

Dinner dishes put away, one more chocolate divided between the two of us. I pour a glass of wine to celebrate the true coming of November. A little cold, a little dark. The way it should be. To the progression of seasons!

With love...

the price we pay

As we basked in the sunshine on toasty autumnal days, week after week, all the way into November, I had this nagging thought that this is not right. It's a sugar high: artificial and definitely not good for us. Wisconsin needs the cold in the same way that your perishables need to be placed in the refrigerator. Last night I had proof of this.

I had known that something was wrong with my right arm, but you know, when you're 68, you tend to ignore most irritants unless they persist and intensify. Still, as I went upstairs to bed, I gave it a good look as I took off my shirt. Sure enough, I had a fully embedded tick. And man oh man, was it embedded. Ed and I both tried to work it out with tweezers. We got most of it. Who knows how long it had been there. The inner part of the upper arm is not exactly a spot I'd look at in the course of the day. 

What's remarkable is that I'd been fully clothed during the most vulnerable parts of the week, when we were hiking. Your best defense against ticks is to wear long pants, long sleeves, etc. And in November? Who ever heard of ticks in November? Oh, but wait: this November didn't have the killer frosts and cold temperatures. Instead, it had sunshine and temps straight out of late summer. And so the ticks live on.

We considered if it was in fact a Lyme bearing tick and decided that evidence (red halo, etc) was suggestive. Since time is of essence in terms of successful intervention, I spent the morning at my clinic showing off my remarkable puffed out arm (the conclusion? early stage Lyme disease), and picking up meds at my local pharmacy.

It's rather a mundane story, but it does add strength to that old saying -- be careful what you wish for. As I said before, we can't be too in love with weirdly warm weather. It doesn't belong here in November. Let's get down to the bracing cold stuff that is more in line with what we need to keep us and the flora and fauna healthy.

In other news -- the colors are still so very pretty! I know you're tired of seeing the farmhouse in my posts, but each morning, I look out on it, framed as it is in the gold of the front maples, and I think -- so pretty!

Breakfast. Waiting for Ed.

What else to add -- how about this tiny tidbit: I found a seasonal hand soap that I like.  Can you guess why? (Yes, it's named after my oldest granddaughter -- Snowdrop!)

And so my thoughts fall back to the November of cold temps, of forecasts that mention snow showers (remember those??), of the gentle hum of a furnace, and of long winter nights with many great books loaded onto my Kindle.