such a day

As always, let me focus on what is before me, here, in the Midwest, just a little south of Madison. In so many places around the world, terrible and wonderful things happen. I do not write about that. Others will step up to that job, I hope. Me, I continue to describe the wee things. Because (thank God) this is what is before me.

So here's a small thing. A wet, cold small thing: sleet, on and off throughout the day.





Lovely. (Note sarcasm, please.)

Breakfast was disturbed. Ed had to go off earlier than we had expected. So if I am to display breakfast photos, they'll be of the solitary kind. Like this:





I did a lot of house cleaning today. My little one is coming up from Chicago and as usual, I want to have the freshest finest farmhouse ready for her (and her fiance). Ed tells me -- she's already seen it clean. Why impress her again and again? I shoo him away. What does he know.

I do wish I could offer more of a spring palate for her, for all of us this weekend. Driving home from work, I saw the usual: brown on brown.





I stop at our local garden center (where they're hiding all annuals until some meteorological miracle happens and we cut out the cold already). I pick up my beloved summer alyssum for the pots (and more pansies and dianthus and trailing pelargonium,  and even, in a moment of optimism, potted lavender). To be planted when the gods are willing.





At home, meaning in the very clean farmhouse, I am just throwing foods together.





My mind is on the next two days. A deliciously protracted celebration of a birthday, of daughters, of life as I know it now.

Ed has been less insistent on repeating, as he did in the the first years we were together -- everyday is your birthday. Maybe he has figured out that everyday is not like a birthday and besides, my fixation on a birthday -- his, my daughters', my own -- is actually so very innocent. And so joyful.

There is very little harm in birthday joy.

let's focus on what's inside

The rain just will not let up. I wouldn't mind too much if in fact April showers brought out May flowers, but I tell you, the crocuses are sagging under the weight of all that wetness and even the yet to show their buds daffodils are looking like they've had enough moisture to last them a season. No, a couple of seasons. Streams are flooding, fields are burdened -- hey, are we officially over the drought yet?

So on this wet day, let's stay indoors, shall we? One quick look at the farmhouse outside and you'll understand why (though please do note that the daffodils and lilies are trying very hard, against all odds to make their presence felt).





Alright. So, breakfast. Picture an intimate table for two. In the glow of the warm lamp. You need the lamp. Too gloomy otherwise.





Ed comes down. We share a few minutes of wonderfulness.





After? Well, nothing worth mentioning here. A very long teaching day, followed by my weekly shopping trips to Whole Foods and Trader Joe's. But not to despair -- each store had tremendous flower deals. And so at home, I could make the indoor spaces shine. With this.





And this.





And this.





And that's a good thing, because I have very important guests this weekend. More on that later. For now, I'll leave you with a supper of left over chili. And one of those crazy salads that has everything imaginable in it. Our kind of meal. While the winds howl outside.

meals

You want to go out tonight?
This from Ed. He rarely asks and when he does, I rarely say yes. But today he asked and I said yes. True, it's a cold day and I do have a lot of work before me today and tomorrow, but I want that evening out so very much -- that time when we sit at the counter of a bar, eat mussels and french fries and occasionally (but not too frequently) comment about the state of our lives.





Because the weather has been so un-spring like and because of the various sniffles passing through the farmhouse, we haven't done much of our outdoor routines this year. We hide behind computer screens and we keep odd sleeping hours. Sometimes they overlap, oftentimes they do not.

But there are always the meals.

The breakfasts...





...the dinners. Sometimes lunches, or pickles at Paul's, or anytime anywhere, when food seems right and we seem ready for it. But dinners stand out because they are, after all, longest and if by chance we eat that meal out, it always becomes, therefore, important.

After dinner out, evening routines set in. We lose ourselves behind computer screens again and if I look up to see if perhaps there is some sweet little flick on TV (it's rare for either of us to think of TV as providing entertainment), I'm likely to see instead a scientific expose on the working of a machine lever or a pig gut. (Ed will turn on a science show whenever he thinks I'm not really paying attention.)

The rain continues. We hear it against the roof upstairs. A lovely sound. Especially if we're indoors with a quilt pulled high up against the chin.

today

I look at the sky, the setting sun and I think -- why must it be that luck (and the presence or absence of it)  figures so prominently in people's lives?


On the upside, I am not the only one that has had her share of good luck. But when luck fails, those of us who are on the side of fortune do recoil. How could it be...

The day, here in the Midwest, is lovely. Something to take note of. Sunshine. Not exactly warm, but warm enough.





...For breakfast in the sun room.





Weather-wise, flower-wise -- there's progress. Real progress.











But I cannot fully take it in. It's a tough working day, full of distractions -- good and bad. At the end of the day, I point Rosie toward the farmhouse and the work day fades, the world fades, all fades except for this wonderful moment of quiet and sunshine and the two guys coming up the walkway...






...for a dinner of chili, made from last year's garden tomatoes.

muskrat and love

Sometime late on a weekend night, my little one called me to let me know that she and her guy were engaged.

It's so interesting how someone's happiness can become your happiness so quickly! I love my girls more than earth itself and I sit here now and marvel how enormously lucky I am to have them partner up with men who are so fantastically, wonderfully good for them.

So there'll be a wedding ahead. In a year or so. And in the meantime there's the joy of sitting back and reveling in the sweetness of life -- their life and therefore (or in addition to) my life.


Now mind you, that's the big picture. If I am to consider the minutia of this day, I'd say that it was too deceptive! The morning is delightful, sunny, promising.






Farmer Lee's sister is back, surveying the field toward the rear of the farmette, assessing the work ahead.





We ask her if she would want more land to cultivate. We're fairly sure she understood the question. We think she said yes. Since Ed and I have chopped down the honeysuckle out back, more of the land can be used for cultivation.

The weather is so fine that I take Rosie to work again. But as I ride along, I think -- this is so lazy on my part. If I ride Rosie, I hardly move at all. And so I decide to park her just outside of the city proper and walk the remaining 40 minutes to campus.

Good idea! -- I tell myself. It's pretty along the lake.


 


I spot the wildlife (an otter), I admire the view over the rippling waters.





Fine. Okay. But somewhere in the course of the afternoon, the weather changes. By the time I leave my office, it's raining. Really raining. So now I have a forty minute walk in the pounding rain and then I have a wet Rosie waiting for me -- with the helmet dangling from her seat in such a perfect way as to catch all the rain.

I strap on the soaked helmet over strands of wet hair. The rain is relentless as I navigate Rosie carefully around the puddles. But it's okay! These are spring showers, right? We can expect April rain! And besides, somewhere in Chicago, there's one happy couple thinking, scheming about the future. Rain? How inconsequential! How utterly, in the scheme of things, trivial.


Late at night, Ed and I take a walk along the country roads that spin to the east of the farmette. It's cool and neither of us has much stamina and yet, spring tugs at us. Or maybe the events of the day, the good, the difficult -- all tug at us.

Spring is the beautiful season. Ah, were it to be so full of love always! For everyone.

Sunday

When Ed sneezes the whole house shakes. Since one sneeze is always followed by the next and then another, You could say that teh house was subject to multiple vibrations today.

Well good. We could use a shake up. And please, can we get rid of these morning weather surprises? Like this one?









At breakfast, we eat in the front room. Ed comes wrapped in a quilt. That tells me a lot about the state of his sinuses.











I go off to yoga. I'm back into it! My world feels good again. A routine is setting in.

At home, more crocuses are emerging.


 


The temps are inching up a bit today and so I do the brave thing of buying pansies. Pansies can take anything. pansies add the first batch of potted color. Pansies are beautiful.















You may find the landscape quite bleak still. Maybe you think that last year's lilacs were a better deal for the middle of April. Let me assure you, today felt grand. Sure, Ed is sneezing his life away, the flowers are shivering against the wind, but life is so full of promise right now that all's forgiven.

My daughter and her husband come for dinner. Ed sneezes a hardy welcome. Were you here, you'd smile and smile.

back again

Back to a regular weekend. Back to streaks of sunshine...





...back to yoga.

Nearly a month had passed. Here I am again, asking myself if I can be so yoga committed given... the state of existence.


I email back and forth with my sister in Sweden. In my mind, I am where I was the day I found my father had died. Nothing has shifted for me. I still think of him and Warsaw in one breath. When will I go back to it all? When? I wish I could take those steps soon. I do everything in life quickly. I don't wait, I don't hold back. Still, everything about him is (and has been, for decades now) out of my hands. He'd laugh at that. Or would he?

And if I go back for him now, this season, this year, is there any reason to go back after? This is, to me, the great imponderable.


In the meantime, the cold spell in Madison continues.


 


I talk to my mom. I wonder if I should be in California in the near future? I know it's been only a month, but it seems eons ago.


In the late afternoon Ed and I go to Menards -- a local home improvement store. We look at discounted planters for the pathway leading to the farmhouse. We examine them this way, that way. Yes, they'll do. Not too long ago, I would have insisted on clay pots that conjure up images of crumbling Italian villas in the northern regions of that country. But now, I just want containers that'll hold flowers.

In the evening I roast veggies, toss salads and scramble eggs.


 


It's our thrown together supper of foods -- only I make too much of everything. Ed looks at me curiously but I have no answers. There are foods, there is a stove, so I cook.

After, I listen to Bruch (and Beethoven and, well, Chopin). Music of this sort never answer questions for me but it opens up the airways and allows me to think. And that, I suppose, is a good thing.

spring, continued

Every morning we hear him banging downstairs. Against one window, then the next. Steadily, rhythmically. Bang!





What is the matter with you, bird? Do you want attention? Doesn't it hurt? Is it a lesson you refuse to learn?

Bang!

Bird, if you're protesting the absence of spring, get in line -- there are others before you.

Days that should have been outdoor days continue to be too cold, too wet, too early March like. And maybe that's a good thing: I need indoor time. Once events spun out of my grasp during spring break, I never had a chance to set things straight again. I'm still notifying entities about my father's death. Talking to police officers about identity theft (it's what needs to be done, even as it helps me or anyone else not at all).

Breakfast is late... Ed's sleeping long hours to get back on his feet and frankly, so am I. I feel like the adolescent who regards morning wake up time to be only a suggestion.





Still, I can't help but think that things would be further along and more pleasantly so, if only we would have before us a nice spell of sunshine.





 Sometimes I cannot believe that the ice has melted and the grass is turning green. Don't you need sun for spring to fully take hold?

Driving home, I pass my very favorite corner of forest and field. I pause because so often if you look hard here, you'll spot a bit of wild life. Sure enough, a deer moves quietly in between the woodsy limbs and branches. Had I not stopped, I wouldn't have spotted her. Everything remains lost in shades of gray. There is a beautiful canvas before me, but it is completely without color.




So, we wait for the sun (and we will continue to wait: in the next ten days, if you are to believe weather.com, there is not a single day of sunshine before us), for the true colors of spring.

Even as slowly, things move forward. Change comes for any number of reasons. The days are long, the snows have melted. Despite our feeling that spring is cheating us, you need only count the buds outside to know that seasons do not really wait. I expect to wake up any day now and be chasing off mosquitoes and fireflies.

Thursday

I suppose the good news is that we're to crack forty degrees  tomorrow. And if you think I did not notice that we stayed in the bone chilling wet thirties today, well I did notice, as did anyone having to step outside and face another dismal day of the coldest "spring" ever.

Ed stayed mostly indoors, which is a good thing as I did pass onto him the sniffles. If there is a way not to feel bad about it, I haven't figured it out yet.

We ate breakfast in the sun room. Out of guilt, I suppose. We haven't set foot here much this month. No sun. Of course, outside -- it rained and rained.





I had to go to work then. I'm dressed as for January and I still feel like I am just barely hanging in there. Such a nasty, wet week!

(And it doesn't help that the next week offers more of the same wet, cold, out of context stuff.)

So what can you do except maybe pick up that cheap bunch of tight tulips, along with some nuts and apple soda for your sweetie (at Trader Joe's) and head home.

joy?

It's odd that I should be so sprightly today -- on this day of the most ridiculous un-spring weather -- of icy rains that froze raindrops on budding branches.











But, I slept late (geez, louise, it's 8????), felt, for the first time in three days like I actually could get up, looked forward to breakfast...









...spoke to one daughter, saw the other one, went to work with a bounce.

Walking to my office from the parking lot, I'm thinking -- may as well share the joy and pick up cupcakes for the weary and battered in class...





(I choose not to remember too vividly that last year at this time, I could take my students for ice cream and the wind was balmy and the skies were blue and it felt like spring or perhaps even summer.)

It was, in so many ways, a wonderful day. True, the crocuses stage a protest. You call this spring? Forget it. Call us when it's the real deal.






And I cook what has to be a winter supper of tomato bean soup with roasted mushrooms.











But I am feeling maybe a million times better than the last four or five days and that is just so joyously wonderful that for once, the weather is irrelevant.

So I spend the evening lost in the melodies of youtube music. A sign of a good recovery: sadness that is self imposed.

upswing

Sometime in the middle of the night I thought the super bug had attacked me. That I was racing through life at fast forward and teetering at the edges. That sleep, wakefulness, Isis, Ed, the rain outside, all were there, and then were not there and then were there again. And maybe I'd survive the night and maybe I wouldn't but here I am, one breath older and anyway, isn't that daylight now and could it be that my head is clearing again?

That's when I knew that the tides had turned and that the cold was on its way out.

By morning, I am exhausted, but substantially better.



breakfast time


True, classes today are tough. But, students are forgiving and the clock moves forward and so the day ends with the sniffles receding and my future looking bright again. (Do note that I am ignoring the absolutely dismal weather we're having this week.)



 lunch time


God, I hate being sick.


 
dinner time

turning point?

I keep thinking that the sniffles surely are in their final act, that at any hour, I will feel the surge of good health, that a runny and bright red sore nose is about to return to something more attractive -- but no. Stuck in a drip -- like a plumbing fixture that defies fixing, drip drip drip, one side, the other, a never ending leak.

Immensely tired, dragged down, I consider taking a sick day. But frankly I have never in my life taken a sick day for something less than a brain hemorrhage. So instead I rifle through the drawer that some might call a medicinal drawer, except that it doesn't really have much in it. Motrin for when a daughter comes over and asks -- do you have a Motrin? But I do find Sudafed -- so I pop a pill and wonder why it is having no effect. I examine the box. Four years past the expiration date. Well now, maybe it's like planting old tomato seeds -- some (most) will take hold.

Immensely tired and drippy, I drag myself to class. And then I stay late, thinking that I should make a dent on classes for tomorrow and the next day and the next day because surely if I'm slated to only get worse, then I'll be in no position to fix things later on.

On the way home, I take note of our wonderful lakes. April 8th and still a tad icy. But not entirely. Don't you think we've reached the turning point? Doesn't it look like tomorrow the ice will be history?





I'll end with that photo. A reminder that ice melts, drips cease, days turn around. Patient: just have to be patient.