being late

If I'm on a plane or a bus and I see that we're running late, I shrug my shoulders. Nothing I can do about it. It will be as it will be.

But if I'm driving or walking, I struggle and I fret. I'm in control, after all. If I'm even later than late, it's my fault.

I have an 8 o'clock morning appointment. Stupid, right? Who makes such early appointments when their day follows no schedule and can easily accommodate a later time? Worse: today is the day of snow. The kind that grinds rush hour traffic to a halt. A fifteen minute drive turns into a forty-five minute trip and so I am late and panting and as anxious as I knew myself to be in the years that I rushed to be at work on time.

There is no lesson here (except maybe to pay more attention to weather forecasts). But I remembered the agony of rushing. And again I felt the privilege of retirement.


Breakfast was (therefore) late. Nearly noon by the time I returned for it.





And after? Well, I needed to go back to tapes I had of my father's recollections of his childhood. He had insisted on creating this record five years ago and now, nearly a year after his death, I finally play them again. No, not an easy task. But each time I listen to my parents, I hear something new, even if it is a repeat of a known to me story. So I listen. For several hours. Until Ed comes up from the sheep shed and suggests we go on a brief shopping expedition to Walmart. (Always fun exactly because it is so terribly not fun.)

The snow flurries pick up again and the winds howl.


 


It is a good night to come back to the farmhouse to a hot pot of homemade chili.

Monday

What a beautiful day! Glorious sunshine, a climbing thermometer, peaking at 40F, gentle winds, blue skies.

I saw none of it. I lived the traditional Monday: appointments, meetings (some of them quite delightful, don't get me wrong here), and time set aside to clear my office (remember -- I decided I'd give it eight hours total; today I put in my second set of two). All indoors.

A shame, you say? Well yes. But it's different when you know that these busy days are the exception. That there will be plenty of sunshine to take in -- if not tomorrow, then the next day, week, month, season.

So I succumb to it and I cluster as much as I can in this one day and so I disappear after breakfast...












...and knowing that I would be immersed in people, and not ones who would wish or expect to be photographed, for the first time in a very long time, I leave my camera at home.

And so the next photo will be from when I came back to the farmette. After the sun had already set.





It is still quite warm -- just at freezing -- and I chip away a little at the ice in the driveway, though I can do no more than create a path leading to the road.

A magnificent moon rises to just above the pines at the edge of the farmette.  I have to smile then. No matter what, at the end of the day, whether you work or you're retired, we all share that moon and that's a good thing.

not thawed enough

Warmth, or pseudo warmth in January -- it's a mixed blessing. You love it, reluctantly. Snow gets really brittle. It melts, it freezes, there's ice.

So much ice.

My little girl and her fiancee drive back to Chicago. After breakfast...





....I mope about the fact that kids don't stay tied to apron-strings, even as I don't really mean to mope about it.

The temperature outside climbs.

I suggest a walk. Oregon maybe? -- this from Ed. We rarely walk around in this town just south of us.

It's dismal: windy, slippery, very very slippery. One person out and about. That's it.





Still, this is winter in the upper Midwest: days of ice, days of snow, gray days, sunny days, mixed up days.

We take out shovels and chip away at the thick ice in the drivway. Forget it. Visitors will have to slide their way to our doorstep.

Sunday. My older girl and her husband are here for dinner. We eat, we watch a bit of the Golden Globes.






When they leave, I tell them many times to be careful in the ice. This will be my parting piece of advice to anyone who comes to the farmhouse in the remaining months of winter: watch out for the ice! Yes, watch out. Stay warm and happy, walk cautiously. Winter words. Winter weather.

birthdays

We're big on them: family birthdays. We travel for them -- or some date close to them, we wrap presents in colorful paper, we sing and blow out candles. (Of course, when I say *we,* you surely will have guessed that I exclude Ed from that configuration. Though he is, these days, so content to observe from the sidelines.)

Today is the day we celebrate my little girl's birthday. And she is sweet enough to drive up from Chicago with her fiancee for the occasion.

So that sets the day. Ed and I scrub the farmhouse. Breakfast, therefore, is very late.






And then the children come...

And for once, Isis doesn't run away. In fact, he takes to drinking water from anyone who places a glass on a table. (I wash a lot of glasses this evening.)






We go to Brasserie V for dinner. No reservations there, so we spend some time at the bar waiting for a table. Here they are -- my girls and their guys. I tell Ed that this is the most heavenly of moments.






But the evening really belongs to my littlest one. It's her celebration!






Out comes the cake piece, the candle... She hushes us as we break out into song perhaps a bit too loudly. She's onto her thirtieth year. An important year, a great year.

Happy birthday to you!






And the kids stay on in town and Ed and I retreat back to the farmhouse, because really, we succumb to Cinderella dust far earlier than they do. And that, perhaps, is not a bad thing.

return

Break's over. Time to go back. The predicted rain never came to Venice Florida. The air was warm, the skies were beautifully varied. I'm grateful for that.

This morning, I have just enough time for one quick look at the sea, the birds, that half-brooding sky at sunrise.









And, of course, breakfast with my friend.





And then it's back onto the highway, back on the plane, this time on an aircraft without a missing window, back to Detroit and back to Madison. (Which greets me with dense fog and freezing rain -- thanks! This, after I swore my allegiance to all seasons here!)

Still, I am back. It is officially my last day of work but I don't go in. I mean, this date is so oddly out of sync with reality anyway. I felt retired after I handed in graded exams and now I feel a little less retired as I have a half dozen students wanting to meet with me and review their tests. Emails from so many of them come in, nice emails, super kind emails, but student needs are ongoing. Should I respond -- no, I am off payroll now? Of course not.

At home I cook up whatever has lasted in the refrigerator this long -- vegetables, eggs, salad fixings. A typical farmhouse thrown together supper.
Did you miss me? -- I ask Ed.
Of course! -- he responds, but it's an automatic pilot response.  I smile. I'll take it in any way it's offered. Isis comes up on the couch and sits between us, pushing his nose into me. He needs a pat and a kind word. Not hard, not hard at all. 

interlude

I love seasons. I do. I'm one of the few that didn't even especially mind the polar vortex! But I do think that during winter, I simply forget (in other words block) how heavenly is to live more or less outdoors: to take the computer to a deck or porch, to walk on a whim, without coat, fuss or bother, to go in, go out, go in, go out all day long.

So of course, with my friend down south, by the sea, I am luxuriating in the effortlessness of slipping out early in the morning, to catch the overcast but warm air. A snapshopt from that: in the lagoon, a bird on a rope:







And then my friend and I eat breakfast...






And after, we both go out and this time we take a seaside path...






And we spend a considerable amount of time watching the birds, always a vaudeville show of hilarity and charm...





















...and then turn around and return, ankle deep in water.

I mean, it's heaven to a starved for warm air soul. Even as I do love Wisconsin! All season! I do!

But it is great to be here for this interlude in Florida.


Not many words today -- no time left in the day for that. But I will take you back to the sea as I walk yet again, for miles (my friend has to work), from lunch until sunset. Here are pieces of that walk, to keep us all warm until spring:




































In the evening, my friend cooks dinner at home and it's all such luxury because I do nothing at all (except continue to try to learn Lightroom5, resulting in a corruption of all my flicker/lightroom photos -- sorry evening Ocean readers! --  but this is the way it is when you learn new things: you stumble).

A huge thanks to these guys for hosting me here for this heavenly spell in their beautiful little white house by the sea:






Tomorrow morning I fly back to Wisconsin.

Florida

I am on a flight from Detroit to Ft Meyers and I am breathing a deep sigh of relief. There are a thousand reasons why a flight out of the Midwest this week may well have been cancelled, but the biggest reason for my quite possibly not being on this flight had nothing to do with the polar vortex. It had to do with me being just too damn cavalier about travel.

To have you understand how stupid I was about this trip, I'll say this much. At 8 a.m. I considered fitting in an exercise module before heading out to the airport. I began watering plants that only more or less needed water. I asked Ed what he would like for breakfast. And then I glanced at the kitchen clock. 8:02. Wait a minute! Doesn't my flight take off at 9?!

It does. And it did. And I was on it only because Ed knows how to fly down stairs when called upon to do so, and the Ford Escort started despite the -11F reading outside, and I live twenty-seven minutes away from the airport (if I really step on it and no police officer flags me down). Credit should also be given to passengers who let me budge toward the front of the line at security, though honestly, by that time I knew I was safe.

I cannot easily explain my lackadaisical morning. Ed and I were exchanging Internet stories as early as 6 in the morning. I was in no hurry -- I had plenty of time. But somehow in my mind's eye, I fixed the departure time from the farmhouse at 8:30 instead of 7:30 and I simply never altered that image, even as another part of my mind knew that the flight took off at 9. Put it this way: I know how to compartmentalize and sometimes this serves me well. This was not one of those times.

So no photo of breakfast today. I popped a granola bar into my pocket and in Detroit splurged on a Starbucks (it's been years, it seems) and there, too, I was lucky because I had the briefest possible connection time, which this week should have made for a disaster, but I am flying on the first day of the year when there are no flying issues at all and so now here I am on the plane to Ft. Myers.

And as the plane pushes off above the frozen tundra that is the Midwest, the passenger behind me says (in between coughing fits, how pleasant is that!)  -- good bye ice and snow for the year!

There are a lot of seniors on this flight heading south for the season.

And I am one of them, albeit for the briefest possible season of only one day.

Well you might ask -- why go now, why Ft. Myers and why so short?

I hadn't planned on a Florida trip, but my good friend just this week moved with her husband to a new home by the sea (in Venice) and everything about this move spiked my curiosity so here I am, their official first overnight visitor.

How is Florida, you ask?

Well, actually cloudy on the day I arrive, but my God! It's in the sixties! I'm tempted to drive from the airport with the window down, but I'm still fighting the chill of the Midwest and, too, of the Delta flight which, quite unfortunately, had a window that was broken on the plane and that window happened to be by my seat and so I had a nifty breeze coming in from way up high where the temps are EVEN COLDER than down below (if you're wondering why I wasn't sucked out and sent flying down to earth -- well, there was one thin piece of glass still standing between me and the great expanse out there... but it was cold!)

I cannot come to Florida without posting this:







And of course, the sea. (Is the Gulf of Mexico a sea?)







And at dinner, I'm told that grouper is to Florida like whitefish is to Wisconsin. So we go to their local pub and get grouper sandwiches.







And tomorrow I plan on spending most of the day outdoors because you know what? I'm not likely to get frostbite.

forgetting about the cold...

...isn't this the perfect day to not go anywhere?

Yes, yes, we woke to bitter cold again. I can't now remember the exact temperature reading. -17 maybe?

It can wear on you, this crazy weather stuff. Cars, pipes, roads, moods freeze. And so it can be tough to just sit back, do your yoga poses and sip chamomile tea, reveling in your good fortune, while others struggle.

But, let's just focus on the delightful bits of prettiness that come with a snowy and sunny day, forgetting for a minute about the cold.

First, a quick walk of the land. There's a ribbon of blue in the sky. That's promising!






Yes, that's right! The clouds are breaking, too, over the farmhouse, creating a dapple of blue over the yellow building.






It's not quite sunny enough for the (otherwise cool) sun room, so we eat breakfast in the kitchen.






Then,  you're going to think this is random, but I did take time to photograph the blooming orchid that sits on a southern farmhouse window. Just because I'm learning my Lightroom Program and I need more than winter scenery to keep my camera (and me) happy. The background in the photo isn't a white wall or curtain. It's snow.





Okay, back to something that looks more like my world right now. The barn, now against a truly blue sky.






All fine and well, but what did I do today? Take brisk runs around the farmette? No, that's just the photographed part. On a day like this, if you have the time, you pull out all stops and get going on all the wonderful projects that you have up your sleeve. Someone told me a few days ago -- if you retire, you'll do less, because you will have so much time that you wont push yourself.

Push? Is there a push? I do not need a push!


In the evening, I go to dinner with Ed and a machinist colleague of his -- someone who is working on a project that overlaps somewhat with the work that Ed likes to do (design tools and machines). I learn a lot when these guys get fired up over an idea or over a past idea. Oftentimes as I listen, I lose the thread of the story. The technical detail is too much. And still, I like to follow the big picture. The whys, the wherefroms. Enthusiasm is a catchy thing. Tonight, some of theirs rubs off on me. (And so my cup of enthusiasm is spilling over right now!)

Tomorrow morning I'm off to Venice, Florida. Just for two nights. I'll tell you the whys of that trip once I get there.

mustn't get soft...

I wake up before dawn. There is a certain amount of curiosity that one has about rare weather events. Polar vortex! What's it like outside? How brutal is it to stand facing the wind today? I check the temperature. Just shy of -20F. There was a light mist at night (I can tell by the beads of crystal on the glass roof), but now the skies are almost clear. What would a sunrise be like during a Polar vortex?

I haven't chased a sunrise for a long time. And perhaps you'll think it's foolish (crazy?) to go out now, in -20, to start the ancient Ford Escort, to hear her creak in ways I've never heard before, to keep driving even though the door can never quite catch the hinge, driving in that frozen Arctic air toward the (frozen) lake.

Trucks have hauled fishing huts out on the lake for the season. This morning though, it is quiet. Really quiet.






I came too early. The sun has a few steps to go before it reaches the horizon. Some days when I've come here in the past, I would admire the predawn colors and turn around before the sun first showed a flash of brilliant light above the water. But today I wait. Even as the car refuses to recognize heat. 






And when I step out to take photos, my gloveless hand freezes instantly. They say three seconds and it's frostbite. Well now, you can't snap a photo in a wooly mit!






It's a beautiful sunrise. No, there wouldn't be a reflection in the water. But it is such a thrilling thing to see the radiant sun come out on a day that is the antithesis of warmth and I truly want to stand there and do sun salutations. But I think better of it. Someone may think I've become unhinged in the cold. (Though who? Who drives now in the wee hours of a day when schools remain closed and many people stay home from work?)

As always, heading away from a sunrise still gives you thrilling peeks at its effect.










All the way to the farmhouse door.






Even though I had my warmest coat and my warmest hat on, my body is icy cold. At home, Ed cringes as I reach for his hand to take on some of his warmth. It's a good hour before I feel un-cold again.


Breakfast? In the sun room of course! Hooray for the sun! Inside, it turns the day from a desperately cold one to a brilliantly cold one!











My sun salutations are at home. Who would go out on a day like this?

As it turns out, I do -- a second and a third time! A dentist check at noon -- I can't miss that. I have insurance that runs out when I officially retire this month. Fix everything! -- I tell him. Sorry, he responds. For once there's nothing to fix.

The second visit is to my daughter's to look in on Goldie the cat. The weather caused a tiny delay for them and they are struggling to get home. In the meantime, Goldie relishes the attention. For a while. And then, satisfied that she is not alone, she retreats to her favorite spot in the sun.






I have my laptop and I use the time there to run through my workout/yoga/dance program. Goldie does her stretches too.






Back at the farmhouse, we've done nothing with the septic system so far. It's on a temporary partial fix. When the days get slightly warmer, say by fifty degrees or so (by the weekend!), we'll have someone out to do a consultation. In the meantime, we have water, we have heat, and we have a pot of chili on the stove.

The winds are picking up tomorrow. Looking at the weather maps, it seems that we are nearly at the epicenter of the Polar Vortex. One more day and it will push its way north again. The irony is that just as it leaves Wisconsin, I'm scheduled to fly south, for a very quick trip to Florida. On the upside -- the planes should be flying by then again.

There is always an upside.