hooked

Hooked on travel. On good foods. On books. Hooked on cultivating flowers. And vegetables. And berries. On skiing with Ed. On talking to daughters. On writing things down. Hooked on long breakfasts on the porch, or in the sun room. Hooked on laughter.

The usual suspects.

Then there are the blocked pleasures -- ones I could easily get hooked on, so it's best to mostly stay away from them (because history has demonstrated that, when faced with these, I can wilt): catalogs of perennials. J.Crew on line. Fine wines, especially white burgundies. And champagnes. Beautiful country inns. Brunches with scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. Free range and from sustainable fisheries. Lobster. Mysteries.  Fine cotton bed linens dried in sunshine (and without a cat sleeping on any of them after). Quality chocolate covered raisins. Cafes en plein air. Without smokers nearby.

Here's one: spring-like days.

We haven't had a day with above freezing temperatures at all this year, have we? And so of course I was looking forward to today: a high of forty. With gentle sunshine.

You didn't have to prod me to jump out on the porch roof and push the snow off this morning. (Such pretty views today! And without the bite that causes you to hurry and get things done already,  so you can get back inside.)






Breakfast in the sun room...






(This is after we catch yet another mouse! Sigh... We appear to have a highway through here: one comes in, we catch it, releasing it miles away, the second one comes... and so on and so forth.)





And later, just after noon, when it really feels so much like it's already spring, we do a cross country loop.





And this is, of course, troublesome, because having tasted it, savored and bathed in it -- I want it oh so much: the arrival of spring. All that rhapsodizing about the beauty of February? Fine, but that was yesterday. Today I want March. Preferably a warm March, a sunshine filled March. Or at least a February day with March like weather. For keeps.






So I'm hooked on spring now and that's not good because after this warm-ish interlude, we're back to the cold, the windy, the nippy, chilly, biting, freezing stuff. And that's a shame.






On the upside, my girl and her husband are over for dinner and the day is so long now -- a whole hour longer in the evening and a half hour longer in the morning -- that's no peanuts!


 


And so we're in a good place and life continues to progress kindly and grant generous rewards each hour, each minute, even each winter minute.

Still, that taste of spring... Mmmm... More, I want some more!

snow

It's not unreasonable that it should snow. It still is the middle of February. I know -- it seems I've been saying this again and again and surely it cannot be the middle of a month for more than a short while. It's just that February, for all its brevity, always seems like it's rather long.

In fact, like the lighter, longer winter days of this month, I find those with snowfalls to be still rather enchanting.

What's there not to love?





True, this was billed as a winter storm, with all the usual warnings. Don't go out if you don't have to to. Stay in. Keep warm. Well now, staying in wasn't an option for Ed: another one of those rabies shots had him out and driving just as the wind and snow were swirling madly from all directions.

So I waited with breakfast, like the woman who sends her man to battle, only the battle is with the elements and I wasn't fully worried, just a little bit so, due to the ridiculousness of the mostly rusted vehicle he drives these days.

And he came back...





...and brought back supper with him (quiche from La Baguette) and it felt rather special that we should be now housebound with food ready for the asking. As if we'd been granted a gift of a simple day at the farmhouse -- to put to good use if we so chose (I did! much progress on my writing!), to coddle, to play with, to use in our own unique ways. (For Ed, this included watching a history piece on a Russian submarine. The man has predictable tastes in movies and videos.)

And the wind howled and the snow fell and the trees swayed in all directions.

a string of February days

In a sense, they are alike: pretty days, with February skies of gentle blue, or sometimes with wisps of cloud clover. Like this morning, for instance. Looking out the upstairs window, at sunrise:






And soon after, seeing that blue over the barn and sheep shed.





There's a winter nip in the air, that's for sure. Oh, they talk about a warm up, but it's followed by a cool down, then a warm up, even though it really feels like winter and that's okay, because, after all, we're still in the middle of February.

If I had classes to teach, I would worry about keeping warm and dressing well each day, but since I stay at the farmhouse all day long, I reach for my standard warm shirts and sweatpants and that's about as much thought that I give to any of it.

Sunday is, as usual, the day we clean the farmhouse. This marks my week for me now. We better not change that routine --  I would grow very confused as to which day of the week we're in!

After, there is the breakfast. All about granola these days.






And later, we go out for a walk. Yes, we could have skied, but the walk was easy and the light was bright and so we just set out -- as we usually do, up the road, onto the scenic one and back again.






When I mentioned retirement in my last months of teaching, many people asked how I would possibly manage all those winter days at home. Sure, there's farmette work in the spring and summer and yes, there is always travel, but the winter is long and the days are cold! How about all those dark days of the difficult season? Well now, however long it takes for spring to get here, one thing remains infallible: the days do get longer. All winter long they get longer and longer and the bright light gets more pronounced and if I had a hundred more days like thi, I would be fine.

Sunday supper. Olympics in the background. Thoughts of winter still. Snow tomorrow.





That's February for you.

skies of blue

There is no question that a sunny day at frigid temperatures feels warmer than a gloomy gray day at warmer readings.

So that despite the near zero readings, I pushed for us to go out. Now. Early. Because later there would be clouds.

How can you not love a day that looks like this?






Breakfast. Late, because I am distracted and Ed is slow moving and Isis -- well, Isis gets us to feed him at all strange hours, so he is not a formal participant in the morning meal.






A few more distractions and we're off - first to release yet another mouse (can we be done now??)...






...then to ski. On mostly flat terrain, to lessen the possibilities of a fall.

It is, in the end, such a beautiful day to be outside!






Supper. I haven't blogged a supper in a while. What are we eating these days? No surprises there: the salad. And today -- pureed cauliflower soup (which, with grated parmesan, but no milks or creams, is terrific).





They win me over, these calm, winter days. The excitement isn't in what you do, but in merely waking up and imagining the possibilities. And on a bright, blue-skied day, they are tremendous.

all for the cause

We're waging a battle out there, we the consumers of travel. We will not give in! We are onto you and we will bring you down!

Those were my thoughts this morning and yes, I realize that I need to explain.

I stayed up half the night trying to come up with the right combination of accumulated miles, scant dollars and segments on discount airlines to make feasible a trip in the most difficult (i.e. expensive) travel month of July. It's a game, it really is: you have thousands of combinations and ways to get from one place to the next: if I use miles to get me here, I will then need a fare to get me there, but if I book yet something else, I will need to travel maybe by train there so I can catch that cheap flight here. And this kind of combining and playing with permutations took me the better part of the afternoon, evening and night.

I arrived at a plan and I made some bookings and I went to bed.

And early in the morning (way too early, but let's not dwell on that point just now), Ed pointed out that a new window had opened and now one could fly for fewer miles from X to Y and so if I only cancel the flight I already booked to Z rather than to X where I could catch the one to Y, I'd score a big coup.

Do you know that the Department of Transportation issued regulations mandating that everyone, everyone who sells air travel to Americans, is obligated, be it here or in Europe, so long as they're reaching for your American credit card number, to refund fully and without penalty any reservation you purchase, so long as you are within 24 hours of that purchase?

I think the discount Easy Jet airline knows it, but nonetheless, they diddled with the $101 payment I had made last night, called it "taxes" and "administrative fees"  and who knows what else and out of the goodness of their heart agreed to refund me $21 of it.

Well now.

This bugs me. Not only because I want my $80 back, but because they have misleading language on their website, indicating that you do get a refund within 24 hours, though if you follow links to tertiary small print, you find out that actually you don't get much of a refund at all.

Which is against our laws.

It would have been a good idea for the supervisor of the agent to simply refund my full $101. I would have moved on. But he didn't. And so now I'm on a crusade to get Easy Jet in trouble for deliberate deception and noncompliance with out regulations.

It is unfortunate that such crusades bite into your time, but this why you retire, right? So you can wage battles on behalf of the tired and weary travelers out there!

Anyway, it's worth a try.


In other news -- dearest Ocean readers, it's Valentine's Day -- made joyous and funny here at the farmette because it is always such a comedy of mismatched desires: one person's indifference, nay, dislike of Hallmark (how weird that a company shoulders the blame for writing sweet messages for you when you yourself don't feel like making the effort), matched against another person's love of anything that causes her to wake up with a little anticipatory bounce in the morning.

So we eat our wonderful breakfast...






... and then he has a work meeting and I have a sort of work meeting and it isn't until late that we reconvene at the farmhouse. In the meantime, I do my usual Friday shopping and at the store, I encounter many a scene like this --





...telling me that our own skewed preferences are nearly universal.


  There are flowers at the farmhouse. Yes there are!





And I hope there are some at your house as well. Ones that last and last.

details

First, to answer  many questions about my new stand-up desk, which of course is a stand in for a real stand up, I picked it up on Amazon. It was on a slightly better sale last week, but it is still on sale -- $55. (Price of a real stand-up desk: $1300, and you can't readily take that baby with you when you switch rooms or venues.) Link to it here. Do I use it? Yes I do! Not for hours on end, but I am one who works in spurts and it's great for a spurt here and a spurt there.

Breakfast. I baked granola and flipped pancakes. For the aromas. For the fun of it.






Other details: my little girl and her fiancee passed through Madison today! Why? Well now, they are moving (for work reasons) to Minneapolis. I am now the parent of a Wisconsin babe and a Minnesota chick! Does that make me an Upper Midwest mama or what?! We came out to meet them for a fast food lunch on their drive through. Terrifically fun to be with both daughters, suddenly, just like that, for a fleeting moment.






Still other tidbits. The mice. Well now, quite suddenly we have become landlords to a flock of mice refugees.  Unlike some other good neighbors who take in the poor, the sick, the homeless, we're brutal with our new arrivals. True, we feed them a good dose of peanut butter first, but then -- out they go!

Yesterday, we discovered the extent of their quite sudden immigration. We found that they had been stockpiling (in our absence?) kittie crunchies under the couch pillow!
And so there we are, late at night, stripping the couch of its covers (for the laundry machine) and picking out handfuls of crunchies.
What are you doing with those?!
Giving them to Isis.
They're contaminated with mice!
Gorgeous, Isis eats mice. He wont care.
Ed is a man of reason.

And another detail: in cleaning out some kitchen cabinets (I get into spells of wanting to purge and downsize), I came across an old pack of walnuts. Magnificent walnuts, purchased impulsively when I was in the walnut region of France. But I'd forgotten about them and now, glancing at the date, I see that they had expired back in 2012.
Don't throw them out! I'll eat them! -- this is a typical refrain from Ed when he sees me throwing out dated food.
But after he takes a bite, he agrees: they've lost their oomph.
For the opossum  then? I ask. In googling his eating habits, we learned that an opossum will eat anything. Sadly, the life of this animal is short -- just a few years. Might as well enrich his with French walnuts.
Isn't that a bit too many?
He'll store them!
Or we'll attract other animals. You know, he's so well fed that he's starting to reject morsels of Isis food.
Walnuts are better than cat food!
And sure enough, a few minutes later, our welcome squatter (as opposed to the poor mice) goes at it. Every last nut. May his tummy be fine after such a feast!






One more detail: many have asked if I will keep my email address going forward. There's a double yes, in that as you may have noticed, Ocean uses my gmail address, not my university one. But in fact, it all streams to one place and because I have (just this week!) been granted an "emerita" status, I am able to keep my university email -- so yes, you can use that, or gmail. But, for those who used my address from days when I maintained my own website -- that's over and done with. So, only gmail or wisc.edu. I love to hear from you -- in comments or in email! (I have yet to figure out how best to respond to comments -- I assume no one goes back once they post their reflection and so I typically respond in the next post text or not at all. This isn't because I'm smug and unappreciative -- it's because I assume we all move forward and very few of you ever look back.)

A big day of many bits and pieces. It's all in the detail, isn't it?

out and about

I could not tell the time of sunrise this morning: it was a gray predawn. With deep shadows and the occasional snowflake. But in looking out, I finally had full view of them -- our daily, or rather nightly visitors.






They felt my movement, even though I was behind the closed doors and windows of the farmhouse.






But they couldn't be sure. I watched them dig with their hooves and uncover things that pleased them. A seed pod, the new growth of a perennial. Wait, are you digging up my perennials?! I bang on the window to make my presence known.






They scamper off.






Not so the mice in the farmhouse: both (yes, there were two) make their way into the plastic box traps and so we have two to dispose of this morning. Thanks, Ed! I'll clean out everything while you're letting them go! I so dislike the process of releasing trapped mice.


Breakfast: leisurely. Beautifully so.






And after, I try out my "fancy" new standup desk! With so much writing before me, I worry that I sit far too much in the course of one day. Price of stand up desks? Ridiculous. We find something better at 1/50th the price:





But I don't work for long today. I have my (final?) student meeting at school... Is this my last trip to campus? Maybe...

And of course, I run into my office mates and that takes time and after, I have an appointment at the Apple Store for some computer adjustments and that takes time and then, I have a long and wonderful coffee date with a friend and so perhaps you can tell that this is a big day for me! You'll shake your head and think -- what? You call this being busy? And I'll meekly respond -- yes.

Being super busy is differently defined when you're no longer employed. (And that's a good thing.)

animals

Time is measured in different ways at the farmette. Seasons matter, of course. Natural phenomena do as well. 2011 was the summer of the hellacious mosquitoes. 2012 -- of no mosquitoes, but a terrible heat wave! 2012 -- the winter of the never-disappearing box elder beetles. Every day, they appeared inside, who know from where. And this winter -- this winter has been the season of no farmhouse mice! No closed plastic traps in the morning (we always leave at least one up, just in case), no mice to release at some distance to the farmhouse, none of it!

Until today. As I reach into one of the cupboards -- the one where we keep tools and also kittie crunchies, the one that has a hole to weave a cord through for the wine cooler, that one! -- in it, I find the telltale signs of mouse visits. Damn!

So we clean it out and load the traps and leave them inside and tomorrow, maybe we'll be lucky and maybe we'll cart away the one and only mouse found this winter season in the farmhouse. Maybe.


In the meantime, Isis is now under an Ed watch at night -- the goal is to let the two of them occupy no more than two thirds of the bed, or else!

It was my first good night of rest.


And outside, our beloved opossum (beloved because he has a gentle gait and does not harbor the rabies virus) continues to finish all foods rejected by Isis (and there are many -- he is one fussy cat these days). Possibly we are doing the wrong thing here. Maybe we're keeping the opossum tied to the farmette. Ed swears he is young. Me, I think he's ancient. He moves so slowly! And when he sees you with his sleepy eyes, he does play dead until you move out of his space. In any case, it is such a cold winter that I think a bit of extra food cannot hurt.


As for thoughts of getting a dog -- on hold, that's for sure. We need to coach Isis through old age. And I need no other animal anywhere near the upstairs bedroom. Really.


In other news, this was, as expected, a cold day, following and extremely cold night. We woke to -13F outside. But, it is the beginning of the end of winter. I see no negative numbers in the forecast for the next ten days. And that is a very good thing.

We stayed huddled indoors. Breakfast? In the sun room!






A brief sprint to pick up the mail...






Then continued indoor time. Reading and writing. And finally, cooking up a big pot of chili. Heaven, all of it.

Monday

For the third night in a row, Isis seriously disrupted the night for me. Probably for Ed as well, but he wont admit it. The cat's a saint as far as he's concerned.

It's not that I think Isis is misbehaving (and it's not that I could do anything about it if he were -- Isis is an old dude, he's allowed to be a little crotchety, though honestly -- he just gets mellower by the day, so really, it's not his fault). But it is true that once in bed, I cannot move without first inspecting where Isis is.  I don't want to kick the little guy meanly to the floor (it has happened!) and so I wiggle into some semi-comfortable scrunched position and will myself to doze off, with mixed results. Add to it Ed's erratic sleep patterns and you've got yourself a problem. Or, I've got myself a problem, because honestly -- my two bedfellows appear to be unfazed by it all.

What to do... I've reviewed with you, here on Ocean,  my proposal (bigger bed), Ed's proposal (no bed) and nothing seems perfect, except that I do know this -- something's gotta give. The cat has complete control of my sleep cycle.

And, in addition, we are up early today. Ed has an appointment and I am the designated driver and so after a rushed bite to eat (can't even fully call it breakfast)...





...we're off.

By the time we're done with all this, it's the afternoon. And we have another bigger breakfast then, because it's cold outside, we're hungry, I'm tired -- all circumstances leading me to want more food.






On our outing, we had stopped at a grocery store for milk and while there, Ed told me to pick out some Valentine's Day flowers (I'd started my annual "you don't get me flowers anymore" whine), preferably ones from the under $10 bucket and I oblige.

I mean, they're not glorious, but on the upside, glorious flowers fade and that's sad, whereas these stay around forever and when they're gone, you're basically okay about it, ready for something new.


In the evening I was going to make chili. If ever there was a night to have chili, this is it, friends! Chili for the last night when the biting wind will push the temps into the minus ridiculous range. But suddenly it felt too ambitious, too complicated, too unnecessary. We settle for broccoli eggs which is about as low as you can go for a supper preparation. Thanks, Isis.





And there you have it -- a Monday that's a little different, although with awfully similar photos, because when you're tired, you just don't put yourself out much.

Sunday

He said to me -- you really should not ski. 
I wont fall.
You could.
I wont. I'll be extra careful on the hills.
Sometimes you fall just standing up.

He's right on that one. I don't fall when I'm careful. But I have fallen by goofing around while standing and waiting.

But we are both insanely stubborn and I want to go outside.

It had been a beautiful morning: misty icy cold, with that faintly blue February sky. You can't see that cornflower blue here, but you will, later on.





I felt compelled (yes, compelled!) to sweep the roof. Ed had done it upon our return, so we are still keeping it pristine and clear.

But that's not enough of the outdoors for me.

After breakfast (he asked for one of those copious ones he'd been eating in Turkey and Greece)...






...I settle in to write (with two pillows for support: waiting for my special tail bone fracture cushion to arrive!), but with an eye to the outside. Ooops! Here comes an email weather alert: windchill warnings. Biting cold. But it doesn't look biting cold!

Out we go -- to our favorite park around the corner. (There's that faint blue!)






And I am careful and I do not fall and I take small steps, because big sweeps make my tail bone cringe and apart from the occasional gust of that godawful wind, it really is quite beautiful out there.






So, to the winter games in all of us! Yeah -- to snow and ice and all such February delights!






After  our ski run, we make a quick stop at the library because -- what luxury! -- I can finally take out books that I expect to read. And talk about an ultimate luxury!  We go back home and I take a long hot shower and I think to myself --  this is as blissful as it gets: a hot shower with your favorite bath product after skiing on a bitter cold day. Tell me what possibly could top that!

Crispy sharp skies outside, another cold blast tomorrow... No matter. It's winter's last big punch.  Consider it an opportunity for a hot shower at the end of the day. Bliss, real bliss I tell you.

unfinished business

It's been hanging over me, this office clean out. I retired a month ago and I have yet to hand over the keys to my office. (On the upside, I am now officially an emerita which provides for a life long engagement with the university should I want it.)

I don't just want to cart things home if I'm not to ever use them again. Files of papers -- who needs them? Years of course evaluations -- what kind of person sits in her old age and revels in moments of past glory? Text books --  quickly dated. Reprints of old articles, even my old articles -- yawn. And the list continues.

If I had complete confidence that nothing, nothing would ever put me in the classroom again, the job would be easy: one box of mementos, a half dozen favorite books and I'm out of there. But who has such certainty? Someone who has utter confidence in the future. That's not me. 

I do know one thing: I want to finish the job of emptying my office in the quiet of a week-end, when I'm likely to be alone. No one in the halls, no one to distract me.

So after breakfast...






...despite the fact that it's starting to snow again...


 


... and, too, it's cold, I drive to my office and tell myself: this is it: the final sort and purge. Ed has volunteered to come and cart out anything that I take when I'm done (my tail bone makes lifting a bit of a chore). I set to it.

And it doesn't take long. Two hours maybe and I call home: I'm done!

I would say that this is my last look out my office, but it's not. I still have office hours this coming week! But then -- that's it. And, unless something pushes me off course, today surely is my last look inside a classroom.
Hey, this is the one where I had my last class -- I tell Ed. Take a picture!





At home, I have, as predicted, four boxes of books and papers to unpack. At some later date. There's no rush now. Done, I'm done. Exhale. Smile.

quiet

Winter Routine

Single digit temps, gusty winds -- it's not a day for the great outdoors.

And yet...

Certainly one reason why I love the farmette as much as I do is that the outdoors here is as beautiful as the indoors. In all seasons. Especially when, like today, there is a bright sun that deceives you into thinking that the outside world is welcoming and warm.

After breakfast...






I shift between standing and writing, and sitting and writing (that tail bone got pretty upset with me for subjecting it to all those hours sitting still in flight on Wednesday, so I'm giving it a rest as much as it is possible, given that I want to catch up on reading and writing these next two weeks). And after several rounds of this, I throw on my warmest everything and head out for a walk.






What captures your attention on winter walks out here is the sheer number of animal tracks. Deer, mostly. On the farmette land, they can be so dense that Ed asks me -- where are the fields of unmarked snow? Not anywhere that I can see.






I walk up our scenic rural road (it has that designation actually), past fields of corn...






...and then back again. A familiar circuit -- one long enough that I can let my thoughts drift in whatever direction I give them (today: Poland -- very much on my mind right now. And travel -- something Ed and I have been coming back to in our discussions again and again in recent days. And travel to Poland -- I'll be doing that toward the end of the month).






What I notice most in these days when I don't move far from the farmhouse is how quiet, blissfully quiet a day can be. So much so that an Isis meow seems shrill, more than ever before. Ed swears that the cat has become louder, but I wonder if, rather, it's us that have become incredibly comfortable in our quietness. 

I return to writing and reading in that quiet of a farmhouse afternoon.


In the evening I make fish chowder.


 


It seems odd to be reaching for fish when I just came back from a fish-infused trip. Or maybe not odd at all. Maybe this is the way I continue things just a bit longer. Fish for dinner, lots of yogurt and honey for breakfast. I am, however, taking a break from cucumbers.


1968

1968. I was in Poland that year. The winter Olympics were in my time zone: Grenoble, France -- Warsaw, Poland. Same hour. I watched, mesmerized by Jean Claude Killy on the downhill. For a few moments, I considered being a downhill racer. I fell in love, too, with the skating of Peggy Fleming. Winter Olympics -- I was hooked for life.

1968. Summer vacation. We traveled to the Soviet Union: my parents, my sister and I. The highlight was a two week summer rest in Sochi. Because, you know -- it's a resort by the Black Sea, right? Mountains? We never saw them. We stayed glued to the Black Sea.

So when I watch the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics 2014, I have an odd set of emotions to confront. Yes, there's that constant media buzz about the politics of it all. I understand. I listen to the Russian national anthem and I have my own flash of politics. It's different than yours. But, mostly I keep that in my back pocket. I watch the athletes and I think -- you are so talented! Excellent at what you do. I like that.