Thursday

Ed tells me this morning -- oh my God, you've gone into full grandma mode!
It's just a small musical elephant. Without battery. Cheap. For when she visits.






Ed will not admit it in public, but he has told me more than once that little Snowdrop is a fine little girl! He laughs at me now as I place a book and the toy in her crib.


The skies cleared today, right after breakfast...












And perhaps this is what put everyone in good spirits.

Friends stop by, hoping that maybe Snowdrop would be here. She isn't, but I managed to talk (probably far too much) about her and, too, about this period of time when things are going so well, when no huge worries loom over us. It doesn't last, this period of rapture, I know that, but for now, we coast on the sunshine and the clear, defined tasks that put us all in a fine frame of mind.


I should tell you that I visit little Snowdrop only when asked to do so, never wanting to wear out that welcome mat by her door, but right now, she is so young and so full of newborn needs that it turns out to be a daily event, which totally thrills me.


Of course, there are always new developments. A more consistent focus, a new love for a pacifier,  more play time than nap time...

Sometimes little Snowdrop seems utterly overwhelmed by the enormity of the tasks awaiting her.






Most often it doesn't take long to soothe her.






And then she is ready for more. Here, she is bonding with the musical panda.






All this is a lot for a tiny one to handle. But she soldiers on, one step at a time.






I'm sure that these are such tiny events to the casual observer. But they are tremendously important to a grandma. To this grandma.


Back at the farmhouse, I again serve leftovers. How many days now of a chili cooked last week? Hmmm. Time to do something special for dinner. Just not this week. Not when the newborn is still less than three weeks old.

Wednesday

Looking out the upstairs window, I'm thinking this morning the farmette appears like someone had unevenly poured a sack of salt over it. Yes, it snowed, no, it didn't improve the landscape much.






There is, however, always breakfast.





The cheepers are back to hanging out in the barn. No outdoor runs for them, not when there's any white stuff on the ground. It's just as well. I cringe when I see them in their molted stage. It's all wrong for this time of the year, though I am grateful that it is only a "soft molt." A hard molt would expose their skin. I've seen pictures of it -- it looks like someone started plucking hens for the kettle and then, for some reason, changed their mind halfway through. I can't imagine them surviving winter with exposed skin. Right now they look depleted, but still feathered.






In the afternoon, I visit little Snowdrop. Now, there's a source of color and joy for you! I find her in her dad's lap, looking this way and that...






Okay, girl, gotta give your parents some time to catch up with their stuff!

It goes without saying that she and I have terrific adventures in the hours that follow. Of the type you can have with a 2.5 week old! (It includes a nap on grandma's tummy.)





Such beautiful days! It's hard to believe that with each week, they only get better.

Tuesday

It would be greedy to long for sunshine, for grand meals, for the constant chatter of your loved ones coming from the living room -- all these are grand, but they cannot be at the root of every day. At the same time, you could say that my regular day has bits and pieces of the grand, sprinkled throughout. True, there is absolutely no sunshine today, not even a wisp and a hope and the farmette looks more like a spotted cow than a winter wonderland...






... and our cheepers really do look like a lawnmower has rolled over them, plucking out copious amounts of feathers...






And so yes, things are looking a bit scrappy on the outside.

Ah, but the inside! The farmhouse is warm and cheerful, breakfast is relaxed...






... and in the afternoon, I do have someone in the living room. Not a whole herd of visitors like yesterday, but one very important little person, coming over for a bit while her parents attend to their stuff.






Ed takes a close look, as if still figuring out how this whole baby thing works.






I try out the crib for Snowdrop...






...and Ed busies himself figuring out how long the windup music box can play its gentle song...






It's an important piece of information, no? Answer: three minutes. Now you know why people like batteries, he tells me, as he winds it to its maximum...





... and Snowdrop kicks her legs in appreciation as the little animals dance over her.


Sure, this new environment puzzles her a bit.






... but there is enough of the familiar to keep her happy. And that makes me happy.

Celebrate!

Two weeks ago, little Snowdrop made her way into the world. So you could say that she has reached a milestone: she is two weeks old today!

Ah, but she must always share January, because on the 19th, thirty years ago, my little girl was born.



(and now she is 30)


And with multiple twists and surprises, her husband arranged a weekend of wonderful moments, including a chance for her family to gather on this day for a celebratory lunch. I hosted it -- at the farmhouse. Her dad drove up as well and so with Ed, we were eight: daughters with husbands, the older folk and of course little Snowdrop.

A brunch (or is it lunch if it's at noon?) of this magnitude takes time to prepare and so I was up until midnight and then again before dawn... (yes, Ed, I'll surely let the cheepers out!)








(hey, why are we up so early??)


... baking the requested cake (an old family favorite: almond, orange and chocolate) and, too, brioche loaves...






... roasting potatoes (these herbs grow magnificently all winter long on my eastern window sill):






... with a pause for a morning pre-breakfast with Ed, in the sun room:






Then back to the real meal prep -- plating all those baked goods, along with a brussel sprout and bacon frittata, plus the usual cheeses, melons, prosciuttos and celebratory beverages.






It was little Snowdrop's first party and first outing to someplace other than a doctor's office and of course, she radiated charm!








aunt, little Snowdrop, mom




in uncle's arms


Politely, she slept through the meal, so that the adults could engage in banter (we are known for an endless string of teases)...

She let everyone have a turn at holding her (there definitely was a line for that!), but was equally content to sit (well, more like slump) in her bouncy chair...






And so the party continued and my little girl opened gifts and blew out all 31 candles (in Poland, we always stick an extra one for the year ahead)...






... and it was such a joyous set of hours that I cannot fully grasp how a day could be this beautiful.

Just a few more photos -- because they conjure up moments of such tenderness for me...



mom, dad, little Snowdrop




aunt, uncle, little Snowdrop


Happy birthday, youngest daughter of mine! Yes, you are still my little one, no matter how many grand-babies perch on my lap!






And thank you, both of you, for driving such great distances to spend these precious hours with us!

Sunday

I spent late Saturday evening in the sheep shed, watching Ed work on his mechanical invention. There is one (and only one) comfortable chair there, positioned not too far from his work station and I remember the first years of visiting him just in this way -- he'd ask if I wanted a glass of wine or a cup of tea and almost always I said yes to one or the other and time would pass in this way, quietly, gently.

Our routines have changed, that's for sure. Since I moved to the farmhouse, I've spent almost no time in the sheep shed. And so last night was a throwback to an earlier era.

Will we always be inventing new ways and habits, so that today's palate will also be outdated in a few years?



Sunday. Massive cleaning day at the farmhouse. Then, after a late breakfast...






... and a visit with the cheepers, where we cajoled them into coming outside to play in the sunshine (they did so, for about two minutes, then retreated to the barn)...






... it was time for the two of us to take a walk. A beautiful, warm January day doesn't happen very often in these parts and so even if skiing is out of the picture, walking surely isn't.






We needed that moment out in the woods and fields. To refresh. To say a few good words to each other.







Later in the afternoon I head back to Snowdrop's home and spend a few hours trying to get her not to take a nap (she can sleep on mom and dad's time!).






Unsuccessfully.






Little Snowdrop is an easy-going baby, but when she decides to sleep (or not to sleep) all bets are off! 





Ah, but she is one perfect little girl! (Says grandma.)


At the farmette, the setting sun casts a brilliant light on the bare trees. The grand willow never looked so... grand!





But I can't linger. I have a cooking agenda for tonight. I'll write more about that tomorrow.

family, redux

Up early. Caught the sunset from behind a few clouds...






Set the cheepers free. Not today, Scotch. No time for lingering, you bird of few feathers! I have family waiting...






After breakfast (in the front room, not too far from the new crib)...






... I zip over to my daughter's place. My younger girl and her husband are in town! Today, it's all about little Snowdrop again and so you will have the flood, here on Ocean, of family photos. It has to be. My day is filled with the presence of daughters and my granddaughter and so I keep my camera at my side, because my eye is so focused (it always has been so focused) on encapsulating life's most heart warming moments in this way. Here's a Crystal Gayle song for the occasion -- from the collection of music from my daughters' childhood:

And here's little Snowdrop, dressed in her most special cow play suit. With a pink ribbon for accent! I'm ready to change her diaper, but I have to share the downstairs pad with Goldie who thinks the changing pad was purchased with her in mind. Goldie spends the better part of the day in it.






And now my little girl is here -- the other little girl, the one who up until January 5 was the baby -- and little Snowdrop is in her arms, and the uncle's arms, and her arms, and so it continues.






So many hands to caress that very young life!











So many dances to dance, songs to sing...






The young couple must continue onwards and southwards, but they'll be back for another round on Monday for an extra special celebration. For now, I am with the new mom and her Snowdrop (dad is working)...






We play music that my daughter has pulled together from her long ago little girl memories. We sing. We dance. We smile quite a bit.






The afternoon fades. I return to the farmhouse feeling so privileged! Ed asks me -- so how was little Snowdrop? I search for the phrase that will describe the day. I tell him with the widest smile -- my younger girl told me I smell like a baby.






I cook chili for supper and think back to those moments of big and little girls around me all day today.