Wednesday

On the upside, we visited a horse farm.






And, Butter ran all the way to the farmhouse to greet us when we came home.






And earlier, breakfast was lovely, if a bit hurried. (No, don't pour out the smoothie! I like to drink it straight out of the blender! with the good, firm handle! Unlike me, Ed likes a different breakfast each morning.)






And I had a wonderful afternoon with Snowdrop.






Let's talk about the petty frustrations that inserted themselves into this gray-ish day. It started in the same old way: before even getting out of bed, I hoist my laptop on top of my belly and I scan the car ads for the day.

And there is one for just under $5000. A Pontiac Vibe, which means nothing to you, I'm sure, but it's a joint venture with Toyota and this particular 05 model, though dangerously old for my current tastes, gets good ratings and has no visible flaws.

I call the owner.

He calls back.

We chat.

No, nothing wrong. Leaks? No. Rust? No. I run through the list of things that have turned me off. Rain moisture inside? No. I might have added "child vomit," because seriously, one ad had this disclaimer -- my kid threw up in the car last summer, but we washed the carpet and the smell is gone, though we can't be sure for the summer season! Now that's honesty for you!

Alright. It's in Brooklyn. For a Madisonian, that can be a 40 minute drive, but for us it's actually just shy of 25 minutes, along pleasant country roads. And the roads lead us straight to the horse farm, where the owner works, hence the horse photo. (At the end of our excursion, Ed magnanimously tells me -- I got to pet that horse. That was fun!)

The Vibe isn't spanking clean, that's for sure. I put on my pretend rose colored glasses. The owners hustle a crying child inside. She's sick -- her mom explains. I notice her car seat is still in the car. I should have asked about vomit.

As I sit behind the wheel and notice that the seats are as dirty as those in our truck and that's saying something, the owner leans over to explain -- the engine light is on, but I have a rather long story as to why.

And he launches into how they took it in when the light popped on and this was fixed and it popped on anyway and that was adjusted and it still kept popping and finally they decided that it must be okay, just a light malfunction...

I cut him off, saying -- the car doesn't feel right. Too big. So long as we're all lying our tails off, why not jump in with my own? What I should have said is this: if someone calls you and asks in great detail about every known issue, that is the time to mention flashing engine lights, rather than have the person drive to the horse farm because honestly, not everyone is going to be grateful that they had a chance to pat a horse when they come here to look at your dirty, awful and now it appears malfunctioning car. But, his child was sick and so I let it go.


At home, I step up the effort. By the end of the afternoon, I have two other solid offers outstanding and two very serious inquiries. And you know what? The carwheeling-dealing process kinda grows on you! Ed tells me -- you're becoming a real American.


The sun is close to the horizon. I'm packing up to go home. Bye, little one. I leave Snowdrop playing "stick out tongue" with her mom. They take turns.






My phone pings. One of the car sellers has written back. I respond.  Can I look before it's dark? -- I ask. He is in Fitchburg. We live in Fitchburg.

Ten minutes later, Ed crawls under the car. I stare at the incredible dashboard of this 07 Mazda3. I've never seen anything like it! The owner has turned on the heat on the seats. Oooooh! Lights are on. Because, they go on. I look up to catch the last wisps of sky in the sunroof. Lovely!

Consumer Reports loved this car, but is it fun to drive? It's a manual shift. It moves from one gear to the next so smoothly that I feel butter has been thrown into the stick!

And it comes with snow wheels! (Not that we need them this year...)

Yes, there are tiny rust spots. Eventually they will make mincemeat of the body. I don't care. Not now, not this year.





I write the check for $6000, surreptitiously checking my balance to see if there is enough to cover it. Phew! Just barely.

I drive home in something that resembles a cloud.

Name. The car needs a name. I try this, I try that. It'll come. Not today though.

Tuesday

If it's Tuesday then it must be Snowdrop at the farmhouse day.

You don't want to hear about the tedious hours spent first on reviewing the used car additions to Craigslist for the day. Ed reminds me that we may be spending many weeks like this, poring over countless auto specs before finding the right one. That almost made me pick up the phone and call the Corolla owner and tell him that I'll take his car at any price at all, just so that I can get out of this car-polluted existence! But, I hold steady and turn my attention to other details of the day.

Like breakfast.






There is a bit of pale sunshine outside -- at least in the minutes I am out checking in on the cheepers. Lovely, gentle light that makes me forget about the freezing weeks we have before us.






Our molting white hen (who remains nameless here because we don't like her given name and never use it) is growing her feathers in and that is good news indeed! And in the meantime, Butter just keeps laying, year round, oblivious to the seasons, oblivious to the suboptimal conditions in the coop. She is our brave girl, that's for sure!






Little Snowdrop comes at noon and I remind her that soon there will be other little snowdrops -- of the blooming flower kind outside. She seems buoyed by that. (Or maybe it's my perky tone that gets her going.)






She alternates between this and more quiet time. With melodies drifting from my newly created playlist for her.

And then she is at it again -- in her crib, on her giraffe sheet (and coincidentally in her giraffe jammies), looking to me like she is taking her first dance steps! (Belle, the cow struggles to imitate Snowdrop's perfectly turned out leg.)






And of course, working hard on developing her social smile!






The skies clouded over when she left. They say there'll be that awful wintry mix, followed by plummeting temperatures. The winter that understandably leaves everyone frustrated. Though not me. At least not today.

checkerboard month

It's disconcerting, this constant flipping of weather patterns. The freeze, the snow, the freeze, the warmup, the freezing drizzle, the clouds, the clouds, oh! -- the clouds! And then, like today -- the radiant sunshine! We're used to cold winter shere, but we're also spoiled by typically long periods of clear winter skies. This year? Well, tomorrow we get the "wintry mix" again.

But we need not go there yet. Let's pause for a while on this sunny day. Forget about car buying! (I can say this after spending the earliest hours looking at today's listings. Uff! More of the same: if I like it, you can be sure the price is wrong!)

Okay, put aside car searches. We pause for a very sunny and cheerful breakfast. Ed stepped out of his comfort zone and said all sorts of nice things about little Snowdrop and grandparenting and even the crib toys that were in his field of vision and so he scored a reserve of brownie points that I will surely retrieve in moments when he, like Isie boy, seems baffled by the whole experience of tending to a newborn.






The cheepers, too, appreciate the sunshine. Butter and Brownie run toward me when they see me coming down the path -- a sweet gesture of appreciation for the treats I always have for them.





And I think little Snowdrop, too, appreciates the sunshine. At her home, when, during my visit, I take her to the window (southern exposure), she becomes mesmerized by the sunny world out there. Soon, little one! Soon we'll be walking the park paths, taking in the world of tall oaks, squirrels and chirping birds.

For now, we stay inside.

And oh, is she ready for play!

Hey, Snowdrop, if I lie down on the floor, can we do a selfie? Stripes on stripes!






The cats watch. The room is bathed in sunlight!






Little Snowdrop puts her entire soul into working on a smile!






Yeah!






So you don't (I don't) (really) care (that much) that tomorrow the sun will disappear once more. That the roads will be slick. That colder air will follow. Inside, there's a world of grinning yellow dinosaurs and delighted (and delightful) little ones. And that's a beautiful thing.

Sunday

Late last night, little Snowdrop hung out at the farmhouse while the young people went out for a bit to hang out together. Isie boy was here as well and I went to some lengths to get him to not be so shy around the little one.





Let's just say he's making progress.


And now comes Sunday: I admit it, I love these family Sundays with all my might! I love getting up early and ticking off in my mind what has to go into the oven when, so that all will be ready when daughters and their families (yes families!) are finally gathered in the kitchen.






There is always a touch of urgency: it's now or not for a while! The Minneapolis couple have to drive their five hours back home and knowing that, we are flush with stories, because sharing them is suddenly precious.

As always, I make a frittata. This time it's mushroom and spinach. Along with roasted herbed potatoes and bacon and of course -- the black and white cake.






Were it summer, we'd be on the porch. But is it any less delightful in the kitchen?



(two sisters, as close as they come)


Little Snowdrop has options: she can snuggle in a lap...






...or, if she is feeling active, she can play or, better yet -- listen to what she loves so very much: music. [Current prediction: she will be a musician, successful or otherwise. Nothing calms her, perks her, soothes her, interests her as much as the sound of song. Words floating around the kitchen table: Snowdrop, you need to have a back up plan! Maybe penguin colony preservation?]






And so this is our Sunday. Last minute fussing about Snowdrop's strength and sweet demeanor...





...while a happy grandma looks on and makes sure everyone has eaten enough and packed a slice of cake to take home.


There is a tinge of sadness that hits when the house empties. Still, I'm tired enough (two late nights of Snowdrop sitting and two early mornings of Isie boy's plaintive call for food or petting or both) that I welcome the suggestion of a nap. But in the end, instead of napping, Ed and I look at more car ads. Why? Well, a funny thing happened this week: I went from dreaming of a nifty small car that would basically take me from point A to B, to being convinced that I need something bigger and preferably with four doors. Getting Snowdrop in and out of our car was ridiculously difficult. I join the legions of automobile seekers who think that smaller is great, unless you have little ones.

In the end, we find a fine car -- a 09 Toyota Corolla. Despite the horrible weather (freezing rain), we head out to test drive it. And it's beautiful! This is as new a car as I have yet to consider. I'm satisfied!

Or am I? I offer my top price (somewhere between 5k and 6k). He wont budge. I leave.

Did I mention how much I dislike the enormous effort required in purchasing a used car?


For supper, I broil salmon with shallots and cook string beans. I try not to think about cars. I float back instead to this most perfect Sunday morning, when the record player played the childhood tunes and all felt right with the world.

Saturday

Thinking back, I guess I have to admit that I didn't always understand the American parental big picture as my girls were growing up. You'd think I would -- I've lived in this country for a long time, I haven't any language issues, I even went to most of grade school here. But when you yourself haven't lived the entirety of what I would call an American life, you sometimes do not realize the importance of some of the little things. As you're busy playing Polish folk songs during your Sunday cleaning, other moms may be doing something else -- for instance, just a random example -- putting together care packages for their kids at camp.

When my first girl went to camp, I was told that bunk-mates routinely get boxes of goodies to share from home. My reaction was -- well that's curious! first they send off their kids for months away from family, then they send packages of sweets to sweeten the separation!

When my second girl went to camp, I realized that I should have participated in this ritual. It's what you do: you put together a package of treat. But what do I put inside? It wasn't going to be Skittles and gummy bears. And so I baked my daughter's favorite cake and spent a fortune shipping it off to Michigan.

I think it arrived more or less intact.

I was reminded of this today because my littlest one and her husband are driving down today to visit with little Snowdrop and her family (which includes grandma!). Now is the time to bake for her one of her favorites -- Maida Heatter's black and white bundt cake (a defining feature is that it's more black than white), the same recipe that produced the cake that traveled to Michigan nearly 20 years ago.





It will be part of tomorrow's brunch.

Let me go back a bit. To the morning meal:






And to my visit with the cheepers. The temperatures are climbing today and they sense that upward direction because lo! They are on the move!






Well, at least my two bold ones -- Butter and Scotch. I feed them the rest of the corn bread and tell them not to get too heady about the weather. We are only at the beginning of February!


And then it's off to Snowdrop's place where we all unite, waking up the littlest one...






... so that she can visit with her aunt. Oh, you're here aunt! I'm so surprised and happy to see you! 








... you too, my Minnesota Uncle!






It's a long drive from up north. Little Snowdrop feels vicariously tired!






As it's a special occasion, we open a toy from little Snowdrop's Buffalo grandparents and we are all very impressed with the melodies the little babe can produce (with the help of very bouncy feet and batteries)!






We eat Chinese take out...






...and of course, there are plenty of arms to hold little Snowdrop. And little Snowdrop takes full advantage of that.






The love pours from all corners of the room ...and beyond.

Friday

What a curious day! Do you have them? Days that are filled with the great, the banal, the disappointing, the unavoidable, the dreary, the sublime -- but when you sit down to write about it, you think -- well now, it all sounds rather ordinary, doesn't it?

But it's not ordinary at all! Or rather, it's grand that at the end of the day I can sit back and say -- hey, my life is as good as it was at the start of the day and perhaps maybe just a tiny bit richer. 

Before I fill this page with details that probably will make no great impression on you, let me alert you to something that should make an impression: it's a film I watched early in in the morning. It's a documentary short, but it runs close to 25 minutes, so don't click and expect something the length of a tweet. The film is in Polish, but with English subtitles. It is nominated for an Oscar (category: documentary short subject; you might be interested to know that TWO of the five films in this Oscar category are Polish -- the other, "Joanna," is about the beautiful blog of a young woman/wife/mother who is in her last months of life and it is also stunning and I think likely to trump in this category).

The film I'm posting here is unforgettable. It is so deeply moving and so well done (in my opinion), that I may have posted a link to it even if it wasn't Polish. It's called "Our Curse" and it's made by a young couple about their first months with their child -- a boy born with a significant breathing disorder. But honestly, even if you are not particularly fascinated with the topic, watch it for its greater theme. I wont tell you what that is. You'll want to draw your own conclusions.




And now to the threads of my day.

Breakfast. Let's start there. It is predictable, satisfying and gentle. Yay breakfast.






And let's include the cheepers. It's a bit warmer today -- in the twenties and so again they are tempted by the outside world. I'm there, with treats! Such a simple thing: it's cold, but partly sunny, they're wistful, I reach out with cornbread, they are satisfied.






The clouds come and go all day and yet it feels as if the sun is always with us.






Next, I book a spring flight to San Francisco. These days, the entire enterprise of finding good, inexpensive connections on the best possible days that are satisfactory to all concerned is no small task. It takes forever!

As does my continued search for a replacement car. The one in Green Bay was too good a deal. I put off going for it until Monday. Ed said that was a mistake. He was right. The car sold.

Two mammoth tasks follow: weekly grocery shopping and farmhouse cleaning. I should never do them back to back. They take too big a chunk out of the day and they leave me with the feeling you would get from watching too much TV: where did the hours disappear???

I've saved the best for last. Because my daughter is, today, celebrating an enormous professional accomplishment, I agree to stay with little Snowdrop all evening long until a very, very late hour. Normally I'm good for baby sitting until 10, at the latest. You know how it is, once you are retirement age -- you get sleepy earlier every year. But tonight is special for the young couple and I want them to indulge themselves in all forms of celebration and so I pump myself with many macchiatos and I welcome this darling little girl to the farmhouse. Ed is unsure if he had a tiny cold the last day or so and so we decided he should use this evening to stay away from the precious one and work on his projects in the sheep shed. And so it's just me and little Snowdrop. And Isie the cat, who disappears upstairs when Snowdrop utters her first baby sound.




(with lily the rabbit)


I'll post now. The evening's young, but we have a lot to explore!



(with dancing mousie)

Thursday

Can a day be green and blue in February? In Wisconsin?

We almost drove to Green Bay, very early today. I found a blue car there that I liked and I made a deal over the phone -- good price, great make, only seven years old. Green Bay, blue car!

But at the last minute, I changed my mind. Too hurried a drive (2.25 hours each way), too much compressed into one morning -- so we did not go.

But I can carry the color theme in a different direction: Ed's a little blue about the loss of the stray cat. The vet said she was fading rapidly and yet it does feel like we hastened her death by taking her to the clinic. Yes, it was the right thing to do, but it was also a sad outcome for her and for us.


On the upside, the sun is out, the skies are a beautiful blue color and that's enough to put anyone in a better mood.






We eat breakfast in the front room, just because the colors of the nursery furniture and toys create, for me at least, a cheerful aura for a morning meal. Too, we get the late morning sun rays.






We both tend to the cheepers today -- I coax them out for some cornbread while Ed cleans the coop (hey, he has the arms for it! I can't reach the corners!).






And I take on the glass porch roof once more: the snow had blown into huge hills and valleys on top and though we don't think there is much danger of it crashing the roof, still, it is northern exposure and if I don't shovel it off, it will take forever to melt.


I hurry with these and various sundry chores so that I can be on time for my visit with little Snowdrop, whose hair, freshly washed, looks like a big mohawk...






... and who happens to be dressed in green and blue today!





Oh happy girl! Keep that curious gaze out onto the world! On this one month celebration of your life, know that you are so loved by so many!

the vulnerable

We are bracing for another Arctic blast tonight.


 



May it be the last one. I think the cheepers should be alright. They have learned to band together in true "we few, we happy few" fashion, emerging victorious from each bout of severe weather with nary a feather out of place. (Well, except for the two molters that have many feathers out of place; we cannot undo the forces of nature.)

To improve their chances, I did what a chicken loving internet writer suggested -- I baked that cornbread and handed over a big chunk of it to them. They were delighted!






Other animals are having a tougher time of it right now. This morning, Ed found a very young cat in the barn. We've seen strays before (remember Cammie? She came, stayed, then disappeared forever), but this kitty seemed different: stuck in the cold weather, probably weakened, somewhat traumatized. Ed took her in and tried to feed her...





...but she really needed a vet. She seemed terribly feeble. He speculated whether Isie boy would mind if she stayed here and again I told him that I thought he would mind. So off the puffy girl went -- the hope being that the vet could help her and that eventually, her seemingly sweet disposition would win her a home somewhere.

[Update: she does not survive. The vet finds shock, infection, significant trauma. Sigh.]

Our breakfast, which comes even before the trip to the vet, is a touch somber. It's tough to have abandoned cats appear at the farmette. Where do they come from? Who let's them go?






The sun comes out, though only for a little while.






In the afternoon, I play for a bit with little Snowdrop. She is one day short of a month today and though of course she seems to us robust and solid compared to the week after birth, still, she is so young! So in need of help!

I could just show you her dimple again -- clearly displayed in a moment of sleepy contentment...






Or her curious gaze in her wakeful hour.






But maybe I should end with her more vulnerable moment. She has those too. We all do.