trifecta

If you guessed that today would include a photo of Ed, of a cheeper, and of little Snowdrop (in that order), you would be correct. My days (perhaps most people's days) are that predictable: the partner, the pet, the precious.

It is the kind of day that otherwise runs of its own accord. There isn't the sunshine to cast a new light on an old landscape. The air is frightfully cold and indeed, we're going to hit new lows for this year tomorrow. You can't convince me to go out. (Except for groceries and to visit Snowdrop. Warm seat,  smooth ride, beautiful music. Lily delivers!)

And so I leave you with my predictably awesome threesome, in their predictable order:

Ed at breakfast...






Butter -- the only hen brave enough to come out and greet me this morning...






And Snowdrop, whom I come across enthusiastically playing "open mouth" with her mom....






And who delights me as she naps with her tiger on her zebra belly!






...but mostly, she delights me with her vivacious, ever wonderful, sometimes dramatic, sometimes mellow face!



"listen, grandma, have I got a deal for you!"





"you want me to lift my head? I can lift my head"


All Fridays should be this predictable. And this wonderful.

Thursday

And so it begins: I wake up and my second thoughts run to the car: is it doing okay in this cold weather?!

(My first thoughts run to Isie boy, who is either not feeling well or traumatized by the occasional visits of Snowdrop. He has developed habits that are enough of a pain that even Ed agreed he needs to be seen by a vet to rule out medical problems. And if not medical, then what do we do -- take him to a cat shrink?)

I dash out to brush (gently!) a light dusting of snow off of Lili's windows.






Oh, you're wondering why "Lili?" It's just the kind of name that pops into my head. My moped, after all, is Rosie. Then, too, I had a lovely great aunt by the name of Lillian. And I have a cherished blog reader, someone whom I've never met, but who has been with me from the get go and she's Lili. And, when I was a young girl, I would love the bunches of lilies of the valley sold by older women on street corners of Warsaw. And you know my love of day lilies at the farmette. Should I go on?

Of course, I'm fussy about Lili's care. I lay the floor mats just so, I read up on her traits and disposition. It's true, she is no spring chicken. Her rust spots mimic my achy joints. Ah, but she can deliver a mighty smooth ride and I actually look forward to heading out in her warm interior today.

But not right away. Routines are what they are. Pleasant...






...and predictable.






It is a brilliant day...






And my visit today with Snowdrop is brilliant as well. She does a magnificent job of strengthening her neck muscles and identifying her fist as something that is hers.











... down to the very last finger.












The day does not end with my visit with little Snowdrop. I have my evening meeting with students at the Law School. I'm thinking -- it's likely that this is will be the last time I'll speak before a group of them. I'm on such a different path now!





I drive home at night, sinking into in Lili's comfy seat. I think how all my life I have been very indifferent to cars. New, old -- it hardly mattered. It irked me that in this great land of so much choice, I did not have the choice of rail or good outlier public transportation. I was stuck with relying on a car. Then along comes Lili and I am floored by her charm. You can't hold onto a grudge all your life.

It is a cold cold night. We glide smoothly past fields and forests and pull into the driveway of the farmette. There is a half moon, half hidden behind a cloud. Good night, Lili. Good night half moon.

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)