Snowdrop and family

In the course of the weekend, all members of Snowdrop's Minneapolis and Chicago family will have passed through Madison to wish her a happy Christmas. It seemed obvious that this, therefore, should be the weekend when we also celebrate Snowdrop's first birthday. True, her real birthday isn't for ten days, but for her Midwest family, today is Snowdrop day.

But first thing's first.

I don't really eat a hefty breakfast with Ed -- I have a date with the small family group gathered at the Hubbard Avenue Diner. Still, Ed and I share at the very least a bowl of fruit and I down my first coffee of the day with him across the table.





And then I dash off for a true breakfast at the Diner.

Again, no time for much writing. My photos give a sense, I hope, of how the day unfolds.

First, Snowdrop. at the Diner. It's her day after all.






... The rest of us:






While she plays with her uncle:












... and her grandpa:






... I have a chance to catch up with my Minneapolis daughter:






But again, this is the littlest girl's day. Here's her favorite food at the Diner: grapes.






She does make it to everyone's lap at one point or another...






And this makes her very happy indeed.


But we don't linger for too long. I, for one, have things to do in preparation for tonight's "birthday" dinner.






(While I'm at it, I throw together a Ligurian lemon cake -- made with lemons, of course, and olive oil. That's for tomorrow's brunch. )






My main focus this afternoon is on again recalling my Parma cooking session with Ricarda. Time to roll out the tortelli!






What I've forgotten is Patrizia's words -- cooking Parma foods is so time consuming! Making the two fillings -- squash and also ricotta-chard -- that's nothing. But rolling out the dough to paper thin strips and stuffing each tortelli -- hours.

The dinner came together because my little girl and eventually her husband came over to help me.






What a team we were!











(When Snowdrop showed up with her parents and her Chicago family, we were almost ready for them. Almost.)






Once again, the girl moves from one set of arms to the next...
















Finally, dinner. And what a meal it was, including the appetizers -- the prosciutto, the parmiggiano, and because this is the most special of days -- the precious traditional Balsamic.

We feasted on it all!









(parents and aunt and uncle from Chicago)


(FYI, Snowdrop preferred the squash to the ricotta-chard. Perhaps the crushed amaretti biscuits in the squash stuffing clinched the deal for her.)






Then comes the cake, which arrived with grandpa and bubbie from Chicago.






We sang, we toasted, and the sweet sweet almost one-year-old sailed through it all heroically.












(Yes, she loves cake!)






Presents. Birthday presents. Following upon Christmas, you could say that this was just too much celebrating, but the little one was delighted each time someone placed colorful wrappings before her.






It was a glorious day, with the terrific ending of having my younger girl and husband do the bulk of the clean up for me.


You could say that this was Snowdrop's day, but to me, it felt as if someone has just been piling gifts on my lap.

It's been one beautiful holiday weekend.

Christmas Day: family gathering

Well, we're not the only ones with relatives on the road today, traveling to spend time together over a meal. Or two. Or three. Half of America appears to be on one highway or another. We are lucky in Wisconsin: the day is calm, the roads are clear.

For Ed and myself, the farmette, though removed from the urban and suburban landscape, is nonetheless very close to my older girl's home, where our Christmas celebrations will take place.

We wake up without rush and without the need to attend to anything at all. Oh, I have last minute presents to wrap (those Gran Speciale parmiggiano cheeses I lugged home from Parma? They need to stay cool until the last minute). And I pack numerous shopping bags with foods and utensils needed for tonight's meal. (I've cooked at the homes of family members before -- it's always tricky: you never know what they have or do not have). But we take it easy.

And it's not until 10:30 that I finally drench the brioche in this week's farmette egg mixture and throw it on the griddle for our holiday breakfast of French toast. In France it would be called pain perdu -- "lost bread" -- often stale, often otherwise useless. They fry it, then sprinkle it with sugar and summer berries. We, like most Americans, love to dip it in maple syrup. (Actually, this egg soaked bread is popular in many countries. But I had never tasted it in Poland, where breakfast is never sweet. So to me, it feels quintessentially American.)






Finally, just afternoon, we all gather at my daughter's house. Few words are needed to describe this most beautiful time.


Lunch:






With mommy and aunt:






Great boxes!






With her grandpa:






Loving each toy:






With grandma:






Aunt and uncle:






Zucchini:






Young parents:






Looking at cookbooks:






Resting on her dad's lap:






An aunt's hug:






Grandpa Ed shows up:






A solo moment with a book:






Dinner:






Yule log:






Reading a childhood favorite  (Lucy and Tom):






And to all a good night!

Christams Eve, farmette style

The winds whipped up the clouds, the mists, the warm air and sent them on their way.

We wake to a crisp, dry day and the promise of a clearing sky.





Good morning cheepers. Welcome to Christmas Eve day. I don't really know how old you are and how many such days you've clocked in already, but I hope this one gives you what you like -- just a touch of sunshine and a calm world around you.






We eat breakfast in the sun room. I review the meals and gatherings scheduled for the next three days. Ed's head may be spinning from so much time with family, over food, with the noise and clatter that comes with it, but in the end, he is always with us and not unhappy to fill his plate and watch the revelry. The grandpa who has forgotten that he's supposed to be grumpy during the holidays.





I wave him off to give blood and go to the basement to do a load of laundry.

And of course, this is the day our septic system decides to implode.

We have a flooded basement.

Come back, Ed!
But, but I have to give blood...

You have to laugh. I've lived here nearly four years and the first time we had a septic clog was on the day before Thanksgiving. My little girl points out that our septic system has a sense of occasion. Indeed! It's as if we need a reminder at the time of holidays and parties and festivities that the practicalities of life matter. That you cannot take for granted all that is handed to you each day.

Needless to say, finding someone to push through the willow roots that most likely have invaded the pipes yet again on Christmas Eve is a challenge.

But I, too, run away from the disaster. I have Snowdrop to visit this afternoon!

I'm there in time to feed her lunch. Look, little girl -- pear slices and strawberries! The ones you picked at the market!






But she is curious about all the activity around the house. Dad downstairs rustling and pounding, mom banging pots in the kitchen... what's going on there?






Still, distracting her isn't too hard. We have our games! Playing with the camera's self timer, for example.

 




Let's do a double selfie! (Is there a name for that?)






But when her mom starts reaching for ingredients in the pantry, Snowdrop scoots like a torpedo to the kitchen.






Those are hot pepper flakes, Snowdrop.
(Seems like a good rattle to me...)
Little one, where is your other shoe?
(I took it off of course.)
Of course.





While Virgil the cat looks on.






I lure her to her favorite books...






And that's just grand for a handful of minutes. But then she is back by the tree, reaching for an ornament, taking off tags so that she can "study them" with care, then toss them aside...






Finally the afternoon draws to a close. Before leaving I take a photo of the young family's first Christmas Eve as a threesome...






And then I drive home, where Ed (thank goodness) has found his bud with the gizmo that unplugs septic systems.

All is calm.

Dinner? Last year Ed and I went out to a very mediocre Chinese restaurant on Christmas Eve. That was the New York in him speaking. This year we opt for takeout food from our favorite Thai place.

If you celebrate Christmas, or even if you merely have kind feelings toward holidays and celebrations, then please accept my heartfelt wishes for a Merry Christmas. With love.