Saturday

Though Saturdays are typically Snowdrop lite days, this one is a bit different as the young family needed extra help this weekend.

Besides, it's not as if there is a pull to do something outdoors. We are about twelve hours away from an Arctic blast and in the meantime, the temperatures hover at the freezing point and even the delicate snow shower doesn't improve the landscape greatly.

The birds are wonderful to watch. From the warm quiet of the farmhouse kitchen.






I do a quick sweep of the roof again so that we wont have a repeat of the frozen solid snow to contend with and again I feel so grateful for that hot shower that warms you so completely after you've been working outside in a t-shirt because you didn't want to bother with the clunky jacket.

We eat breakfast feeling buoyed by the flowers again. (Full disclosure: the potted colorful anemones are from Giverny, but they are not real.)






And then I hurry over to Snowdrop's home.

The little one is, unfortunately, convinced that someday, the real deal cats will open up their hearts to her. Here's Goldie, the most queenly one of all. Snowdrop knows that Goldie does not take well to an outpouring of even gentle affection from her... 






But the poor girl never stops trying. It rarely ends well and so the only thing I can do is distract Snowdrop from the queen herself.






It's easy enough.






In the late morning. I take Snowdrop to music class -- this is the third series of song and dance classes she has enrolled in (they're part of the national Music Together program) and I have to smile at how far she has come. If before she was a fairly passive participant, now she is stomping and clapping and shaking things like a real toddler. True, her rhythm is uniquely her own, but hey -- why be constrained by convention?! (No photos. Too much action, too many other children, too much dancing and clapping and swooshing.)


At home, she feels emboldened. If yesterday she was parading around with two, three toys clasped tightly in her hands, today, she carries a whole basket of treasures and scatters them behind her, like a little Gretel.






Snowdrop, who will be picking these up after you?
Is that a real question, grandma?






And the afternoon? Well, there is lunch. Her all time beloved food? Sections of those clementines that flood our supermarkets in the winter. (Can you tell which cheek she naps on?)

After eating, she plays.

I'm thinking she needs to be introduced to public transportation. She has too many positive feelings about cars.






And of course, she has so many positive feelings about penguins. Someone indulged her love this Christmas and gave her Mr. Penguin supreme (it didn't help that he was on sale at the grocery store where we all shop so I understand the temptation). I have to say, that image of Christopher Robin and Pooh Bear? Nothing, compared to Snowdrop trying to criss cross her home with Mr. Penguin in hand.






I leave you with a bunch of adorable (in my grandmotherly opinion!) Snowdrop expressions. The girl is a genius at working her face in ways that'll make me laugh.






I'll say -- are you a chipmunk, Snowdrop? And oftentimes, I'll get this:






Ask for a kissy face, and (sometimes) you'll get this:






Oh, the beautiful faces of childhood!






Toward evening, I wave good bye to the sweet girl and head to a chocolate store. Why? That's next week's story. For now, I'm driving on the country roads, thinking how sometimes even that, which has little going for it, can actually turn out to be quite beautiful.






At home, I cook comforting pasta. Not hand made tortelli, but still, a thick veggie pasta dish that truly lets you forget the weather outside.





Almost completely.

Friday

Looking outside, here's what I have before me: brittle, icy snow that's melting somewhat, but not completely. The ground looks like a holstein cow. It's raining. Not just drizzling -- raining. With a deep freeze hustling in later this weekend, we'll have an ice rink at the farmette. One big ice rink. And of course, there is fog.

Have I made my point?

On the upside, it's warm enough for me to have opened the window in the middle of the night. We listened to the owl who lives just out front in the tall trees that shield the farmhouse. She is a vocal creature and her sounds are soothing in an eerie sort of way. We'd never seen her, but she has been hooting up a storm since I moved here several years ago and I'll always associate that sound with warm nights and raised windows at the farmhouse.

Breakfast is among the colors of fruits and flowers. We are so very lucky to have a steady supply of both! (Right now, three of the orchids are blooming profusely, responding well to this year's long and mellow fall, where they soaked in the outdoor coolness that they need to rebloom for us in the winter months.)





And then I grocery shop.

I do think it's marketing genius to place flowers at the grocer's just at the entrance, where you come in having basically given up on seeing anything on your drive over that isn't a shade of brown or gray. I usually pick up the cheapest bunch right then and there, telling myself that color on the kitchen table is as important as nutritious food is in your kitchen cupboards.

Back at the farmette, I try to shovel away as much of the snow as I can, because really, I do not want a skating rink here come Sunday, but it's no use. It's just cold enough for it to remain stubbornly iced over. I throw down the shovel and head out to see Snowdrop.


Here she is -- finally managing a close encounter with the cats, something that she wants with all her sweet little heart. True, they're not the real cats -- they're pillows with the family's cat photos on them. No matter. Snowdrop loves them and they do not run away.







A conversation ensues. Okay, it's one sided. But it's delightful.






Another interesting moment, this time with a very worthwhile book!






Today, as yesterday and the day before, there is a lot of traipsing back and forth. Why use your hands when the teeth work equally well?






Lots of laughter. Especially around penguin.






Too, there is the issue of the horse. Forgive the gendered statement here, but many will tell you -- girls like horses. Case in point.






Yeah.






Evening comes. I drive home. The rains continue. The fog is dense. The heart is warm.

Thursday

We're entering the mushy, freezing, biting and inhospitable, gray days of the month. I have no interest in taking my camera with me to the barn as I let the cheepers out. I do not want to prolong my stay outside. I give the girls food and water and I hurry back to the farmhouse.

Our breakfast is lovely and way too short. I could linger at the table for a good hour or two. As you can see, we're eating in the kitchen, which offers a sweeping view of the path toward the barn. Occasionally, flocks of birds swoop down on the crab apples and tear off a few more fruits, but otherwise the world is still and colorless.






Perhaps you'll blame the winter craziness that hits most of us here in January and February, but I have to admit to having taken on a new pet. Her name is Lolita and she lives in the bathroom. She has long legs and I know she thinks of me as her friend and supporter -- I feed her the occasional box elder beetle that comes into the farmhouse in the winter. Lolita is getting plump. Ed says she'll lay eggs for a thousand baby spiders, what with the food I give her. (Yes, she is a daddy long legs and I've taken on Ed's love of these guys: they eat mites and other bugs and keep our air pure and clean. At least that's the theory.)

I finish off a chunk of writing.

And then I force myself to step outdoors again, but this time with the sweet goal of heading out to visit Snowdrop.

Now is the time to say something that perhaps you've guessed already: Snowdrop is her own person. I had two daughters and so I thought I came to this game somewhat prepared. But Snowdrop is a whole new discovery for me. I've never seen anyone at her age or at any age have such a drive to explore, to discover!












To figure it out.






It's so hard to hold back. To not do it for her. But she never asks for help. Never complains when it's tough. She just keeps on going. And when she succeeds, the grin is tremendous.






And she is a girl with a sense of humor. I wont bother mentioning what silliness on my part brought forth this round of giggles.






Ah, Snowdrop... You sure put a big spark into a January day.

Wednesday

I had returned to the hotel that I always chose when I passed this way. I vaguely recall it's name -- Hotel Bauer maybe? The sound of it captures the languages of the region -- German,  with a bit of Italian. Or that dialect reserved for those who live on the border between Italy and Austria. Or Switzerland. Or something. The hotel is on the lake. Or across the street from the sea. I can't really tell. They are never nice to me there and I always get the worst possible room. The dinginess of the decor is starting to get to me -- the mustiness, the chipped furniture, the peeling paper. And yet I keep returning. But what's this? Frau (or is it Signora?) Bauer is giving me the best possible room today! Windows on three sides -- I can even see the water! And it's clean and I know for once I will have a good stay.

This ridiculous dream has been with me for so long! True, the airplane landing where it's not supposed to (a city street, remote village in Greenland) is a far more frequent nighttime little clip and I got that one last night as well. But what the heck do dreams mean anyway? I used to tell my girls when they recounted in great detail all aspects of their nocturnal vignettes -- Ah, but it means nothing. Old thoughts stuck in your head... Let's move on. (I know, I know, what kind of a mother denies their child the chance to recall a dream?!)

Still, that hotel scene stayed with me today as I woke at sunrise. The good room in a shabby space... the empty dining room... Okay okay, let's move on!


The tracks of Snowdrop's sled are still visible. The early morning light is always so beautiful on a snowy field just as the sun comes up!





As I let the cheepers out, I ask them - do chickens have dreams?

They cluck and eat bread and then go to their standard hiding spot in the old barn.

... while the sun climbs higher and higher.





Ed is still sleeping when I come back upstairs. I glance out the bathroom window and think -- I have a project before me. The snow has really piled high on the porch roof, with a hard layer of ice on top. The glass roof isn't in danger of shattering under its weight, but I know we have some freezing drizzle coming later this week and then we're in for a deep chill. And I love the light that a clean roof brings into the kitchen. It's now or never!

And so I spend the next hour or more trying to crack and shovel off most of the icy rooftop snow while maintaining my grip on the slippery beams.

A hot shower followed by a warm breakfast bring life back into my limbs. It had been a tough morning. Thoughts of the mystical Hotel Bauer left with those shovelfuls of icy snow.






I hurry then to Snowdrop's home, in time to see her parade down still in her jammies. Her birthday is but a memory now. Leftover balloons still appear in various corners of the room, but we are now focused on the year ahead!






I'm older and wiser too and so I know that I need not bathe the little one before an art class. Quick, put on something that we can get dirty! Go ahead, look at your book for a minute, but then let's go!






And she is in fact happy to be going.






And so here we are again in art class, with the same smock, but a different project.






You got it -- it's all about snowmen today. Here's Snowdrop's rendition (with a lot of grandma's assistance):






Alright. Time to return home. Past the seemingly frozen small lake...






... home. Her home. And finally, a bath. Ed laughs that I am so the wrong person to take Snowdrop to a class where she gets very dirty very deliberately. Ah, but then comes the satisfaction of scrubbing it all off! A clean dress and sweater and away she goes!






With a koala coaster for company.






A favorite game -- hide and seek. She hides, I search. The finding part causes her to laugh and laugh and of course, when she laughs, the world laughs with her.






In the afternoon, the little one is full of energy. She covers miles, going from the living room to the kitchen and back again. And again. And again.






Such intensity in her play! (Are we as intense in stuff we learn as adults?)






Towards evening, she gets tired. Of course she does. I encourage her to slow down. We read books. Her favorites, again and again and again. And she hugs her penguin. And she rolls and chortles...






... and only occasionally stretches her arms out begging to be held and comforted.

(You want to see a tired girl? Here you go...)







Toward the evening, I'm almost ready to leave, but the young couple have asked me to stay for a brief toast to the year gone by.






Oh, sweet days of winter! Is it really cold outside? I'm not feeling it.

being one

Even those of us who celebrate our own birthdays do not, on the day of the big day, spend much time reviewing our accomplishments and shortcoming from the year that's just passed. You don't wake up on your sixty-second birthday and think -- wow, in this last year, I learned at least five new French words and moreover, I perfected rolling out tortelli con zucca. You're more likely to think ahead. For example: gosh, next year at this time I'll be sixty-three. That's three years from standard retirement age under Social Security.

With a young child, it's different. You do look back.
Remember the day she was born? How cold it was outside? Remember when she did tummy time and we couldn't imagine her sitting up? Look how far she's come!







Yes, Snowdrop is a year old today.


Unlike a year ago, this day is not especially cold, hovering around freezing most of the daylight hours. I let Ed do cheeper duty and it is so very luxurious just to stay in bed and think about how good these days are for my family, for Ed and me.

Breakfast is in the sunroom!






And so you know that we have before us at least a partly sunny day.

Because I have some time to myself this morning, I spend the hours catching up: I roll and freeze several balls of pizza dough. I descale the espresso machine. And I study Ocean's pages (something I rarely do) dating to the first weeks of Snowdrop's life.

In so many ways, our infancy predicts our childhood and our childhood predicts our adult years. Except -- you do not know in which ways! Which traits, which physical characteristics will vanish -- pffft! gone with the wind, never to be seen again? And which will be the ones that'll have us say later on -- you remember, she had this habit from day one!?


In the late morning, Ed and I go cross country skiing again. Though there is a blast of polar air in store for us next week, the snow is dwindling to an icy cover that will diminish even more with the expected Thursday rains. And so we especially enjoy our time on the trails, choosing one that meanders over marshlands and up through the woods.











I do hesitate as two dogs come out of nowhere -- bounding toward me as if I were their best friend or worst enemy...





They are alone and I wonder whose garden gate they managed to open. Is someone looking for them now? I stoop down to see who the owners may be, but they cavort off off and away, as if their own youthful exuberance forces them to seize that moment of freedom.



I go to Snowdrop's home just for a couple of hours in the afternoon. The big celebration of the little girl's birthday was, of course, the day after Christmas, with grandparents, aunts, uncles clustered around the little girl. There was cake, there was singing, there were gifts.

Today is low key and I leave her to the young parents in the evening -- they have their own small birthday plans.

Nor am I very active in engaging the little one-year old today. I sit back (or at times chase her around with my camera), letting her wander and wonder about the toys...






 So much new stuff (in the broadest sense) the world throws in your lap each day!






So much to like and admire!






I've given her my grandma toys on the day of the family celebration. Just one book and one card today (and I'm not the only one who sneaked in a book on Paris for her birthday!)...






The girl is sweetly polite about every last gift, but we have to remember, it's not always easy being one...






Here, she is resting on the floor with a wee booklet. I can see her in this pose when she is sixteen! Oh! That's not so far off!






Since Ocean notes the experience of being a grandma, I allow myself one time released selfie of Snowdrop and me.






But I'll end her part of today's story with what I see so often and admire so much -- her ready and happy smile.






In the evening, Ed and I go out for our postponed dinner date -- at Brasserie V, a place where we sit at the bar and fill up on mussels and fries. It may not look like much, but it really is the height of pleasurable dining for us.






The day ends for me with that deep contentment that comes when you know the people you love are doing okay in life.

One birthday down, many to go. Happy years ahead, Snowdrop. Your joy is so very contagious!