Thursday

Oh, Thursday -- you are too chock full of the details that add up to very little! Perhaps we should move on to Friday? Take my early morning: the highlight may well have been the walk to let the cheepers out, though I was a bit taken aback by how chilly the landscape looked. As if we are just creeping up on the heels of winter.






And of course, breakfast. Always a good meal. We linger over it, though we discuss the unpredictability of real estate investments, so I suppose it is more serious than sublime (even as you'll get no disagreement from me on this point: real estate giants -- I'm thinking, for example, those who then plunge into politics -- may wish you to think otherwise, but in the end, they owe much of their success to good luck).






I have an hour or two at the farmhouse before heading out to Snowdrop's home. How might I describe this time?  Bursting with the mundane!  Let me throw out a few examples:
-- packing up the inevitable returns from online orders. In my case, it was a sippy cup that came with a hole in its bottom. I asked Ed if this could possibly be intentional, but he assured me there was nothing in the field of physics that would warrant that kind of a design.
-- another example: harvesting box elder beetles. [What, you don't know about my ongoing battle with the beetles? Well it's like this: there are so many boxelder trees in Wisconsin! And so many boxelder beetles live in them, and in our beautiful maples too. The beetles migrate from trees to house come wintertime and no, we wont spray, so it's a question of throwing them outside (Ed's choice) or flushing them down the toilet (my choice).]
-- etc.


I have to smile when I finally make it to Snowdrop's home. So vivacious! So full of spirit and determination! Run this way, run back again. And again. And again.

Time to say good bye to mommy...






Fortunately, there is another shoulder to lean on. (In a very grandmotherly fashion, I make myself a cup of tea.) Don't you think she's ready for a morning nap? Yep. Up she goes.






In the afternoon, the little girl does have a quiet moment...






But it is just a moment. She has a new goal: why walk from point A to B when you can run, and not just run, but do this on tippy toes?






Okay, sweet child, let's go out for a walk.

[This is how distracted I can get: I make a mental note of all that she needs: sweater -- check. Warm cap -- check. Shoes, in case we wind up in a place where she can walk/run -- check. A stuffed animal to tide her through the rough times -- check. An extra blanket in case the wind picks up  -- check. My phone, my wallet -- check, check. We're off! Halfway down the block, I look down and notice that I am in my slippers. Oops.]

It is, in fact windy. That thermometer reading of 35F (2C) feels much colder when the clouds cover the sun and gusts come in from the lakes. I tell her -- let's go as far as the coffee shop. She perks up. She knows what's what.





At the Lakeside Cafe, the scone is really for Ed, but both she and I break off a crumb, just for the taste.

You'd think she'd be unhappy with the fact that I give her only a morsel, no bigger than her thumb nail, but no. Inevitably, the locality will grab her attention more than the sweet crumb of a scone. She spins herself around in the high chair to get a good look at her surroundings and especially at the people there.






This is when I put on her shoes and lift her out of the high chair. (Owl is her Occasional Traveling Companion.)

She'll be comin' round the corner when she comes...






A few circles around the cafe and I am ready to reel her in.

Getting her outfitted for the windy walk home is a production, but with this, she is patient.






I think how a kid living up north has to get used to the fact that the outdoors is never predictable and not always kind. But oh my, isn't the joy of a good snowfall, or of a summer evening chasing fireflies worth it? Snowdrop would surely say yes it is. And I would agree.

sunshine

These mornings of sunshine and blue skies are just exquisite!  We have a plethora of animal tracks all across the farmette, but every once in a while you can find an isolated set and it just makes you wonder: who came here? What did they find?






A few minutes after seven the sun is already brilliant. (So many tracks!)






The two hens are now both laying almost daily. [Scotch took a long pause all winter long and Butter was an on again, off again girl.]






Oh, that great big beautiful sky!






Breakfast, deliciously in the sun room.






And an early Snowdrop day.

Here's the girl, scrubbed and dressed and ready to play!






I'll share three favorite activities (out of a cast of, oh, about a hundred!):


Trying to figure out what makes the weasel pop and having some doubts about the sanity of the whole thing:






Climbing into her basket of toys.






And staying there.






Learning to jump. When her body fails to shoot up into the sky, she's happy to watch me do it for her.






But sunshine does rule this day and in the afternoon, I take the little girl out on an excursion. Not an outdoor one exactly: we go shopping. For boots. It can get pretty muddy at the farmette come spring time and it strikes me that Snowdrop will need rubbers. Wellies, if you will.






Next door to the shoe store, there is a low key mall. A whole new world to explore.






I propose a pause at a coffee shop. It isn't the best. Both she and I agree on that. (Though she appreciates the rubber duckie that she'd gotten for shopping at the kiddie shoe store.)






Ah, but now comes the treat: the visit to the toy store. Lets just say that I had trouble casting even a glance at the toys. She is so fast!






If I hadn't looked up, I may have missed the moment she decided to leave the store.







It was a beautiful day. Can you tell? 

Tuesday and the pink horror

Once more, I spent the night checking my email to see if my counter to the counter offer for the Warsaw apartment was to receive another counter. In between popping up when the email jingle alerted me to a message, I lay in bed thinking how comfortable it is to be excited rather than anxious. The night is far longer if you toss from worry. Too little sleep isn't a great way to start a busy Tuesday, but I have to say, the night itself was rather lovely.

It is, however, my early day with Snowdrop. As I get up, I feel a deep compassion for a sleeping Ed (he has been working on his invention every night, late into the night, for weeks now) and I almost do not tell him that I'd let the cheepers out and am myself ready to eat and run. But, he must have sensed or heard by knocking about, because he came down in a rather bedraggled state (yes, more so than usual!) to keep me company and nibble on some fruit.






I then do a hasty retreat. You don't want to be a tardy sitter when people depend on you.

Snowdrop wakes up earlier than usual. Initially she is peppy and boisterous...

(Little one, you so need a bath! You have bits of oatmeal on your cheeks!)






But eventually she and I settle into quiet play. Now, I did find a new toy -- a small football -- lying around, but honestly, I am the wrong person to teach her enthusiasm for the sport. Oh, I give it to her...

(Grab it, Snowdrop!)





(Huh?)

She looks for further instruction and upon receiving none (what, should I tell her to kick it?), she puts it aside and settles down to read. If anyone is going to make a Packer fan out of her, it wont be me.






Trains on the other hand --- yes, I can get enthusiastic about those!






Toward noon, she stomps around, in a tired kind of way...

(I am sympathetic, sweet one!)






... mostly from my lap to a toy, then back to me, begging for a lift.






And this is when I get the crucial email from Warsaw:  the owners of the pink horror have accepted my offer and so tomorrow, if my finicky but very clever attorney sees no impediments, we shall have in place a signed agreement.

I am tickled pink!

It seems that this brash colored flat will be my Valentine adventure after all.

I'll end with that. Some days, you just have to let go of everything but the bare essentials. I think today I covered the bare essentials.

the pink week-end reaches its own finale

This morning, as I roll out pizza dough for a dinner later in the week, I think about how subtle cultural differences often are.

To the naked eye, a Warsaw real estate transaction may proceed exactly in the same way as one in Madison Wisconsin. There is an agent. The agent conveys the offer and the counter until everyone is in agreement. There is a lawyer who reviews the paper trail. There is a down payment. There is a final payment and the keys are handed over. I haven't yet seen if there's a popping of champagne in celebration at the end, but I kind of doubt it. And on this end, in all my home purchases (total of five), I don't recall anyone handing me champagne. The best I netted was a bottle of cheap wine and a crocheted Christmas ornament from an agent who meant well.

But the naked eye doesn't see the whole story. Because honestly, at the gut level, everything about the Warsaw apartment buying feels different. I say to Ed over breakfast... (what? you thought I'd skip the nod to breakfast? Not at all!)






... it's as if Poles haven't quite grasped that capitalism is a cruel beast, with no soft or kind moments, where you might take a pause and gaze lovingly at your daylilies, or at the bat show from your front porch while the beast waits for your next move. (I use examples of favorite activities at the farmette.)

Take my latest (third!) apartment offer, made on the garishly pink place in Warsaw. My sister conveyed the offer to the agent and he conveyed it to the owners on Saturday afternoon. I waited by the phone all evening.

Nothing.

Then comes Sunday and of course, nothing happens on Sunday. Along comes Monday morning.

Nothing.

Ed says -- they're letting you stew.
I respond -- but I'm the buyer! I can, in the meantime, make other offers, look at other apartments! Look at me! I've already backed out of two sales! Grab me now or you may never hear from me again!
Ed repeats -- they're letting you stew.

But I think he is not correct. I think he thinks like an American on this one.

When it is nearly evening in Warsaw, I hear back from the sellers. There is a counter offer.
I respond immediately with my own counter. My sister gently suggests -- maybe you'd like to wait a day? They'll expect you to sit on it for a while.

Time? I'm negotiating. Time is to be manipulated toward a better deal. Time is a killer for an anxious seller. I have a roving eye, always on the lookout for a better deal. Indeed, I have another apartment lined up, just in case.

And here's the second point: that other apartment that's lurking in the background -- we haven't seen it yet, because the owner is feeling a little under the weather. They'll show it maybe later in the week.

People! You want to sell? Don't get me in there at the end of the week! I have the pinkie in the works, I wont be interested later in the week. Don't let yourself be my back up plan! Put yourself in competition with the other place!

My sister tells me that people contemplate. They don't rush. She is not surprised by the need to feel the gentleness of the passage of time.

Subtle differences: a deal is but one aspect of life there. It does not dictate your movements. It takes its place in line with other imperatives.

Ed says I should take up buying and selling apartments as a hobby. Sell this one, buy the next, make a profit -- he tells me. I remind him that I am only on the surface Americanized. Deep down, I understand the longing for order. For stability. For moments of respite. For star gazing, bat gazing, lily gazing. I am, as always, at the cusp of two worlds, following the imperatives of neither very well.


Ah, but if it's Monday then, well, you know -- the little one comes to the farmhouse!






Let's continue the theme of cultural differences for a bit:
Did you know, Snowdrop, that far far away, there is this city...






... where you can take your dog to a coffee shop?






Well, we do not have a dog at the farmhouse, but we do, of course, have a coffee shop, not too far down the road. It's time to pick up some more pickles (they have them there -- the only ones Ed likes west of Brooklyn) and so in the afternoon, after lunch (her smile comes out when someone she knows and likes enters the kitchen)...





... she and I head out.


She gets a wee crumb of a cookie I purchase for Ed (her cap and the cafe mug match: coincidence!).






But the highlight for her is being let loose in the play corner. A new toy to mess with!






And another!






And better yet, new people to greet!






Evening. Snowdrop is now back home. The night isn't too cold. At the farmhouse, I look to Ed -- ready?
Yep.

We go out to eat our Valentine's Day dinner at Brasserie V. Mussels and fries, at the bar. No, my Warsaw apartment negotiations aren't over. Of course they're not. But there's a certain comfort in understanding how things will proceed, how they might falter, how good it will be no matter what the outcome.

I sip my glass of rose wine.






We pack up the left over fries for Ed's lunches in the week ahead. On the drive home, out of nowhere, he says -- you know, we really have a great house. Perfectly small. Just right.

Yes, just right.

the pink week-end, continued

There is this devilish side to me that likes to torture Ed with holidays such as this one. I'll get up to let the cheepers out and say in an off hand manner -- it's my Valentine's day gift to you. Or, I'll spare him the Sunday vacuuming and do it myself -- as a special treat for this day, I tell him. Or, I'll make a heart out of raspberries on his oatmeal.






This is when it begins to sink in that unfortunately, I'm one of those who likes special days. It's a truth he prefers to forget, even as I wont let him. Every day is not Valentine's Day, not should it be. This day of hearts and sweet gestures is one that feels good because you don't typically pamper your emotions in this fashion. And yes, you can be jaded, or indifferent to it, or downright hostile to yet another commercial infraction on your peace and quiet, but for me, February offers too many bleak days and cold nights. A chance to step outside of your routines and play a little with the person or people you love seems like such a fine thing!

By late morning, Ed is scrambling for ideas: a movie? No, too crowded. Nothing is pulling me there. Chocolates from our favorite store? Closed today, my dear -- I say with a wicked smile, rubbing in the idea that Valentine's Day requires forethought. He doesn't give up: dinner out? Not today, so how about tomorrow?

I agree to that. After all, much will be decided in terms of my Warsaw apartment saga in the next 24 hours (though not today -- no one in Poland works on Sundays, not even real estate agents) and it will be lovely to cap off the day with a dinner at a favorite place.

As for today, we settle on going to the annual garden expo. Bring on the thoughts of flower fields and put me in the mood for spring! Especially since it is a cold and yes, somewhat snowy day.






At the expo, there is a small farmers market and Ed is so in luck, because a chocolatier (Roots, which claims to make farm crafted chocolates using local Wisconsin ingredients, including herbs, vegetables, fruits and honey from their farmstead) is selling boxes of sweets and of course now he can be the one grinning wickedly, with a boast that he attended to the chocolates for his sweetie after all.

Too, we buy seeds for tomatoes and seeds for my garden annuals. (I learned how invaluable these are when I visited Giverny at the end of October and found, to my surprise, that most of the color at that time came from annuals. I'm determined to experiment with more than cosmos and nasturtium varieties this year, though these two will always reign as my favorites.)






We checked out all the booths and vendors. I think I joined a dailily club and I distinctly remember putting myself on the mailing list for some iris specials put on by the Iris Society.

Finally, we retreated to the seminar room to listen to a presentation about bee keeping. We have flirted with this idea for years and though we have really no intention of getting our hands into hive management, nonetheless we listen attentively. It's sort of like people who don't want to travel going to a presentation on what to pack for your next trip to Europe -- you do it because the imagery is nice, nothing more.


In the evening, well now, it's Snowdrop's second Valentine's Day and once again, she spends it with us at the farmhouse.






Such a happy event!

(I take off her tights -- she's running so fast that I worry about our slippery floors.)






I remember last year's photo of Ed and Snowdrop: she was calm, he was tentative. This year -- they're old hands (though as before -- her hand is tiny when next to his).






Oh, Snowdrop, you heart studded little girl! (Playing here with her Valentine's Day treat -- a new stacking toy: a penguin.)






Oh, Valentine's Day!


Ed and I are not married, nor do we have children together, but still, I laughed out loud when reading this poem in the New Yorker (I did not find it myself, because, well, I have been too busy vacuuming the house to read my own New Yorker today; it comes to me via the blog of BenandBirdy, so thank you for it!).

It's called "Valentine's Day Poems for Married People" (click here to read) and I would have read it to Ed, except for that crucial fact that we are not married and we do not have children together and so he may not have mustered up the level of amusement the piece deserves.

I hope a smile crept into your day more than once today. Happy February 14th, however you treat it! With love.

the weekend of good pink

I shall for a long time recall this weekend as the one with all that pink stuff strewn about it. From the first moment of daybreak, on the ground, in the early sunlight, with a touch of gold...






At the breakfast table, in the sun room, where a pelargonium popped open...






I know -- big deal, you're thinking. These are stock Ocean images. Is it that the days are showered with Valentine motifs?

Not exactly. Here's the story:

This cold cold morning (0F, or -18C),  I wake up to a predawn message from my sister: call me. Of course, I'm excited. I stumble down to the kitchen and open up Skype. My 5 am is her noon. I had asked her to look at a real screamer of an apartment. Same great location of my last offer, but this unit is different in that it presents itself terribly on the Internet. For one thing, it's painted a deep and profoundly disturbing shade of pink.

Nothing else about the place looks attractive: indifferent kitchen corner, awful bathroom. And of course, you're blinded by the brashness of the walls.

She came back with a report: nice owners, renting it out to very nice students of music. (Not surprising -- it's right next to the Chopin University School of Music -- one of the oldest and largest music schools in Europe). Any other stellar points? Well, it's a prewar building, which means high ceilings. Nice floor boards too. That's about it. As expected, everything else lives up to its reputation in the photos: very unattractive. The building itself -- rather ordinary. With sprays of graffiti.

I give it a few minutes' thought. I call her back. I want to make an offer.

Have I gone mad??

No, as Ed says -- I've learned a lot about real estate in Warsaw.

I haven't heard back yet. But I will within a day or two. And if I find myself owning a pink apartment in Warsaw with terrible everything in it, you'll be hearing about the next step: the renovation.

Happy Valentine's Day weekend to you too!






In other news -- I stood outside and washed the car for fifteen minutes (I know this, because that's how much time you get with the hose at the car wash for $5) in frigid weather (Lilly now has balls of ice liberally sprinkled all over her clean body) only to remember on the drive home that we're promised a big snow tomorrow. Ed says that it has been shown that some people have a gene that causes them to pay for a car wash just as the snow is about to fall. I think he's joking, but perhaps not.