Sunday, Sunday

In the darkness of the night, as I waited for Snowdrop's next call for help, I thought -- this is like Snowdrop's first night in Paris (she had the hardest time sleeping then, more so than at any other time in her life), except without the Eiffel Tower outside our windows.

Still, the little girl slept late and more importantly, woke up looking like her old self again.

A quick snack, a bath and then a breakfast of waffles -- something I hadn't made since my own girls were young.

She is slightly surprised that we are eating in the sun room. It seems a game. Our usual "you sit there and you sit there and I sit here."






But despite her still tentative appetite, she has no objection to the waffles.






As I get Snowdrop ready to go home, Ed attempts to get the truck out so that we can haul kayaks to a nearby river. Snowdrop discovers her wagon and between that and Ed's machinations with the truck, the little girl is just entranced.






The truck is a lost cause for now. I take Snowdrop home where she is so happy to see her mommy again and then I return to Ed and the problem of the day's adventure. No truck, no kayaks. Well that's fine! Let's do a good hike!

He searches for interesting trail segments, I search for Henny's eggs. She has been hiding them again.

Success! Ed finds a trail, I find the eggs. (Henny, why would you lay in the dirt bucket tucked away in the garage??)







We hike the Ice Age Trail segment just at the outskirts of Janesville (some 35 miles to the south of us). The trail runs along the Rock River and the views are tremendous!






The limestone cliffs rise to the east, the sun dapples between the trees that are still full of leaves.










But the colors are of this season.






We end up in a lovely park, one that I imagine Snowdrop would love to some day visit. (Ed and I try out some of the potential fun moments.)





And then we hurry home because it is Sunday and of course this is the day Snowdrop and her family (just mom today) are here for dinner.

Can you tell that the little one is feeling so much better?






She's happy, so we're happy. Ed -- well, he's happy but also hungry.






By the way, Snowdrop insists that we drag in a grown up chair for her for dinner. She's just recovering so we are more amenable to ridiculous requests. Of course, she enjoys spinning around in it until we turn stern and remind her that this is dinnertime.





Such a Sunday! Capped by an evening of debate viewing. Some would think this is a depressing way to end an evening. Not me. My granddaughter's on the mend, my daughters are well, Ed and I hiked under a brilliant sky. There isn't much out there that could bring me down tonight, sleep deprivation notwithstanding.

chaos and calm

Chaos in the media, chaos in the skies along the eastern coast, chaos here, too.

Interspersed (at least at the farmhouse) with periods of beautiful calm.

It's a glorious day outside -- one that invites outdoor work or play. But Ed and I sleep in, both tired from a week of too little down time.

We switch to our winter (would you believe it -- winter!) breakfast routine, taking the meal this time in the sun room.





And then we play a game of tennis. It is beyond heavenly! The tall white pines around the court are shedding some of their needles and some would complain that it makes the court rather tricky to navigate, but the scent is sublime and our game -- not practiced much this summer -- is grand.


And now we're in for a bit of chaos. Snowdrop is to spend the day and night at the farmhouse: one parent is going to a conference, the other is returning, but since comings and goings can be tough on a little one, I offer to have the girl with me during these transitions.

Except that as I go to pick her up, I see that she is more than sniffly. She is completely under the weather. Sort of like in Paris only worse.

Well, never mind. All the more reason to bring her to the farmette and to nurse her through the next bug.

Our wonderful crab apples welcome us home.






Initially, I thought I'd post no photos of the afternoon. You don't take photos of a sick babe. But kids are funny that way: one minute they seem like they're months away from being well and then next, they show signs of spark:






You put on a record, they want to dance (with cow)...






I'm especially buoyed when I go to the kitchen to start supper preparation and she follows. (What you're doin' grandma?)






I had wanted to make pizza. Should I proceed? She's not in an eating mode...
Sauce!
You want some?
Yes, eat sauce.

She tries, poor little one, she really tries.






And I am heartened when she makes her way to the sun room. This is where she loves to sit, so long as Ed and I are also there, sitting with her.






But with sick little ones, one minute they're up, the next, they just have to fold.

Snowdrop and I end the day with a lot of books. A lot of books.






And when I need a pause, she turns to Ed...






The night is calm. She is asleep. Ed and I are watching the end of a movie I thought I'd never agree to watch with him ("Martian"). Life is full of its funny twists and turns.

the world of cows

A sunrise on a mostly cloudy morning can be quite beautiful. If there is a break in the sky, you may find yourself, for one fleeting moment, with a burst of radiant color.





Initially it is a warm morning, but that quickly changes and I think we can now finally say goodbye to the warm and somewhat sultry air that's been with us for so long. Perhaps most of the bugs will go away as well. One can hope.

In any case, the dip in temps means that we're eating our breakfast inside once more. Until next spring.





It's Friday and so I grocery shop and I have my recurrent conversation with the meat people:
I would like the Italian chicken sausages for Tuesday. Will they keep until then?
We suggest you buy them Sunday or Monday. We'll have them then. We never run out.

I get this kind of an answer often: come back in a couple of days. Am I the only one who grocery shops only once a week?

But all this is trivial. I hurry as always. I do not want to be late for Snowdrop's school pick up.

And as luck would have it, the clouds begin to thin out. It's going to be a brisk and lovely day after all!

(Where to, grandma?)





Oh, I know where to! I've brought over the stroller: we're heading to a cow fair (aka World Dairy Expo), little one!


I'd taken her to the World Dairy Expo a year ago. She was then just nine months old and she was taken aback by the whole thing. (It's noisy, crowded, smelly and, well, there are all those cows!) What would she think this year?


(Whoa! Real cows are bigger than me!)






(Maybe we should go that way!)





She is again unsure about the huge holding pens where hundreds of cows wait.
Want to walk up between the stalls?
No!

But she has, too, a new level of confidence. And she is thrilled to climb any which way she can in the expo center's grand exhibition hall.

(Mommy and daddy took me here for hokey games! Where did the ice go?)






(I'm taking it all in, grandma!)






(Let's check out the International Lounge!)





She climbs every stairwell, navigates every inch of open space and in fact would be happy to do so for a long while, but it really is getting long past her nap time, so I point her toward the exit. Though I cannot resist a souvenir from this day -- a cow, of course.

(Do we have to go?)





One more pause to look at the parade of cows...






(I think I'm more fond of my own wee cow...)






At the farmhouse, she places her special new bovine pal in the high chair...






... then turns to the practicalities of life -- like tugging at the (now functioning) refrigerator door to see what goodies lie within.






A few strawberries. Perfect. She takes them (and cow) to her little table. I try to sneak in a pony tail. It stays up for about two minutes.






Cow gets the royal treatment today -- a special helping of pretend yogurt. (Snowdrop is not a milk drinker. We substitute it with yogurt, which she does love.)






I feel I've done my duty: I've gotten my wee granddaughter up close, really close to her home state's most important animal. We live in the "dairy state." An annual visit to the World Dairy Expo is sort of like a trip to the orange grove if you live in Florida or a lobster shack if you're from Maine.


After her nap, she feeds her bis. And her cow. Yeah!






A day of sunshine and gorgeous cows. What could be better?!

his thoughts, her thoughts, my thoughts

We finished moving food out of the warm refrigerator by midnight. Now came the puzzling question: what went wrong? The fridge was not especially expensive, but it was well rated by Consumer Reports. We bought it when I moved to the farmhouse some five years back.

These machines now have codes and flashing numbers and a whole plethora of bells and whistles to alert the repair person to what's malfunctioning. But it's not information that's readily available to the consumer.

Unless you're an Ed.

Not for him the normal response: call the repair person, get a diagnosis, pay for a fix, resume your normal life.

He searches the web all night until he finds the probably cause, removes the troubled circuit board (officially called a "jazz control board"), and makes a list of places in town that might stack a replacement for the defective part. 

Unfortunately, to buy the board locally (rather than having it shipped from who knows where), you have to pay a couple of dollars more.

Well so what??? If we don't fix the fridge today, then I can't grocery shop tomorrow and (for complicated reasons) I can't shop Saturday either so we'll wind up doing take out, or eating out, which will more than offset the savings of having the part shipped! -- That's my reasoning.

And Ed?

So you really really want me to buy the board today for 125 when I can get it possibly as soon as next week for 85?
Yes!
You really need the refrigerator that soon?
Yes!
You want me to go all the way to the next town to get that expensive part?
Yes!
Now?
Yes!

He mulls this over for a bit.

But first there's a work phone call for him and I throw my hands up and retire to the porch to eat my own breakfast. He joins me, skyping with his work buddies as we eat.






(View from the porch these days...)






(Like in Giverny last October, here, too, the blooms are more than 80% annuals.)






In the end, he does get the part, but he remains troubled by the added expense, even though in exchange for it, I tell him that we'll cancel our date night dinner out tonight and we'll scavenge around and see what's still fresh among the foods we salvaged from the dead refrigerator last night.


It's been an unusually warm early Fall. Yes, we ate breakfast on the porch. And when I pick up Snowdrop, she lets me know that she does not need a sweater.






Happy girl! She carries her lunch bag to the waiting stroller, delighted that I have in mind a brief walk now.






It doesn't take much to figure out that she wants to go to the playground.

I'm on top of the world here!






Indeed. This one small playground is perfect for her age: there's nothing on it that she doesn't like or can't do these days.






After, we pause ever so briefly at the coffee shop -- mostly so that I can get a take-out cup of the strong stuff (it was a very full night).

You're not forgetting the cookie, are you grandma?






On the walk home, I can't help but notice that the air feels like late summer, but the trees are telling us we're long past that season.






Oh no, grandma! There's a fallen branch blocking our path!
Walk around it, little one.






And at home she plays with her new plastic love -- a rocket launch pad.






Blast off! Again and again.






And she drives, or pretends to drive. Happy to take you on as a passenger...





And finally she begs to wear my shoes.
Too big!
Not too big...

Too big!!!!






Want to go out again, Snowdrop?
Oh yes!!!





Yeah, a happy girl. This is where my thoughts overlap so perfectly with hers and his: she's happy.

And that's such a beautiful thing.