Wednesday

I am so deeply appreciative of you, you Ocean readers! You are generous and kind and you truly make it very easy to feel hopeful about the world. Thank you for your comments and messages. You're the best!

Now if only you could do magic, I'd have a job for you: please let's get back to outdoor readings that are less like the Arctic and more like south central Wisconsin in the wintertime!

When I wake up, it is thirty degrees colder than it had been when I went to sleep (from 35F, which is just shy of 2C, down to 5F -- a cheek burning -15C). And it will only get worse tomorrow.

Of course, I don't believe in magic, nor in some greater weather deity who manipulates things up there for me, but I do regard it a fantastic (if not fantastical) coincidence that my daughter, born on a January 19th, came into this world on the coldest day of the year (or was it decade, or maybe even century?). And Snowdrop, born on January 5th, repeated that feat by popping out on the coldest day of her birth year. So perhaps I should not be surprised that tomorrow, a birthday for her, will be even colder than what we have today.

On the upside, the sun is out and us hearty northerners tend to be cheerful about the weather so long as there is that spark of brilliant light shining down on us all.






We eat breakfast in the sun room!






And then Ed and I go to a big box store -- to pick up some party hats for the little girl and also to pick up my 4x6 photo that is really a compilation of 6 identical 2x2 photos. You'll probably have guessed that Ed twisted my arm to do my own passport pics on the cheap: rather than paying the $6.50 for a designated passport set, we printed one that I can, myself, cut to size. The cost: 19 cents. It is so like Ed to take on the project of making something that is already cheap even cheaper.

And then I bake a cake.





This is quite the advance planning on my part. And I should note that the bigger celebration of Snowdrop's birthday will come this weekend, when friends and family will gather to sing happy birthday to her and wish her well and eat gobs of cake along with her then. Still, we're having the young family over tomorrow for a pizza and (small) cake supper, and a request was lodged for a strawberries 'n cream concoction, and part one of creating that fell on this day. (It's a sponge cake and David Lebovitz, my go-to dessert guy, swears that it cuts better if you bake it the day before.)


Snowdrop is back in school today. I would imagine all the two and nearly two year olds would get unused to being in school again after a two week break, but the teachers said the transitions were easy and the day was smooth, even though there was no possibility of outdoor play.

It is so cold, that as we leave, Snowdrop insists on mittens -- a rare thing for her indeed, especially since we only need to walk the few steps to the car.






As we enter the farmhouse, she smells cake. She sees cake. It's hard to tell a not quite two year old that it's for tomorrow, but with Snowdrop, you need only offer a piece of bread, with maybe a few strawberries and the girl usually settles into a comfortable munch.






But she is tired, I can tell. She still runs, in the way we run when we want to express our inner joie de vivre (what, you don't run when you're happy? well, maybe you once did)...






... but she also settles down into a steady stream of book reading. And protests only half heartedly when I put her down for a nap.


Again the sun is setting by the time Snowdrop wakes up. I watch the flowers on the table pick up the golden hues of the outdoor light.






The girl looks tussled after her very long rest and she has that sleepy daze about her that makes her appear just a little bit younger.






I look through pictures from last year from this same time period. She wasn't quite one then. Her cheeks were pudgy. I worried that every step she took would cause her to topple hard. Now I worry that the words I use -- when I feed her, play with her, let her be -- aren't the ones she needs.


Following her lead, we play with her toy food. This, right now, is her favorite. We sit across each other and we bargain: who can "eat" what. Of course, it's just a metaphor for so much more.

... even as for her, it's a very serious game about food. (Thinking about who should get the pancake...)







Very very serious. (Honestly, she will be a chef. It seems to be her calling.)






It strikes me that I am so much more careful with Snowdrop than I am say with Ed, or with my daughters. My words, half of them still a mystery to her, still seem to matter so much more! She watches me intently as I tease her. Ed ignores me when I tease him. She takes me seriously almost always. He, my daughters -- well, there is a history that has cemented something that endures despite the words that come and go.

I write all this because I think that Snowdrop, the nearly two year old Snowdrop, has led me to be less nonchalant about what I say and how I say it. And you know what? I think that's a good thing. For everybody.

Tuesday

If last year was low on snow, this year is even more hopeless (for us cross country skiing types). A few weeks ago we had more than a foot of snow. Now it's mostly gone and what's left is crusty and icy and not pleasant to navigate, with or without skis. The snowman by the farmhouse has shriveled into a heap of nothing, the sled stands on the porch useless and forgotten.

And the ten day forecast shows every temperature variation -- from the mighty cold to just at freezing, but there is no sign of snow on the horizon. Right now, it's foggy, it's gray, it's basic waiting weather: we wait for something more inviting than what's out there right now.







This is the time to make sure that when you shop, you place a bunch of flowers in your grocery cart. (I'm still out of sync with my Friday shopping schedule: I go today, if only because I need ingredients for cake baking.)






It's Snowdrop's last day of vacation from school and just past noon, I catch her at home with her newest fascination with snap blocks.






It would be hard to pull her away from a favorite toy, but I promise her that Ed's waiting for a beard trim at the farmhouse. We head out.

I take out the razor. That pile of white stuff has to go!

She is intrigued.







I ask her if she wants to help, but something about the razor moving up and down his face gives her pause. She tells me -- I want my beard cut... tomorrow. We clearly haven't explained to her the gendered nature of this event. Ed doesn't help by adding -- some women have beards. I give him my very fiercest frown.






(Later, she works her hands across his face as if to make sure it's all still there...)






We eat lunch then. Or, rather, we keep her company as she shares bits and pieces of her lunch with us. The girl loves a social meal!






And then it's back to food play, as if she just can't get enough of dishing out her fruits, veggies, sushi, croissants, cereal to anyone who'll sit with her and play her elaborate games that incorporate her toy foods.






As Snowdrop naps, I look outside for any hint of a change in the weather. It's supposed to grow bitter cold again, but I'm looking for something else: a lift of the perpetual dusk-like tone to the landscape. A patch of blue perhaps? Maybe a cardinal to splash a fleeting bit of red to the frozen trees?

Not today. I make myself a third cup of tea for the afternoon (from chamomile, to blueberry, to rooibos) and watch as the light fades outside the kitchen window. This is when you start looking froward to a good dinner and perhaps a special movie viewing evening. Maybe I can twist Ed's arm for an n-th rerun of a favorite rom com. Maybe.

Ocean 13

It is not because I think this to be a great accomplishment. Nor is it that I think myself to be doing something important. Nonetheless, each year, on January 2nd, I mark another year of daily blogging. I've ben writing posts here on Ocean for thirteen years today.

I note this fact for several reasons: one is that I want sheepishly to admit how important this is to me. No passing thing, it has become a place where I can easily lose myself in photos and words and in so doing, give shape to a day.

When I think of the past thirteen years in a vacuum, I remember the milestones. There have been many. But when I glance at an older Ocean post, I remember the day's joy, the discovery, the delight.

Another reason to mark the mounting number of years that I have blogged is to acknowledge the efforts of others to help this project along. Oh, I do the writing and the photo taking. But think of the patience of those around me, who understand that each day, I need space and quiet. That I'm likely to have a camera with me. That even though I don't delve into their lives, inevitably, bits and pieces of their lives make it into Ocean, in the same way that a writer of printed matter always includes a bit of her shared experiences into the text.

Too, there are those who occasionally comment here. People who are known to me, people who are familiar only because they pop in to leave a thought, sometimes a suggestion. And people whose lives run parallel to mine and I learn about them only because there is an Ocean.

Equally important are those who read again and again, sometimes every single day, but who never comment and yet they share in my world in some ephemeral fashion, or sometimes in a lasting and enduring way.

Each post is written with the eternal question: what about this day would someone else like to read? What have I done today as a retired woman who also happens to be a grandma, living at the farmette with this guy named Ed and a bunch of free loading chickens that could possibly be of interest to someone else? If you are a serious blogger (and thirteen years of it makes me that!), you think about other people when you write your post. The story may be your story, but it differs markedly from a personal journal. It's written for someone who is not yourself. Press publish and you've let the bird fly. You have to remember that. If you are a responsible human being, you write with care.

Apart from it being a day that marks Ocean's thirteen's birthday, it is also a day when routine slowly creeps back in after the usual holiday craziness. I say "slowly creeps," because it's not altogether sane around here yet. Snowdrop's school is still out for vacation and, too, her birthday is coming up and of course, the older the child, the more important that birthday is.

But despite all that, today is quiet.






So many stores and businesses are closed for what is referred to as the "observed New Year's Day," that it feels very much like the world is moving at half its normal pace.

Before picking up Snowdrop at her home, I search madly for a place that will have freshly baked bread and I come up with one that is indeed open! (Madison Sourdough Co.) But when I get there just before noon, the shelves look like this:





I do nab a loaf of the country sandwich and a few ciabatta rolls (I read somewhere that ciabatta breads are supposed to resemble comfy slippers -- okay, we'll be having comfy slippers for supper tonight!), grateful that there is at least that to put in my bag. On the upside, I'm happy that good breads have become so popular here in recent years. Demand for better baked product makes for better bread bakers out there. I still have to drive an awful distance to pick up even a decent baguette, but at least it's within driving distance!


I'm at my daughter's home now. Snowdrop is eager to get going. She is also eager to wear on this day her pink shoes (as opposed to standard winter boots).






And why not? We're not playing outside today. A drive to the farm house, nothing more.

We play just for a few minutes. Puzzles mostly. The shoes stay on.






And then we eat lunch. Oh, some corn (because she loves it so), fruits, bread and cheese of course...






(Sharing her fruit with ahah...)






And finally, I take out the small treat I purchased at the bakery -- perhaps the only not too sweet pastry there -- the eclair. I tell her she can share it with ahah.






She's not quite sure how to eat it. It strikes me that she hasn't seen an eclair since Paris and even there, the go to pastry for her was a strawberry tart (same creme patisserie!). Ed pushes the plate toward her and she takes charge.






She takes a hefty bite. I push the plate back toward Ed. She assumes she is done and so she asks to be excused.






The lunch gives her the needed energy for a frolic.






But Ed is still eating his way through his meal and the rest of the eclair remains unfinished. She notes that and comes back to the table asking for another bite. I want to slice off a bit for her, but Ed insists that I give her the independence that she so desires. Let her do it -- are his repeated words.






I relent. She never really takes more than a bite of a treat anyway.






And managing her own world makes her very very happy.






After her nap she goes back to what has been a big favorite for many many months: her play foods. Today, she feeds them, shops for them, cooks them, shelves them, boils them in a soup pot.






Happiness is sharing (play) stuff with the ones you love.






Don't I know it!

New Year's Day

Good morning! Did you notice? We're in a new year!

(So why does everything seem the same?)






New year? So -- new year's resolutions! I have mine: I will be a better person at all fronts! (Experts in this stuff would say that's too grandiose and therefore unattainable, to which I say -- pshaw!)

I fail within an hour of being up. As I sit down to do my budget for the year behind and the year ahead, I get grumpy. (Things just do not add up.) The mood lasts for about 15 minutes, but still, I should take heed: resolutions are only good if you believe in their viability. I guess I did not fully believe that I could forge ahead unruffled by life's events, even for one day. Resolution number two: I shall proceed cautiously, aware of my limitations.


In the afternoon Ed and I go to Indian Lake county park. We save this for the special times, as it is a 27 minute drive from the farmhouse -- a distance that we both think is too long for the everyday.







It's one icy hike! That we don't end up with casts over broken bones is nothing short of a miracle.






It's also supremely beautiful.






Commemorative, for the new year:






At the top of an incline, we see two sleds resting by a warming hut. Ed asks the owners (warming up inside) if we could borrow them. Sure!






I'm a bit cautious. It's one slick trail of ice! Still....






Hey, why am I going backwards???

Ed of course does not spin out of control, which could be because he has a better sled, or because he is heavier and so the sled does not spin, or because he is a genius at sled control. Personally, I think it's the first. It will not surprise you to learn that he thinks it's the third.





Oh, Ed!


The drive home (near sunset) is lovely. In my view -- the clouds do not take away from the fact that it is completely beautiful.






Dinner. The young family comes over. Snowdrop is intent on showing her exuberance and she jumps high, so very high...






We eat chicken xinxim -- a Brazilian dish with chicken and shrimp and coconut and ginger and you name it...











Such a warm beginning to the year ahead!

As I climb up on a chair to reach for one of those items you wish you'd stored a tad closer, I suddenly notice a little one up there next to me.






Snowdrop is no longer the infant turned toddler that she was a year ago. She's crossing over to the little girl stage, that's for sure.





So what will 2017 bring? Well, whatever it is,  I'll move forward cautiously, aware of my limitations. I'll take the time to sit back and take stock. And smile. Because really, there are always plenty of reasons to smile.

New Year's Eve

On the last day of the year, do you look back, or look forward? Do you count down with a sigh of relief? With a twinge of hope?

As you know, on New Year's Eve, I don't count down, I don't stay up, I don't do anything that's very glitzy or celebratory.

But I take care of my world.

And so today, from the minute I get up until significantly past noon, I scrub the farmhouse. This is no ordinary house cleaning, but rather the Japanese style "everything must sparkle" cleaning (I read that the Japanese welcome the new year with a clean house and a clear head). The take apart drains and soak the shower curtain type cleaning.

I pause only to glance outside as I pass a window.

But during those furtive glances onto a rather monochromatic landscape, I get fleeting images that make me smile. A cardinal, so vibrant in its redness that I think it must be an illusion, a trick of the mind. A deer who stares at me until I move just a little too quickly...






The cheepers: they hike over to the garage for the first time in weeks (as watched through the porch screen)...





A possum who seems to be hovering near the garage, but maybe not, maybe he'll move on, maybe we wont quite have to remove him to some distant place.


None of these images are unusual at the farmette and yet they make me feel like I have buddies in my world. We are not alone here. We have company all around us.


"Breakfast" is too late to even call "lunch" and yet I bring out the usual morning foods for me and Ed eats his leftovers and it is a fine meal because it signals a fresh house and therefore a fresh start of sorts. New Year -- we're ready for you!






In the afternoon, the skies clear -- I mean really clear! -- and Ed and I go out for a walk. Not a huge walk -- just to our local county park.






It's a brilliant walk for its quiet, understated elegance.






We commemorate it.






Ah, the colors of December on a sunny day!





They give you hope.

Hope: such a malleable idea! It flexes to your circumstances. So may I wish you plenty of it?

We end the evening with a supper of... scrambled eggs, leftover veggies with potato and... lobster tails! The 4 oz ones that kind of look like enlarged shrimp on your plate, but still! Delicious!






I open a bottle of Catalan Cava -- the poor person's champagne to the idle observer, but a real nostalgia treat for me, who remembers all too well Catalan evenings on our way to Sorede...

We have memories, we have hope. That's as sure as anything. May you have plenty of beautiful moments in 2017. Ones that create the best memories.

To your New Year.

With love.