Wednesday

We continue with January's penchant for throwing little repairs our way -- ones that would be monumentally significant were I to deal with them alone, but ones that get a quick resolution because Ed is so good at taking things into his own hands and finding a way to make things work.

After breakfast...






... he goes over to the tire section of a big box store to retrieve the repaired tire to my car (slow leak) and mount it back on so that  it will be ready for Snowdrop pick up.

While at that store, he purchases fifteen TV antennas. There is method to his madness: we have gone through two already that seemed promising initially but then balked, so that every time anyone moves from one room to the next, channels are dropped. Ed is convinced there exists a perfect antenna out there and he intends to work through all of them and stay with the one that works best. The remaining fourteen shall be returned.

Since it's the last time (for a week) that Snowdrop is to spend a chunk of time at the farmhouse, I cannot resist driving out to get a fresh baguette. Equipped with that, I pick her up and bring her back to the farmette.

She is in fine spirits and sets instantly to play with her Duplo. (Note that she no longer balks at the pony tail and indeed, when Ed playfully tugged at it, she informed me, matter-of-factly: ahah is pulling my pony tail! I told ahah to knock it off.)






(This next photo is notable for its inclusion of the character that she has labeled gaga. Interestingly, the woman does wear glasses but also has very gray hair. Was it a process of elimination, or does she identify gray hair with all gagas out there?)






Ah, the baguette!






Beloved baguette... Eat it, dance with it...






Chew it down to the very end...






Ed shows her the latest dance steps. She's curious. Baguette almost done!






And here, we return to this month's "fix it" theme. She loves this one little Duplo item -- the wrench. It doesn't do anything except attach to a block, or to a Duplo character, yet she is rather smitten with trying to get it to "work."






I think about a child's inclination to want to fix things. I swear my girls weren't really into tools, but was this because I didn't really include my kids in any fix-it projects (mostly because I rarely could fix things on my own)? That would be the obvious answer, but I'm not sure it's correct. I gardened massively when they were little and neither wanted to join me in this, almost always preferring their own indoor games.

But this girl is tempted by the outdoors. When I ask her if she wants to go out to the barn again, she is instantly at the door.

And in the barn, she remembers yesterday's broken coop door and she checks it out right away, asking me if she can close it. I tell her the cheepers would be upset.







Not wanting to linger too long in the barn, I take her out back. But it's just barely above freezing and she is definitely not dressed for outdoor play. No hat! no mittens! Not the warmest of her jackets! She has always been rather resilient to the cold, but I cannot take watching her hands and nose turn pink.






She doesn't mind, but I mind.






I hustle her inside the sheep shed. This is where Ed works on his machining projects. It's also where he used to eat and sleep and so there is a small kitchen and, too, a bathroom. She loves exploring these nooks and crannies of the shed. Initially, she is drawn to his kitchenette.






But slowly, her gaze falls on the machines.

This is virgin territory for me, both as a mother and a grandmother. Needless to say, I did not have metal milling machines when my girls were growing up. Nor bits that are used to make infinite things out of metal. Ed would have Snowdrop touch everything and more than once he has nudged me to let her explore more, to not always guide her or limit her options.

Of course, much of these tools are dangerous and so my hovering is warranted. But it strikes me that I do not trust her instincts and Ed does. And when she is presented with something like drill bits, she proceeds with appropriate caution.







Still, I'll only going to go so far. I'll always hover too much, perhaps even more now than when I was a parent. I cannot let her take risks on my watch.

But I do let her pick out the drill bits and handle them with complete fascination, gently returning them to their proper slot after the inspection. Even with my hovering, Snowdrop surely will have more opportunities to see how things work and to fix broken stuff than my girls ever did.






(And I'm cool about letting her stand on the window sill to gaze out at the fields behind the shed!)






Evening. She wants so much to have a game of baseball with ahah. Both hands, Snowdrop! Try it with both!

But she does not do that. She just wants to play ball, with ahah chasing the darn thing as she knocks it down again and again.






Later: Snowdrop is back in her home, an ice storm is raging, Ed and I settle in to eat one of my favorite homemade soups.

I think about last night's political speeches and reactions from all sides to it (you'll not be surprised that I was a fan), and about this day's news conferences and the words that flew there fast and furious, and I think -- this is not right. The world has gone mad. Perhaps it's more important than ever to stay calm. To think about those who are hurting even more than you or me. To speak with compassion. To take great care of our world and those we love. If you and me, we do that, then we'll always be on the right side of history. And isn't that a great thing?

Tuesday

If the new winter weather reality is that there's to be little snow in our future, then Ed and I need to face the fact that skis are going to sit idle. And we along with them. It's hard to hike when everything is icy. Ed doesn't skate and thinks he'll break many bones learning at this age. He plays volley ball well, I haven't played since high school. And so, searching for a common winter sport, we consider giving bowling a larger share of our free time.

Independently, we both look online (in the wee hours of the night -- we are that curious) on how one goes about purchasing a bowling bowl. (I cannot find a good one to use at the alley. The finger grips are all wrong and the ball often slips right off my thumb.) And independently we conclude that there's something just so extremely difficult about drilling holes in the correct place, especially for medium-poor players like me, that we give up and instead, spend the last two hours of the night discussing a work issue that Ed is thinking about these days.

In other words, I got too little sleep. So did he, but he does not have a morning appointment and I do.

As night turns to day, I look outside to see a world of icy rain. I call my appointment and balk at having to make the trip out on the icy roads. They tell me to come later, possibly because everyone has been canceling everything today and they have quite the empty waiting room.

All this to say that a morning, even a mundane morning like this one, is full of coincidences and unexpected consequences and odd chains of events. Never wake up thinking that your life is too predictable. Rain turns to ice and holes in bowling balls confound your sensibilities and there you are, wondering what the next surprise will be like.

Breakfast, thankfully, is without surprises.






And soon it is noon and I am heading to pick up Snowdrop. And my oh my, is it ever raining! We're just a degree upwards of freezing so at least the roads are safe, but the rain is brutal!

I foresee many good hours of indoor play...






And indeed, the little one is happy, from the minute I show her the baguette I procured this morning just for her.

And ahah joins us and all is just about perfect...






Until, quite unexpectedly, she says: I want to go outside to the barn and give the chickens some bread.
You want to go to the barn? I look dubiously at the rain filled clouds.
Yessss. I want to see the chickens in the barn. She is very definitive with her yeses. You need only to hear that drawn out "s" to know that she means business.

I glance up at Ed. Want to come?

We head out.





And it's a good thing, because the warm dampness in the air has swelled the wood on the coop door and so it did not swing open on cue this morning. The cheepers are still inside and quite unhappy with their confinement.

(Ed tries to figure out what's wrong with the door lock. Snowdrop is anxious to help him come to a solution.)






The little one is clearly loving her barn excursion. She is thrilled to see the cheepers, thrilled to be peering at the barn's dark recesses.





The barn is where cows live -- she explains to us. I mumble something about not having cows, but she's only half listening. She is completely absorbed by the antics of the four hens.

The rain is dripping away outside, but there we are, under the still solid roof of the barn -- Ed working away at the door, Snowdrop jumping with joy, offering at the same time numerous explanation about the barn and its role in the solar system.






It's a delightful set of minutes, even as I am rather anxious to get us back to the house. It's not cold if you're jumping up and down or if you're Ed. It's rather chilly if you're me.


It takes a while to get Snowdrop excited about going back inside. But once there, she continues her dance and it's clear that in all that jumping, the bliss molecules have been activated in her brain and she is coasting on total happiness.






Total.






And it continues after her nap...






(Cooking up the eggs.)






Life. So complicated, but oftentimes -- so very simple. Like cooking up a bunch of fake eggs on a toy stove. Simple and beautiful.

Monday

An unusual day in an unusual month in, I'm hoping, not too an unusual a year.

Because Snowdrop has appointments later today, I'm not scheduled to care for her. Faced with a day that hasn't structure, I suggest to Ed we make it a date day.

Breakfast first. (And this is almost the last photo I take on this unusual day.)





And in the afternoon, we do all that we love to do together on a cold but snowless winter day. First, we bowl. I'm not great or even good, but we have great fun competing and lifting and running and  hurling and encouraging each other through each miserable or successful roll. Ninety minutes well spent.

Next, we take in an early movie. We do not go to movies much: I pick up many handfuls of new releases on my long distance flights and the rest we rent from the library. But occasionally there comes along a movie that I am anxious to see on the big screen.  La La Land is just such a film.

Our local movie house has long ago transformed the screening rooms to make them tiered and more comfortable. But in the last year, three things seem to have changed: first of all, the ticket agent gives us one glance and then produces two discounted senior tickets. Clearly the visuals tell him we are in that category.

Secondly, the screening rooms have been completely transformed and upgraded once more. Every chair now is so large that it beats first class airplane seating. And the chairs can be adjusted to a nearly complete reclining position. How much comfort do we need, we spoiled people?!

Finally, the noise level at the time of previews (all horrific and violent) and commercials is deafening. I was concerned that we would not be able to sit through a movie if the sound was to be this loud.

But the sound during the film itself is just right. And the music is exquisite! And yes, I can see the story analogy to the Umbrellas of Cherbourg. Truly a beautiful film of sweet reminders how small moves and just a few words can push us to act in ways that have lasting consequences.

When we leave the movie, we see the snow -- not more than an inch, nothing you could ski on, but just enough to make it a pretty world once more.

Our final date day moments are at Brasserie V -- a restaurant where we sit at the bar, eat mussels and fries and enjoy the pleasure of getting food that is always the same for us, always good, always deeply satisfying. (A selfie.)






One gets sentimental on nights like this. Life is complicated and requires some fine stepping and herculean efforts to keep one's spirits at a steady keel. Yet when you have days that offer so much gentle kindness, coupled with sweet sentimentality, it gives you reserves for future knocks and bruises.

Our date day gave me, gave us plenty of reserves.

The farmhouse shines brightly for us as we return home.

Sunday

I get up early to set the brioche out for a rise. I don't have much hope for it. We really had to work it to death yesterday to come to a smooth dough. Still, I give it its time in a warm spot.

They'll be coming for brunch -- the young family, my youngest girl and her husband -- a final meal together before we disperse.

I slide the brioche into the oven and take out ingredients for huevos ancheros. With bacon and fruit at the side -- not too hard. A warming meal. Just what you need on yet another freezing day.

(Hey, it looks okay! Just a touch too dense for my brioche taste, but still, the flavor is good.)





The youngest couple arrives. They can't get in. The lock and handle are completely broken. The door wont open.
Ed!

They walk in through the porch.
Mom, is there a gas odor outside?
I don't smell it. My nose is full of brioche and bacon.

Ed sniffs. Maybe. He calls Madison Gas and Electric to get the official sniffer out here.

Oh, in the end it's just a loose fitting on one of their pipes outside, but still, I marvel at how many things can break, unhinge, snap, crack, dissolve, fall apart in an old house. Four things this one weekend. Still, I'm grateful that it's nothing that requires our own work outside. Did I mention it's cold out there?!






There's a little time to play before the meal...






But we quickly settle down to the serious business of eating.






Well, someone is anxious to get back to playing, twisting her small frame between chairs to get to the other side of the table.






But don't think of her as really small. She isn't that. When we retake a photo of "me and my girls" that I remember fondly from two years back, Snowdrop is so big that she is quite capable of obscuring the person behind her.






A few more games...






And then a sandwich hug...






And we're all off in three different directions, but with that warm and wonderful feeling that no one is really very far and we'll surely be visiting each other within weeks, oh, indeed -- hours, because today is Sunday and so the young family comes to the farmhouse for supper, absence of door nob on front door notwithstanding!

(Time release photo...)






Snowdrop is settling down now, moving rather seamlessly from chaotic fun to calmly arranging her Duplo characters with mommy.






The week ahead is again unusual: tomorrow Ed and I are going out on a date and Thursday afternoon, I take off for a brief and somewhat unusual trip to Poland. But right now, I'm stuck in the glow of this weekend, when we all watched a little one grow bigger and smarter and funnier, in the way that all parents and grandparents marvel at how quickly little ones grow up.

Saturday

Part I

"Fraiser," Ed! "Fraiser!" (It's a way to smear dough on the work space.) Use the heel of your palm!
Listen, I baked eclairs and napoleons in my time...
You so did not bake napoleons! You never folded pastry a hundred times!
Well, I baked eclairs.
Wait, you've never made me an eclair!

This is the conversation Ed and I have late this morning. Let me explain:

The day dawns bright. But cold. Very cold. But upbeat and cheerful.





I have some last minute grocery items to pick up and I am in a hurry: my younger daughter and her husband are coming up from Chicago. Indeed, many family members are gathering today for the official celebration of Snowdrop's birthday.


Home from the grocery store. I'm ambitious: I want to make warm, yeasty brioche for tomorrow's brunch. I start in on the dough.

The recipe calls for working the ingredients with the pastry hook of an upright mixer. Unfortunately, once the dough starts coming together, the machine -- an ancient inexpensive KitchenAid -- begins to grumble and resist. In the end, it gives up on the project. Yep, dead as a doornail.

Ed vows to fix it for me, but not today -- spare parts needed -- oh dear.. what now? Throw the dough on the counter and try to salvage it by hand. Ed says -- step back, you're not strong enough! And this is when I tell him -- fraiser, fraiser!






We do the best we can. Tomorrow I'll see if it can indeed become a lovely chewy brioche. And now Ed is on the internet, looking at youtubes of how to fix this most ancient machine.

He thinks he knows what the problem is. But suddenly, the noise is just incredible!

Ed, turn your computer down!
It's not my computer...
The noise of the machine! It's so loud!
It's not my computer...
What is it?
It's coming from the basement...

We rush down. He says instantly: it's the furnace. We need to shut down everything.

I'm supposed to go to Snowdrop's party in ten minutes. We're to have the family here tomorrow. It's freezing outside! I mean, really freezing! Shut down the furnace???
We need to drain the water. Keep all doors closed!

I go off to the party as Ed attempts to take apart the furnace, even as all stores with spare parts are closing down for the weekend.



Part II


I can only wave at Ed and tell him -- I'm off!

Snowdrop's birthday party has many children attending: school pals, mommy's friends' kids, daddy's friends' kids -- there are many, many kids happy as anything to eat cake on behalf of this two year old, all the more so since the party is at the children's museum in Madison and on a cold day, there is nothing better than to send your kid flying through the activities at this wonderful place.

I'll post just a handful of photos. I think these give a good impression of the afternoon.






Snacks!






Singing happy birthday (with parents)....






Eating cake (with aunt)...






Fooling around (with uncle)...











At the museum...






Aunt and uncle...






Back in the party room.... cleared space,  happy girl (with dad).






Carting her gifts home...






Against the wind...






We drive back to the young family's house. I sit in the back seat of the car and Snowdrop suddenly is very excited: Look, moon! Red moon outside!

I take a photo out her window.






The moon shines brightly on her world tonight. I hope it does on your world as well.


Epilogue


At home... There's so much to do here now! And parents are home to discover this new world of imagination!













It's been a good day. Yeah, a great day. Snowdrop is superb with her thank yous and pleases and general manners prods. If I'd ask her now, she'd say it loud and clear -- thank you!





You're welcome, little one.

In the meantime, Ed has taken apart the furnace, tracked down a supplier of spare parts who has a truckload of thisis and thats just a few villages south of here, so that by the time I am ready to come home, all is right with the world and the farmhouse is warm once more. How good is that!