Friday

Doesn't it appear as if a day is composed of separate pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that, however assembled, and with pieces that sometimes are there and sometimes missing, it nonetheless always produces a clear and coherent whole?

Perhaps the only question for me is this then -- what will I be using for my picture of this day? Breakfast and garden for sure. What else?

But though I will admit to the similarities -- yes, there will also be Snowdrop and yes, she will be playing/swimming/swinging and yes, occasionally there'll be a cheeper or two, and maybe a glance at the venerable farmhouse, still, none of these pieces seem identical to ones I'd inserted before. A day is an unwritten book for me. I'll have the rough contours of it even before I get up, but I never feel it to be predictable or mundane.

Still, this is hard to convey on Ocean. How could I possibly labor over the detail that is part and parcel of each image here? And how boring it would be to read all that detail! (For example, you wouldn't know it, and what does it matter tot he reader anyway, but in fact, I was truly entranced this morning by the first bloom on one of my newly planted "prairie moonlight" day lilies. This is a really graceful, beautiful day lily, with, in my view, an enchanting name and, I'm told, a delicious fragrance, though I haven't yet experienced that part of it. I must have admired this flower for a good many minutes. But of course, here, it appears as merely an image from my garden walk...)






Breakfast -- such a stable piece of the puzzle! But today Ed wasn't hungry. And still, we sat and gossiped about chickens and children and mopeds and who knows what else. (Java has started to be broody -- sitting on her egg, or sometimes what she thinks may be her egg hours on end, expecting it to hatch...)






This week, a recurring piece of the day's puzzle is my repeat coffees with my lovely friend who is in town. Each time, at a different coffee shop! A wonderful way to spend the hours of the morning!






And then I pick up Snowdrop. Oh, just another photo of us on our neighborhood adventure! This time she is pushing the stroller with me. But what I remember best from the moment when I took the picture is that we were standing underneath a blooming linden tree. The fragrance was profound and at once, I was transported to Sorede (the place Ed and I went to for four years in a row, right at the end of June. It seems that linden trees bloom here and in the south of France in the very same weeks...).






Here is a photo -- the linden tree from today's walk -- that makes me smile, not for its beauty, but for the heavenly scent that it puts forth. (So evocative is it for me, that a Sorede blooming linden is my permanent desktop photo on my travel laptop.)






And here's a happy little girl on the play ground structure. But actually, ours was a fleeting visit. She was apprehensive today. Too many older kids in the park.






And two photos of Snowdrop at the community pool, where we returned today after yesterday's happy hour spent there.


Happy to feel the cool waters...






Happy to send streams of water into the air...






But even though the pool was far less crowded today, the activity around us was a tad out of control. And though Snowdrop wanted to stay in, she hovered near me rather than venturing out on her own.


At the farmhouse now -- well, that surely is a piece of the puzzle that you've seen a lot these past weeks: grocery shopping!






And to be thorough, I should include the absolutely for sure daily repetition of book reading. Only the reading matter changes and sometimes, not even that!






Typically, my active part of the day ends with the early evening departure of the little girl. Yesterday, I was so sure that no other photo would be forthcoming, that I put up a post just after supper, only to find myself a few minutes later riding the rural roads on Rosie -- something that was dreamy beautiful and certainly deserving a spot on Ocean, so I opened up my post and put in an extra paragraph or two to commemorate this piece of magic.

Today, too, there are lovely pieces of the puzzle that continue to emerge, even as Snowdrop wakes up and is picked up by her parents.

There is, for example, the dinner out with Ed and his friend. We go to Estrellon -- a restaurant that has recently opened here under the leadership of Chef Tory Miller -- whom I know from my days of working at L'Etoile, but whose restaurants have climbed into stratospheres that in recent years are over and beyond where Ed and I typically would go to eat (insofar as we even eat out -- a rarity, as I love to cook at home).






Today's dinner is really a return of a favor to a friend. I'm the tagalong. But oh, what a good meal it is to tag along to!

And this photo of the paella - it's pretty. It's delicious. For me, there's more -- it reminds me of all the paella we'd eaten in Spain, in the days when Ed and I traveled there together...






(The dessert? That's just plain delicious: a basque cake with trimmings...)






So yes, I agree: just glancing at the puzzle pieces, they are a touch similar, and many of them -- a tad predictable. Until they're not. And even when they are similar, they are never, ever the same.

Thursday

You know how a day proceeds: each hour is a new card and it may reveal a pleasant outcome, or something you wouldn't necessarily like or call a winning hand.

I do think that, as of this writing (there are a few hours left to the day!), all the cards showed lovely outcomes for me today.

The day dawned beautifully to clear blue skies and yes, warm temps in the upper 80sF (over 30C), but with a breeze and with a significantly lower humidity.

An early garden walk, past the fallen clematis, which I refuse to raise because it climbs right under a bird's nest and becomes their outhouse all summer long...






Breakfast.





You said you weren't photographing me.
I wasn't totally truthful.






And then yes, a dentist appointment, which surely does not constitute a lucky card draw!  But I was so certain I would get a poor verdict, that I could not believe my luck when my good old dentist said -- oh I can fix this quickly on the spot. Splish splash, rubber this, seal that and I'm out of there! What luck!

To celebrate, I stop at the nearby La Baguette bakery to buy their delicious quiches for supper.

A few tedious bookkeeping chores at home (I did not say that every minute was 100% sublime) and then it's time to pick up Snowdrop.

We go to the playground and she does many lovely rounds of play on the climbing structure... (She has invented a game that goes with it and she repeats it every time and it just makes me smile and smile...)






Then up on the life guard chair...






Followed by a bite of scone at the coffee shop...






And then I have this idea and I'm even equipped to execute it, but I'm just not sure... So I ask: Snowdrop, do you want to go to the swimming pool? It's just a few blocks from here...

Snowdrop has once had swim lessons there (at the Goodman pool) and she certainly loves splashing in her farmette wading pool, but last week's splash pad experience has me wondering if it's worth moving ahead with a pool idea just now.

The Goodman pool is Madison's one and only community pool (all the other pools are private and require insanely expensive memberships). Here,  the season's pass for Madison residents is reasonable, and the daily pass -- a trivial sum as well. And so on days like this, it can get very, very crowded.

But Snowdrop hears the word pool and gives a resounding "yes!"

We get there just a couple of minutes before it opens to the public (at 1 every day).

The lines are crazy. I mean, really crazy. It's hot. The sun is strong. Is this worth it? I turn to her: you want to wait for tickets and go to the pool? Again a big "yes!" (Not every minute of every hour is sublime...)

We wait. People are nice. The lines grow so long that I can't see their end. This is when I decide that I better just cough up the cash for a season's pass for us: not only does it make economic sense, but, too, I never ever want to stand in a line this long again!) I look at her -- she better enjoy this!

Then there's the confusion about payment: machines aren't working, computers are jamming, we hold up the now beyond insanely long line just in trying to pay our fair share... But finally, we're in!


And it's crowded. And there are kids, oh so many kids, everywhere. And it's so sunny that your eyes squint wherever you turn. And so I really feel compelled to glob on the sunscreen.

But as we go into the water, the girl is transformed!






She just loves it!






All of it!






A few minutes of splashing in the shallow end and then she ventures out toward the deeper parts. It strikes me that Snowdrop does not understand that she does not know how to swim. I hover. She pushes me away. No, Gaga, I can do this!






She was so enthralled at being at the pool that I did not think I would ever be able to coax her out of it. I finally gathered her up and told her that her babies were waiting and reluctantly, she allowed herself to be showered and then directed to the car.

At the farmhouse. She should be sleeping now.

Snowdrop, it's time for a nap.
I think I need to buy groceries first...
A book and a nap, little one!






It was a beautiful afternoon. Snowdrop's joy was so profound that she could not contain her squeals and giggles. I smile just at the recollection.


In the evening, Ed and I scoot over to our local Thursday farmers market. We want some of those delicious new berries. and cheese curds, and whatever else might be showing up just now. (photo by Ed)






And then we are home, our old but ever so cool home, with views towards flower fields on all sides. Not quite in bloom yet, but summer lovely nonetheless.






Post Scriptum:

Well, even the late hours did not disappoint today. Ed had been working for a while now on getting Rosie the moped up and running for me again. She'd been unreliable at times and since there aren't many old motorbikes out there that Ed can't fix, he set himself up tonight to diagnose her issues. As the sun did its final dip below the line separating day from night, I went outside to keep him company.

I chased Java off her perch in the garage, pulled a few weeds in random places, and then asked for an update.
Maybe I should take her out for a spin?
Good idea. It's a gorgeous night.

Oh, is it ever!






When you're out on familiar rural roads, scooting about in your shorts, with bare shoulders and sandled feet, you feel the essence of summer.

At dusk, the scents are as profound as those in any flower market. The first night prowlers are beginning to emerge...






Suddenly, you feel that arrogance of youth, even if, like me, you're 64 years old. You don't remember, don't care, don't acknowledge all that has rattled you and your physical capabilities in the last decade or two. It's as if your adolescence came back, tapping on your shoulder, asking you -- hey, have you forgotten? You are as you were then...

Yeah, I remember. And tonight, out there between field and forest, I am as I was then...

Wednesday

A warm day, a strange day, a lovely day, a sick day, a happy day, a windy day -- oh, I can heap on the adjectives and still not touch the unusual way the hours unfolded.

An early morning phone call from my daughter is never a good thing and indeed, I learn that Snowdrop is under the weather and we need to reconfigure child care for the day.

This calls for my looking after the little girl in her own home, though I have two very important things to do first:

Breakfast... (Ed, please don't touch the fruit until I take my photo!)






And secondly, a coffee with my good friend who is in Madison just for a handful of days. There she is, amidst the men and portraits of men at this new to me "hipster" coffee shop (Johnson Public House)...






By the time I am at Snowdrop's place, the little girl has turned the corner and is feeling much better.
Want to come upstairs and play with me, Gaga?






So much so, that she is very happy to be offered a time on the swings in the next-door park (to no ill effect!)...






And very happy to be munching on croissant, cheese and fruits...






And very  happy when I agree to take her then to the farmhouse (she brings her "home baby" for a visit with the "farmhouse baby" and the "little baby" and then promptly takes them all grocery shopping).






A sure sign that she is feeling closer to her old self again.






Want to draw with me, ahah? Want to sit down and draw with us, Gaga?






As for pictures of the garden -- I could give you a feel for the storm that roared through here just as Snowdrop napped by photographing the trees that bent heavily with the winds, but I was too busy holding my breath, hoping that nothing major would be uprooted.

We survived with only a handful of downed branches.

And as Ed and I walk the land to take stock, I notice that the steamy, sticky air has come right back, despite the storms. No reprieve yet -- just another set of warm and humid hours, making me feel oh so grateful for the pleasant coolness of the old farmhouse.






Evening. We have just a little time before pick up.
You want some asparagus and egg? -- I ask the little one. She'd been wistful last night as she watched me begin work on supper and I promised to save her some. (Egg to her means cooked egg whites -- something that she stole from my salad plate back in Paris. Since then she has proclaimed -- I love eggs!)
Yes!
A girl after Gaga's heart...







Ed is getting ready for his Wednesday night bike ride and she insists on going out to watch him work with the bike. This is the only time when Snowdrop appears small to me -- when she is next to his towering, lumbering frame.






He's gone, her parents aren't here yet. Time to distract her: want to pick strawberries?
Does she ever! There aren't many, but enough!
She eats them joyfully on the porch, where the cheepers can only peer in with envy.






When Snowdrop leaves, the farmette grows quiet.

Time to do nothing.

No, that's not possible. Time to dig out the photos from the day and see if anything might be useful for an Ocean post.

Tuesday

Just as the night receded and daylight began to take hold, a rumbling noise announced the coming of a storm. Our bedroom skylight was pounded with more water than you'd get from a hose nozzle placed at full stream. I felt at once relieved for all growing things and slightly concerned that this was overkill. Ed mumbled something about the coming of the bug season.

We had nearly two inches of rain in that half hour and predictably, the ground lost its caked dry look.

But the steamy heat did not disappear with the storm. As I cracked open the patio door and stepped outside, I saw  that we were in for another very warm day.

(Garden walk: these white flowers -- carolina phlox miss lingard -- will always remind me of my daughter's wedding at the farmette just at the time of their rampant bloom.)






A porch breakfast, with a few toppled blooms added to the vase...






When I pick up Snowdrop at her school, she is ready for play! (And so she wants her "play shoes," which I bring with me for our adventuring expeditions.)






(That pose that is half tease, half triumph, all Snowdrop!)






A coffee shop stop for a cherry scone...






And now we're at the farmette. I point her to the ripening strawberries in the pots. This is what summer should be like: running from sandbox to strawberry bush and proclaiming the berries to be yummy!






In the end, it's not the heat that pushes the little one indoors -- it's the pesky cheepers. They are insanely pushy in wanting their rightful share of bread and if they see you moving briskly, they assume you're about to give them something. They rush toward you and strain their necks to make sure you're not hiding a piece of bread. Amusing to any adult, but a bit unnerving to a little girl. Especially a little girl  who has just suffered a scare a few days back at the playground, when an exuberant (off leash) dog pounced on her and knocked her down flat.  I see that the memory of that encounter has stayed with her. A young child doesn't care about intent. She wants to feel in control of her space. Typically words give her power, but the chicken pea brain doesn't recognize "chicken, get away from me, I don't have anything for you."

Oh, those cheepers!


Late afternoon: she does what she loves to do these days: pretend shop. For groceries. And sheets. And plates and who knows what else. Because she does that each week with her mommy.






Evening: Ed and I walk the land. We knock down thistle in the grape patch, bemoan the eaten apples and cherries in our young orchard, admire the raspberries in the overgrown (yet again! who has time for all of the land maintenance!) raspberry canes.

Java follows. We don't have anything for you, Java!






I don't think she believes us.

Monday

I have several thoughts on days like this one. First of all, I am remembering why we Wisconsinites love our seasons: after a few months of a hot summer, you really do start thinking that fall is rather pleasant and winter is not that bad and too, there is the beauty of spring, so hey, let's not get too stuck on this summer thing. It's good, it surely has its long awaited benefits, but when it's hot -- uff! It's hot! Looking forward to when it's less hot!

And so here's my second point: I really feel enormously grateful that I live now rather than one or two hundred years ago, when Wisconsin was first "discovered" by European settlers. (My grandfather briefly was one of those, as he traveled here to work in the lumber industry when he was still a young man. He returned to Poland shortly after, but still, he endured the Wisconsin of cold winters and hot buggy summers, at least for a short period of time.)

When I come into a warm house on a day where there is an Arctic blast and, too, when I come into a cool house when the summer air is humid and the horse flies are landing on me left and right, I think -- we live in such luxury now! (Of course, I am familiar with less: I did once live with my grandparents, where there was neither electricity nor indoor plumbing, but it wasn't my burden to do the washing or to heat the house. My grandma did that for me.

My role as a grandma is different: I shoo away horse flies and I imagine ways that my granddaughter may profit from a good afternoon. But when the outside world is less than hospitable, all I have to do is open the door to the farmhouse and step into something that is as comfortable in my view as anything that may belong to the super rich. The temperature is exactly to my liking, the sofa is comfortable, the bugs stay outside.

Heaven.

I write this even as it's not supremely hot outside. It's very warm and sticky and there is a constant threat of a thunder shower, even as none materializes. And there is the buzz of flies -- pesky little ones and the horrid horse flies too, whose season is short but menacing.

Both Ed and I love the outdoors and we devote many many hours to working outside, but this day does not court our favor.

After a brief morning stroll and a touch up watering job on some of the newly planted stuff...






I retreat to the porch for breakfast...






... and here, too, we are always extremely comfortable (if things get too warm, we put out a fan).






When I pick up Snowdrop at school, she is warm and flushed. I'm a tad surprised. Again, it's not blistering hot and, too, they had water play today -- a sprinkler that kept them nice and cool. Still, as we set out for our neighborhood stroll, I'm thinking that this is not fun. The playground will be hot. The walk itself -- too sticky and warm for comfort.

I'd been mulling over the idea of taking her to our local splash pool. (At least I call it a splash pool. The true wording is "splash pad.") It seems so perfect for a day like this and I usually travel prepared: there is a change of clothing in the car and today, I even threw in a swimsuit for her.

She seems excited by the idea. We make our way by car to the park.

Predictably, we aren't the only ones with this clever plan. The splash pad is full of splashing, running, shrieking kids -- mostly older than Snowdrop and so quite fast moving. Water spurts come out of nowhere, stopping and starting randomly, just to tease you and make you laugh.

Except that Snowdrop does not laugh.







It's fair to say that she hates the whole set up. Oh, she tries. And despite my not wearing swim stuff, I try to wade right in with her, by way of encouragement.

But it's a no go. The water is not actually cool -- rather lukewarm. You get wet, but you still feel hot and bothered - by the noise, the sun, the tumult, pretty much everything, especially if you're Snowdrop.

Her cheeks turn a deep pink (despite the gobs of sun screen), her eyes lose their happy glow.
Do you want to go home to the farmhouse?
Yes! Please!
And then, just because she felt a little cheated -- where is the pool? There is no pool!

She's right of course. It's not a splash pool. It's a pad.

At the farmette, she is so discouraged that she wants to retreat inside. I'm a little reluctant to call our time outside a complete failure and so I coax her toward her own little wading pool.







I can see her slowly get interested in play again.






And by the time Ed and the cheepers join us, she is one happy child once more.






(Even if I do have to chase away the horse flies... That's what grandmas do: they chase away the flies in life.)






After a robust period of play, where she dumps huge buckets of water on us and in retaliation Ed dumps huge buckets of water on her, we retreat to the ever perfect farmhouse, where the air is just exactly right on this summer-like afternoon.

Honestly, we are a lucky people to live in the comforts of this age. Just so very lucky!






Agree?