Friday

Here's a quick summary of this day: I am tired. Not like "running a marathon" tired but like "this cold is ridiculous" tired. Ed says I do not incorporate enough germs and dirt into my life. But after offering this piece of wisdom, he does bring up a warm cup of chamomile tea to me at 5 in the morning, so I forgive him.

(He also says that we are soon going to explode from all the news we have been digesting in the last several days. He could be right there.)

Breakfast, in the kitchen.






I should have taken many many pictures of garden annuals today. We are under a frost advisory for tonight. Meaning we could lose all the annuals in one fell swoop by tomorrow. But I didn't do that. I was sniffling too much in the early morning. 

Here's one though. The garden does have pockets of prettiness!





By late morning, I push myself out the door. I needed to do a bunch of errands and more importantly, I needed to shop for groceries. By the time I come back, it is early afternoon and the idea of falling asleep on the couch is very appealing.

Equally appealing though is picking up Snowdrop. She is in a really beautiful phase right now.  You can laugh, you can joke, you can tell stories together.

(I give her free reign to pick flowers. After all, by tomorrow there may be none. But after years of being restrained by me, she is her own guard right now: just two or three, Gaga. Just two or three.)






It's getting to be chilly. You'd never know it by looking at Ed.







Inside, I do admit to turning on an Angelina video for Snowdrop. I want to keep her buoyant, without having to be buoyant myself. I sip lots of tea and then we have a beautiful period of play.






So I'm thinking this is the tail end of my sniffles. I mean, it's the first cold of the season. Those never last long, right?

In the meantime, I make red lentil soup, sprinkle lots of spicy stuff into it and pour a very tall glass of wine. All feel good props, even though honestly, I feel really good, despite the cold, despite the news craziness, despite the freeze tonight.

Thursday

I remember now this other downside of the colder part of the year: people get sick. And here's something else to consider: when families grow, the chances of someone being sick on any of the fall and winter days is, well, pretty high. There are three members of the young family in Chicago and four in the Madison bunch. Add the farmhouse duo and that's nine, with three that are at a vulnerable age in terms of sniffles and the like. Inevitably someone will have a cold.

Us grownups tend to be a little hardier. We don't get everything that they get. But we do pass around bugs freely. Perhaps we even introduce ones into the mix. After all, aside from Ed, we do go out and about where viruses run rampant.

All this to say that I had a disappointing day today. I was to go to Chicago to visit with Primrose, but a few days ago I picked up a familial cold and it's lingering. I decided it's unfair to the Chicago bunch to arrive with a good case of sniffles. So I stayed home.

I remind myself that this trip can be recreated soon. That it would be far worse if we had a special event, a holiday, travel plans. A bug can really mess with your plans then and there is nothing you can do but give a disappointed sigh and move on.

So what do you do with one of those annoying head colds? You feed the animals, glance at the garden...











... then spend the rest of the morning watching television. And for once, there was something to watch.

We sat down to breakfast with the TV on...






... and it stayed on until Dr. Blasey finished testifying at the confirmation hearings that are today taking place in DC. By then it was time to pick up Snowdrop.

(After that I only listened in bits and pieces. The girl, perhaps in possession of supernatural powers and therefore anticipating that at the farm, there would be the quiet hum of the TV in the background, begged to go to the park. Good idea! When you have a cold, being outside is sometimes a good thing. You're not sneezing at everyone in the same room. Snowdrop often uses swinging time to explain something to me: today she makes a strong case in favor of winter as the best season of them all!)






(The prettiness of purple...)






Toward the end of the afternoon, we returned to the farmhouse where we played "the dragon scares the babies." She appointed me to be the dragon.

I am cheered by all this. I'll be going to Chicago soon. Playing with my granddaughter was awesome. And the hearings were pretty interesting too.

Wednesday

Each season has its pretty days and its tiresome, dreary days. If you asked me which are the dominant ones, I'd say pretty, for sure.  The Upper Midwest isn't prone to northern Europe's stalled weather systems that can give a full summer of rain, or like this year -- an entire summer of uncomfortably warm sunshine. It doesn't have the never ending darkness of winter: the sun pokes through and you forget that its presence is short-lived and that soon you'll be turning on the kitchen light, even though it's still early.

Unfortunately, this perception that I have (of a mostly beautiful seasons) makes me spoiled. So that when the sky is beautifully blue and the sun is brilliant (like today), I don't rush out to take advantage of it. It's just one of those lovely days! There'll be more. I throw a glance at all that prettiness and return to my tasks, which, today, includes more editing.

(Short walk: to the barn and back)






Breakfast is late and in the front room. It's time to move things around in the morning!






And in the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.

(Getting ready to go home)






"Look, Gaga! Stop Sign is napping on the old truck!"






Indeed. Stop Sign now spends a considerable amount of time at the farmette. And today I saw him deliver a mouse to a more petite Stop Sign. Could it be that this cat is a mom?






Snowdrop is in a playful mood. Getting her to pay attention to this day's schedule is a challenge. Finally, we're almost ready to head out to dance class. Almost.






(We're on time! Amazing!)






Today's story is Swan Lake. I had gone to the trouble of getting a young person's version of the tale and we went through it earlier, if only because I had some concerns that she would not love the sorcerer's evil magic spells. I needn't have worried. Their story and dance in class had only a modest similarity to the Tchaikovsky classic. Nonetheless, as always, Snowdrop loved all the pretend stuff that is so part and parcel of this dance program.






At the farmette, I'm in for a quiet evening. Ed is still riding his bike every Wednesday evening. I cook up some eggs and brussel sprouts and think about how quickly a good day zips by.

Tuesday

Most authors of any note don't state their message clearly, in the form of a direct hit, with bold words letting you know that this is the message, the theme, the denouement! I want you to get this out of my humongous volume! They're subtle, leaving you to form your own opinions as to what is really going on.

In my Great Writing Project, I'd say that I strive for subtlety. Still, if you haven't the patience to read all those pages (someday, when you actually can read all those pages), I'd say go to the 37th page of chapter 6. You'll get a good idea of what the book is about there.

I mention this because in my current edit, I finally got to that page today. And so if you asked me what I did this morning, I'd say that there was breakfast, in the kitchen... 

(This is what you'd see if you looked out the side kitchen window)






(We tend to stare out the big window, toward the porch and beyond. Or, we stare at each other.)






... And then I worked to improve that page. Done! I am immensely happy to have finally moved beyond that point!

Garden photos? Sure, but let's stick with the annuals today. They are like the sprinkles on a chocolate ice cream cone. They add zest, color and fanciful ornamentation to a rather plain at this point landscape.











In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here. (In case you aren't yourself buying clothes for a little girl, tulle for the everyday is quite the rage these days -- something that no doubt pleases this particular bambina ballerina.)






What will our time together be like? I cannot tell until she steps through the door and considers the possibilities. But rare is the day when there isn't a story, with long bouts of imaginative play. Today, she fills all her hours with this.






And so it's a day of story telling. The rains return, the storms threaten, but inside the farmhouse, we spin our tales.

round and round and round we go

It feels like the wheels of time are spinning in many directions. Forward -- Snowdrop grows and grows, developing the skills of a toddler and now a little girl. Then back I go to a time when I'm with  a babe -- Primrose -- who is just now sitting by herself. Forward again, while Snowdrop regales us with stories, then a back slide, to a three month old's (Sparrow's) gurgles and grins and baby naps. I feel this swing in time especially today because we're officially starting our fall schedule (stalled by my travels) where Sparrow comes to spend his Monday, from morning til evening, here at the farmette. It's like caring for Snowdrop all over again, only ever so slightly different.

It's a beautiful day once more, a day with those brilliant skies and pleasant early fall temperatures.  The young family is in a morning rush. One child dropped here, the other at school. For now, I am just with Sparrow. Welcome, little lobster man! Do you know about grandma's magic camera?






Ed and I are just getting our breakfast routine going. He joins us. On the porch!






I'm wondering if he needs a sweater... Snowdrop wont mind if I share her pink one!






But, the air warms and in the end we set out for an introduction to farmette life. He is somewhat shocked to see the chickens. They are more ho hum about his presence. Another baby? Oh, ok!






Sparrow, like Snowdrop, like Primrose, is a smiling happy child. Perhaps all babies who are well fed and well loved are that way. My eyes, are of course, so focused on the three grandbabes.






In the afternoon, we pick up Snowdrop at school. The girl is very excited about having her brother join us at the farmhouse. These are chickens, baby Sparrow!






It's cool how these same chickens offer arithmetic lesson opportunities. Ed is forever asking -- how many new ones did we bring into the coop this year? And how many old ones are there? And how many eggs did we get today? So now how many do we have? (Ed, the answer is that we have too many! We get on the average five eggs each day!)






(She finds my Polish chocolates. Okay, Snowdrop. Just one!)






A snack, one book reading moment, and then she is off and spinning tales! (Yes, that's Ed playing a part in it. We all do. She assigns the roles.)







Ed is trying to work out some techie problem via the TV screen (something about linking screens in a remote communications scheme). Snowdrop sees that he can project multiple images of any one of us on the screen. She is fascinated by it all.






And now this too is part of her story.






While the lobster guy looks on.






 Evening. Kids are home, one hopes in bed, perhaps even asleep. The farmhouse reels back to a state of utter quiet. I'm thinking about an Ocean post, Ed is thinking about an ocean sail. But for now, we are here, feeling lucky, feeling utterly content and at peace.

Sunday

So what did you do today?? -- my daughters will ask me. Their lives are so busy, so full. I think my typical Sunday must look completely tame by comparison. (That's a nice way of saying boring.)

Well, so be it. Sundays are meant to be quiet days. My day today was quiet.

(Morning farmette walk...)






(So obviously autumn...)






(The surprise day lily...)






(Breakfast!)






In the afternoon we do what was once so typical for us, but what had to give because of the demands of this summer: Ed and I play frisbee golf, among prairie flowers and grasses of early fall.







Ed is still walking about barefoot. I admire that. He tells me it would take only a week to toughen my feet. I look at the thistle in the prairie fields -- nah. I'll keep my shoes on.






(So beautiful!)






(Selfie!)






In the evening, the young family is here for dinner. I tell Snowdrop we have to pick nasturtium for the salad. She is happy to help!






Sparrow, who is just 3.5 months, is too young to offer credible assistance.






It's warm enough to eat dinner on the porch. Oh, we will miss this lovely place to gather in the months to come!






(Snowdrop demonstrates a pout. She wants to show us how a little girl might feel when told she has to wait for dessert.)






And what am I offering for an after dinner sweet? Treats from my Polish friends: cookies with cherries, exquisite chocolates...






The pout doesn't last long.






Sparrow takes it in, from the lap of the big guy.






So, a quiet day, don't you think? Wonderfully uneventful. Yeah.