the shortest day

This, as you know, is the shortest day of the year. At the farmette, the sun rose at 7:26 a.m. and set at 4:26 p.m. For me, this is very acceptable: I am used to Poland's winter days. The sun there rose today at 7:43 a.m. -- which is still within the range of "normal" in my view, but it set at 3:25.

I am up significantly before daylight filtered into our bedroom.
Why so early? -- Ed asks in his sleepiest voice.
So much to do! That's the obvious answer, but it really masks the truth. I have plenty of time to do all that's left before the holiday celebrations begin (for us they begin tomorrow, as the young family arrives then to spend the pre-Christmas days with us here in Wisconsin). But I want to go slowly. The older I get, the less acting like a speed demon appeals to me. I like to pause. Revel. Digress. Drink my milky coffee, eat a piece of gingerbread and smile at the wonderfulness of it all. For this, I need time.

Ed looks a heck of a lot better after I gave him both a haircut and beard trim yesterday, but you can't really tell because he is being camera contrary this morning. He does that sometime to test my patience.




And then I grocery shop.

I spend two hours in the grocery store. Two hours!  In part, it's because foods were flying off the shelves and four times I had to ask for help in searching out some basics like lemons, unsalted butter, pancetta and whipping cream. Clerks hustled to tear up containers and bring out fresh supplies, but they just could not keep up with the demand. I gave up on the low fat sour cream. We'll just have to grow fat this holiday with the regular old stuff (it's for a sauce).

I have been shopping for the holidays for many decades now (and I have always loved this crowded, busy time at the store -- everyone tries extra hard to be kind and considerate, as if to demonstrate that even under stress, there is room for a smile). But for the crowds to be this intense and the carts this full a whole four days before Christmas? Rare. It's as if we're all so disturbed by the state of the world, the planet, our environment (or at least I hope we're disturbed! We should be!), that we want to eat and drink and work extra hard at being merry, because these days, being merry can be tough.


Our fridge is full. I have a game plan for the cooking of the family meals (between Sunday and Tuesday -- three dinners and one brunch). I'm set!

Here's that coffee...





Time to pick up Snowdrop and bring her to the farmhouse.






(Did a pink tornado just whizz by me?)






Two recent loves: climbing up on the kitchen counter and juicy ripe pears.







In the evening, I heat up leftovers for supper: lentil soup for this shortest day. And now onward -- toward spring and more immediately -- toward Christmas.

Thursday

Let's make a deal: I will be a person of few words for the next few days! (In the alternative, my words would have to come flying out without thought or contemplation, in the spare seconds I will have allotted to them. You don't want to read an Ocean post thrown down without thought or contemplation!) I wont neglect Ocean, but when family gathers, pictures rather than words will take center stage.

That's me, looking ahead. Today, though, is an ordinary Thursday -- a drippy one at first...







... but you know, a light rain in December is not necessarily a bad thing. We're suspended in a pre-winter holding pattern. No Arctic air, no frost, no cold winds blowing at us from the north. It's a gentle way to approach the busy holiday season.






Breakfast is a reminder that I need to give Ed a beard trim and haircut. Today!






And now I'm in my final "make sure everything is on schedule" mode. Is it? Well, I wont admit to having to fork over $10 for a special rush order of an essential ingredient to a meal on Monday. Apart from that folly, I'm on track.

In the afternoon, I take the longer route to pick up Snowdrop. I need to claim our two pound bag of fresh spinach (from our winter spinach CSA). This detour takes me by the lesser lake and I truly am astonished to see ice fishermen right in the middle. How do they know where the ice is safe for them? And how can it be safe anywhere at all? It's been so warm and I see watery patches along the shore!






Snowdrop is a bit tired today. It's nearing the end of the week and she has been gallantly fighting off everyone's bug. It takes a lot out of you to stay healthy in the face of all these coughers and sneezers out there.






We take it easy today.






A few light games ...






And a few minutes of watching Olivia on Youtube.  Conserve that bounce for the days ahead!

This then is our farmette day. A steady trot to the holiday finish line. Lights twinkling, ideas percolating, anticipation running high, with a hope that everyone stays well and travels safely to be with family in the days ahead.

Wednesday

Here's an interesting way of looking at time: a week from today, Christmas will be behind us. Just between you and me, our little Christmas tree will be more than ready to retire. Were I in Poland, I would not think of putting up a tree until right about now (or on Eve itself). But no, I have happily adapted to my new country's holiday habits. I send out cards at the beginning of December and the tree goes up ... early. (And goes down soon after Christmas Day -- unthinkable to a Pole, who will keep it going well into January.)

I know that to some people, this characterization of the holiday may seem not quite fitting, but to me, ever since I've had kids, Christmas has always been very exciting. It's a holiday that's rich with music, food, family! It oozes color, it demands that you put your artistic and culinary talents to work. For those of us who take the holiday to heart, Christmas does not just happen. You have to think about it. And in preparing for it, you have to put in hours of solid work.

The excitement and the work -- they are, of course, what ultimately make for a very beautiful holiday season.


It's a mild and lovely December day. Today, still limping, but eager to move on, I do spend some time outdoors: in the morning, tending to the animals, in the afternoon -- playing with Snowdrop.

(Walk from barn back to the farmhouse...)






Breakfast. Still cheerful after all these years...






I try to use this day to push through my to-do list. But there is always time for a pause, if you love your milky coffee as much as I do. (With a Polish kernel of gingerbread.)






And in the afternoon, I bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse. Playful, energetic, full of ideas on pretend games we can play together.

















(She is back to being on friendly terms with the cheepers).






No snow? No problem! The sled glides easily on mud!







(Back inside, making up a "guest list" for Christmas dinner.)





Excitement. It's such a beautiful thing when the reason for it is family coming together, meals shared, music played, traditions repeated, though with modern twists and turns.

We're all pretty excited by now. Ed? He's amused.

Tuesday tidbits

A cat crosses the farmette path. I call out -- Stop Sign! She looks up, meows an acknowledgement. I bring her food, she eats hungrily.

I hobble over to the barn, feed the cheepers, hobble back and start in on breakfast.

A cat crosses the farmette path. I open the door to call out, but wait. She (he?) doesn't have that white vest on her chest. You're not Stop Sign! The cat stares at me. I stare back. She wont know about food in the garage. Is she a cousin? One of the others from the littler that visited us last year? She decides to be shy and walks back to where she came from.

Meanwhile, the mouse catch (in the basement) remains unusually low this year. Coincidence?


Breakfast. Caught in mid-sentence.






The delightful sunshine continues.





As do the smiles.

Yesterday, when I picked up Snowdrop at school, she didn't have her shoes on and since she ran up to me for a hug and a hold, we didn't bother with them. I carried her to the car. But, I was loaded down with stuff and so I told her to get down on the street while I monkeyed with the car door and unloaded her various school packs, sacks and paraphernalia.
But I don't have my shoes on!
It's okay, just for a minute.
Are you sure it's not illegal?
I smiled. She'd asked that once before. With a mom who is a lawyer and a grandma who is a lawyer, her preoccupation with the rule of law is disarming. Or, genetic.


I visited my mom today -- her need for my driving services continues to be minimal, as she has learned to use the buses in Madison and has gone shopping to places like Trader Joe's on her own.





I may groan at the lack of snow in the Upper Midwest, but to her, this absence of snow and ice is liberating. So... let me make a bargain with the weather gods: how about a good snowfall that gives us a week of fun, followed by an instant thaw? How about it?


I visit the doc to make sure my knee hasn't some fracture or other critical problem. Ed  says -- I can bet anything they'll tell you to rest, do moderate exercise, and do not overdo it in the future. 
I come back and tell him -- you were right on all counts. You just missed the "take an ibuprofen for the pain."
He laughs.


In the afternoon, I eat a gingerbread square from Poland, sip luxuriously on my cup of milky coffee, then set out to pick up Snowdrop.






And as we dive into the world of play, I think about how content this girl is in her created imaginary spaces which she fills with stuff around her: hats, pillows, pencils -- anything within reach.






Her favorite toys these days are not toys at all -- they are words, her words, my words, that transform household items into vessels with galleys and beds, offices where money is made, sewing schools with yarns and spools and who knows what else she believes a sewing school should have.

Inevitably, Snowdrop explores the nooks of the farmhouse and finds something that I would have wanted to keep out of her curious little hands. Like the "most beautiful wrapping paper!"
No, you cant use it for play. I need it.
Oh please!!! And ribbon!






And another chocolate covered gingerbread cookie.






Followed by just a sip of hot chocolate, which mustn't be too hot, because to a little girl, hot is not good.





Evening. Ed comes in from putting away the cheepers.
I can't find Tomato, he says glumly.
I'll look.A second pair of eyes is always a good thing when one of your young ones goes missing.

I return to the farmhouse relieved. She's up higher on one of the barn beams.
He returns to the barn and, despite his height and huge long arms, he can hardly get to her. He climbs up a bench and finally grabs hold.

The animals are safe. The night is calm.

Monday

And now it's Monday again! For so many kids, it's the beginning of the last week of school this year. The final week before winter break. The beginning of the coast 'til Christmas.

I, too, live by a school schedule. Snwodrop's school schedule. And Primrose's, though at a distance. And soon, Sparrow's too. In other words, my grandkids set my calendar for me.

Were I to look outside, I'd notice a day that is lovelier than what a typical December day should have to offer. Sunshine again. A pleasant winter cool air. A prettiness to savor!





But, I'm still limping along and so I can't really run with wild abandon. (These days, I rarely run with wild abandon, but knowing that I can't even if I wanted to is maddening.)

Let's focus on what I can do. I can greet Sparrow as he comes this morning for his Monday visit!






Sweet happy boy!


 



So patient as I sit down to breakfast with Ed, even though I know he himself should be eating..






It's a morning of the usuals -- play, eat, nap, more play.





His lives still by such a simple schedule! Monday before winter break? What's that? Next year, little one. Next year you too will be a school boy!


In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here. I no longer even try to suggest a game or an activity. She knows what she wants to do and I let her set the agenda.






First, there is the table of work. Designing coins.






She ropes Ed into it as well. His coins have scary faces on them. Ah well: it's tough to accumulate good looking money.






And then she creates her vision of perfection: a country of pink (visited by a blue flamingo). This is where splendid things happen, where pink fills your senses, where life proceeds without mishaps or intrusions by, say green invaders.





We spend a long time imagining what it would be like to live in this rosy world.

Children. They tread lightly, leave a small footprint, accept their own small position in a household, maintaining humility. They don't regard themselves to be better than the animals they admire, and even at their most selfish moment, they don't demand more than a tiny piece of the world's bounty. Being in their company serves as a reminder that we are not born to pollute, destroy, create havoc. Hope lies in their small but loving little frames.


I take Snowdrop home by way of Clasen's Bakery. She is so in love with chocolate covered gingerbread cookies that I need to restock now, before they fly off the shelves for another year.






Home. Her home. Sparrow is napping, the tree lights twinkle.






And outside, the stars are luminous and the air is winter crisp. 

Sunday

Another beautiful day at the farmette! Well, in the entire Midwest I should think. Blue skies, light winds, cool but not cold. A day to do outside work (and there is always outdoor work to be done)!

Ah well. Not for me. I make do with a morning stroll, to take care of Stop Sign (who had us worried by not showing up for a couple of days)...


 



... and to feed the squabbling, raucous cheepers. The nice weather has given them a burst of assertive energy. When they see me at the door, they trip over each other trying to get to me (so that they can then trip me up as we make our way to the barn).






Breakfast. Ed, hurry up, the oatmeal is getting cold.






I do take a break from putting my feet up (or, just one foot!) and Ed and I do a pretty good job of house cleaning. The holidays are next week. I have to get things in order!

And then I sit back and watch the sun move from one side of the farmhouse to the other. When its rays filter in through the west windows, I am up again, fixing dinner for the young family. Important routines and traditions are not to be neglected!

(A pause to throw some treats for the hens. Tomato, shaking herself free of dust and debris, looking like a canvas of loveliness!)






(The whole lot of them!)





Dinner!

(The ever cheerful Sparrow, with his parents.)






Time to eat! One of my Polish friends said that there always appears to be corn at the table. He's right!













After dinner hot chocolate: Snowdrop toasts mommy.





Cbeers, mommy! 
Cheers, Snowdrop
Don't forget your marshmallow -- says the new hot cocoa expert.
I wont.

Saturday

Today was to be the day when I zip ahead with life! So much to do and a beautiful, sunny day, with nothing scheduled for it! Let's move quickly with holiday preparations! With maybe a hike squeezed in there? I would love that!

Except that when I wake up, my knee is twice its regular size and I know that I better cool my jets or the damage I did to it last week will not be undone anytime soon.

I hobble downstairs and give a great big sigh at all that beautiful winter sunshine (I step out to feed the cheepers...












 -- that's all the vitamin D I'll get out of this day!)...






... and then I come back inside to fix breakfast.





Now what? Every sensible person will tell you that you need to raise that leg and keep it in a resting position. Well that's a bummer. What kind of holiday chores can you do with a raised leg?

Menu planning! I do a lot of menu planning, pestering my equally busy daughters about details, just because people who spend their day on a couch with an elevated leg often get to be great pests to anyone and everyone.

I think of ways to wrap presents. I can do that! Sort of kind of.

The day continues to be so lovely outside! Ed gets ready to go out for a hike on his own. I suppose one has to pay a price for indulging in excess, even if that excess (sauntering up and down the streets of Paris from sunrise to sunset) seemed mighty fine to me at the time.

Hey, here's an idea! Why don't I watch the Polish movie a friend in Warsaw gave me? It's called Cold War and it is by the same director who brought us the Oscar winning Ida. I'm extremely interested, as it is set during Poland's post war years -- meaning pretty much the years of my childhood. How people depict that period in Poland's history is, to me, endlessly fascinating (and it is the topic of my Great Writing Project, which is gathering cobwebs somewhere in the clouds of the internet).

Except that a movie made in Europe cannot be viewed on your American TV screen. Did you know that? Apparently my friend didn't and I hadn't remembered it either. Ed to the rescue: his computer can accommodate it. He's off hiking, I watch the movie on his little screen.

And I have to say, when it's over, I walk away (I speak figuratively here) rather dissatisfied. I cannot place it on a continuum of good or bad. It's obviously artistically very very good (as was Ida). But as I summarize it for Ed afterwards, I think -- wow, strip it of its art and it becomes a rather underdeveloped love story set in the politicized everyday life of Communist Poland. I'm not one who insists on a good story line. Beautiful films can stand on their own artistic merits. But this film does have a story and I suppose I felt it to be flat. Two lost souls who could not find a place on earth to live out their passion for each other. Perhaps you'd say that the Poland of the time led to their ruin. Or you could say that their lives were ruined from the minute they laid eyes on each other. Ah, but the beautiful visuals, and the Polish music of the time -- enough to send shivers down a Pole's spine! Oj oj oj!

Evening. I put aside my unfinished menus, the cook books, the wrapping paper. I note that the house is not cleaned yet (no way can I move around in the way that I would need to move around to get it ready for the holiday visits) and that the laundry basket is full of clothes that need a wash (no way can I navigate those steps to the basement today).

Ah well. The thing about lists of tasks and chores -- they're just an ideal. The holidays will be beautiful even if some items remain unchecked. No one will notice. Shhh, Ocean readers! Don't you tell.