holiday Saturday

If nine people gather for winter festivities (and of those, three are children), what are the chances that at least one will have sniffles? Overwhelming. All you can do is watch and wait and place bets -- who will be the one to find the unlucky jellybean in her pudding? (Or however else you mark good or bad fortune.)

Last year, Snowdrop was a bit under the weather just at Christmas. This year, the person who gets fewest colds of all of us (Ed) fell pray to one. Or at least so it seemed yesterday. (He of course picked it up from one of us who cycled through all this stuff earlier.) But, Ed has a remarkable capacity to deny sniffles or anything else right out of his system and so today we're all coasting on only the light remains of whatever passed through our households this month. May we all stay healthy in the days ahead! This is my wish for you too -- have a happy, healthy holiday!

For us, each year, Christmas has much of the same and a little bit of the different. Planning who will be where, in what town and in whose home, and for what meal requires strategy! You take into account geography, kid tolerance for being shuttled to and fro, kid bedtime, meal traditions -- it's all very complicated! But when it falls into place, it is exquisite.

This year, the young family is coming up from Chicago and we will celebrate Christmas with them a little today and a lot tomorrow and a tiny bit on Monday.

But first, a farmette morning of "the usuals."






With breakfast of... the usual.






And now I am just waiting for the arrival of the youngest family. Over coffee and gingerbread, because it's a lot funner that way.






Here they are, in Wisconsin at last! At the forefront, my grandgirl, Primrose!











You know, the daughter of these two!






And now it all gets rather confusing: who is whose child and happy as a clam to be under whose embrace?
















And the cousins! Oh, the cousins! The dance of love....







It's time to get something to eat. We go to Lucille's, on the Capitol Square.






Here we all are, in holiday mode!






Lights and grins everywhere!






Food and drink for all...






Beloved grandkids!





Beautiful and full of sweet gestures. Yours too, right? I understand. Holidays bring us together, but the love and joy are there, always and forever.

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.