daylight

The sun sets today in Madison at 4:40. On a sunny day like today, it seems that it sets later than that (and conversely, on a cloudy day, it seems like darkness comes earlier). To the person, everyone I've talked to about the lengthening days is thrilled with the slide toward more daylight. But of course, just within the continental United States, that lengthening of the day varies. The sun sets today in Tampa Florida at 5:51. In Madison, we wont get to 5:51 until February 24! By then, Tampa's sunset will be at 6:27.

Hey, did you notice something? Whereas now, Tampa's sunset is one hour and ten minutes later, on February 24, we will be a scant 36 minutes apart! And of course, ultimately, we will beat that darn Tampa! Indeed, on May 12, which this year is a Sunday and Mother's Day, we will have caught up! Sunsets in both Madison and Tampa will be at 8:10 p.m. then. Thereafter, our days will be longer!

We are a curious lot: we are competitive, possibly a little vengeful ("that darn Tampa!??" really, Nina?), but on the upside -- ever full of hope.

And what did I do with those extra 15 minutes of daylight (because on Madison's darkest day, in December, the sun set at 4:25)? Honestly, I loved just gawking at the wind playing with the farmette trees. It's sunny today and still a bit mild, but I am not pushing myself to be very active just yet. There's a lot of couch time in the morning. That is, after the animals are fed...






And breakfast is behind us.






In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. A little tired, a little surprised by the strong winds outside, a lot more inclined to read many many chapters of books, with an occasional burst of playful energy...






And always, with her lovely, generous smile coming through to warm the heart and brighten the spirit...





Tomorrow we get a taste of winter. Tonight, I'm just glad we have had fifteen more minutes of daylight.

return to a schedule

Holidays disrupt. In the best of ways, of course, but still, chaos reigns. I'm always asking -- so who is where and at what time tomorrow? But once school resumes for Snowdrop (and her parents for that matter), we are back on track. For example, if it's Monday morning, Sparrow is at the farmhouse. I'm ready for him, the young family drops him off, everyone is where they should be.






Even though, really, it feels like March outside. Rain, dismal, dreary, wet. The ground is partially frozen, which means that clumps of ice remain. Walking requires balance and dexterity. And the rains keep coming down.

No outdoor play today. I bring the boy inside and spend some time getting to know him again. I saw him all the time during winter break, but I was rarely with him alone. Today, he and I take a fresh look at each other.

As always, he is happy, grinning his social grin, engaging you with his quiet charm.






Routine would have it that we begin with breakfast -- mine and Ed's, but Ed is still sleeping upstairs and I decide to do what I pretty much never do: eat breakfast without Ed. After all, I have Sparrow to keep me company. Why wake the big guy?






The little guy is patient with my meal...






But of course, he wants his own "second breakfast."  Here's that happy face again:





Catch it now, because it quickly goes away when you coax him with solids. He's one of those babes who will forever love his little bottle. Spoon feeding? He resists.

But otherwise, he has grown so much! He is a big guy and I notice those extra pounds as I lug him from one place to the next. He is also more energetic and I can see that a fence is going to be needed pretty soon to keep him out of trouble.

The morning passes quickly. (Can you tell that Ed is feeling nearly in top form again?)






And the rains come and go and come again...

The schedule going forward is slightly kinder to old Gaga, in that Sparrow goes home just before I pick up Snowdrop. This feels quite luxurious, as schlepping both kids around, especially with all the winter coats, boots and school gear is not easy. So this winter (if you can call it that), I'm with just Snowdrop in the afternoons.






The little four year old is happy to be back at school and happy, too, to be with her more aged playmates here at the farmhouse!






(conversation at the table...)














Yep, Ed is up and playful once more. She is delighted!





(In a game of hospital, he says -- so, you're a doctor and I'm a doctor too? She says -- exactly! They go off to negotiate the medicine dosage for one of their more seriously ill patients.)






Evening. It's still wet out there, still peculiarly March-like. But my mind isn't on that right now. Weather is, of course, vitally important for so many reasons -- climactic conditions sustain or destroy life, after all. But what's not important is whether I would prefer snow to rain, sunshine to cloudiness. Those are whims. Storytelling threads. I'm thinking tonight about the roughness of the first few days of 2019 for so many out there, some whom I know, but many more who live in places I've never even heard of. And how privileged I am to have had a gentle set of days thus far. Oh, to not mind the irrelevant! To love deeply and generously, always! In whatever weather conditions are presented to you on any given day. Got that one under your belt? Good! Carry on then.

and the next day...

Snowdrop has a little clock that tells her when it's time to get up. I feel completely technologically challenged by it and in any case, I don't want to tamper with presets that the family probably counts on to move smoothly through morning routines and so I pretty much ignore it when she brings it to the farmhouse for a sleepover. Last night I vaguely remember groaning when she pointed out that it indicated that it was "already 9!" and "soon it will be time to get up!"

Thankfully, the presets had a weekend wake up time that was obviously later than the weekday normal and so it wasn't until after 8 when the little girl emerged from her room, carrying the clock and telling me in a very sleepy voice -- it's singing the wake up song, I have to be up!

Kids have this innate desire to do well by their parents, by their grandparents too and it's hard to tell them that certain rules have some flex in them, though God knows I tried: Snowdrop, you can go back to bed if you want.
No! The clock is telling me it's time to get up! Daddy said to listen to the clock!

Well, no matter. 8:15 is a good time to get the ball rolling on our morning!

As we come downstairs, she looks with hope at the balloons. Is it my birthday still?






No, not anymore. Now it's time to merely enjoy being four.






And one thing I'm surely finding out this weekend -- being four means that you want to do everything by yourself. Everything.






She is the master of her destiny!
Ed says -- I'm going to feed the cheepers and Stop Sign.
She says -- I just love doing that with ah-ah! I want to go!
I say -- you have to get dressed first. Jacket too. (It's just about at freezing outside.)
She says -- I don't need a jacket! I wont be cold!
I say -- Yes you will.
Ed says -- She'll be alright.

Guess who won that one?






It is in fact lovely to see her with the cheepers. Since she often dispenses corn for them, they follow her as they follow us -- ever hopeful, just a little bit pushy, always very excited.






(Well now, who is the leader of this pack?)






Surely Snowdrop must be a little cold by now! If she is, she wont admit it, though she is happy to return to the farmhouse soon after.






Time for the big breakfast! The usual stuff. Pancakes in the shape of little mouse heads. Some of Snowdrop's favorite books have mice families as the lead characters and perhaps for this reason, she has an unusually strong  affection for these little critters. As I was tucking her in last night, she asked -- does the owl live outside my bedroom window?
Hmm... not outside your window. The owl family lives high up in one of the trees out front. So, outside our window, where ah-ah and I sleep.
But not my window?
No, I guess not. There is no large tree by your window.
Good. I don't like owls.
Why not? They sing such beautiful songs at night! Like this... (I give my best Great Horned Owl mating call imitation.)
They eat mice!

So, mouse pancakes. With fruit for trim.






But I do insist that the job of dispensing maple syrup remains in the hands of the syrup guy.






I leave this morning chapter of Ocean with that typical Snowdrop gesture, which very much reminds me of an emoji that has become a family favorite -- the "what are you gonna do" shrug that comes from the realization that things happen! Rather regularly, for that matter.






In the afternoon, I give my camera a rest. Ed and I work on setting up cell phone service for my mom (well, it's mostly Ed and as I write this, he's still at it), I clean house, then retreat for a luxuriously long catch up call with a friend who lives too far away.

Because the young family has other engagements today, Ed and I eat a Sunday supper alone. Just as well. He's not very hungry. It could have something to do with the quickly disappearing leftover birthday cake in the refrigerator. What are you gonna do...

then and now

Today, we reach a high of 51F (10C). This is shocking stuff for January. True, there have been unexpected warm spells in the past, but for our family, what stands out is the comparison between this and the reading for this day four years ago: on Monday, January 5, 2015, the high was just 1F (-17C).  That's a fifty degree difference!

Why compare these two dates? Well, it was on that coldest of cold days four years ago that Snowdrop was born.

Today, the sun is streaming in, the snow is melting fast.






(The older girls, looking very much like they're sunbathing!)






I have things to do! Most important is the baking agenda for the morning: a cake must be made!

I pick something that is an old family favorite. Indeed, a very long time ago, my daughters would routinely request it for their birthdays. It's Maida Heatter's FBI cake  (found on p. 64 of this book) - a combination of deliciously satisfying chocolate and a very simple frosting of whipped cream. Because it is for a girl who has an ongoing love affair with cherries, I use defrosted cherries for the cream between the layers.






For the top? Well, aesthetics prevail: I stay with fresh strawberries.






Breakfast. In sunshine!






Because Snowdrop's birthday falls on a weekend, her parents fill her day with stuff that is precious to the little one. A party with friends and family is set for next weekend. Today, Snowdrop floats between gifts, outings, playtime and favorite foods. I join the young family at the Overture Center for the Performing Arts. There is a juggling show taking place at 11 and the place is packed with kids who have been cooped up at home for too long! (School reopens in Madison on Monday.) Snowdrop is mildly impressed with the juggler's talents.






(My daughter and her daughter...)






And since we are quite close to my Mom's apartment, we pop in for a quick visit. And if the span of temperatures hasn't impressed you, surely this will: nearly a century separates the days of birth of these two (my mom is, of course, 95).






On my way back to the farmette, I pause at the coffee shop by the playground where Snowdrop and I so often go after school. It feels so mild, so Alpine with all that winter sunshine beating down on the cafe's patio! I wonder why other cafe customers do not take advantage of this singular moment of sublime winter warmth!






I call Ed and ask him if he'd like to take a walk this afternoon, but he is adamant: you've been on your feet too much. Rest that knee!

Well, fine. I spend a good half hour soaking in vitamin d on the cafe patio!


And in the evening, the young family brings Snowdrop for a farmhouse sleepover. She continues to love her nights here and still regards it as a most special treat to eat a pizza dinner with Gogs and Ed (can we please make our own?) and of course, tonight, the mood is quite celebratory.






Still, Snowdrop, like perhaps any other kid, does like to keep much of the familiar order of things in place. I'd set the table with her at the head today. Right below the Happy Birthday sign. Special honor for the birthday girl! She is horrified and quickly moves the dishes around so that she would be in her usual spot to the side of the table.






And, she likes to be involved. To help with the preparations. Cake time? She takes charge of putting in the candles. And why not?! She is no longer three and a half.






She is four.






Stubborn candles!






There! Got them all.






There are farmhouse presents, of course (though I dare say if none were offered, she would not have noticed... not tonight anyway). I'd guess the binoculars, the flashing unicorns and the shadow puppets tickled her the most.





















It's clear that her normal bedtime will have to be ignored. That I will need to read many chapters of a book to put her in the mood for resting. And still, it is a hefty amount of time before she can let go and fall asleep. She is back to Gaga now, falling again into the language of her younger years. Because, well, it's comforting to know that some things don't change, even after you turn four.

Friday

I am fairly sure (though by no means certain) that if Ed was panting his last breath, if he stopped eating and shriveled to nothing and could not articulate a clear thought, if his arms and legs would not respond to prompts and if his eyelids remained in a shut position -- if all that happened, then he would have me call the clinic to make an appointment to see a doctor. I have such confidence (though not total certainty) because after all, why else would he spend the money on Medicare insurance premiums? He must envision a circumstance when health care would be warranted.

But anything less than that -- forget it. If I have to hear one more time -- it's just a cold, I don't need to see a doctor, I will surely slam the door in his face.

In fact, he's probably right: he has a second cold on top of the first one. But you don't go see the doctor (necessarily) to make yourself feel better, you do it to make your partner feel better (or at least to get her to stop asking every few minutes -- are you feeling okay yet?).

On these beautiful January days, we've been seesawing between sniffles and knee swells and sniffles once more, feeling like this unusually warm winter month is somehow passing us by.

Still, sniffles and stiff knees not withstanding -- it is a beautiful week indeed! Stepping outside is total pleasure.  We don't wait for the other to feed the animals in the morning.
I'll do it!
No, I'll do it.
We both do it.

(It never fails to surprise me that Stop Sign is afraid of the cheepers. One cat paw on their noses would send them running, but she prefers to simply side step and keep her distance. As Ed said, it's kept her alive this long, so she must know what she's doing!)











Breakfast, early because I need to fit in a grocery store trip this morning.






And in the afternoon, little Snowdrop is at the farmhouse. I emphasize "little," because it is the last day when she is merely a three year old (no, three and a half, Gogs!). Four, to me, seems closer to school girl status. The toddler years are done. I watch her play, so often independently, always creatively, with that clever edge that she develops as she learns to finesse her own stories in life...






She doesn't want outdoor time today. Ah well -- it's getting pretty soppy out there. I expect by tomorrow, most of the snow will have melted.

We end the day playing with her Polish wooden carvings. I'm sure they were never intended for this, but today, they dutifully stood in line for ice cream, then visited an art museum. 






Nearly four... Do you remember being nearly four?







The sun is low now -- so pretty to watch its fading light on the farmette lands!






Snowdrop returns home. Ed and I finish the construction project Josephina and Benjamin (the pretend construction crew) had started.

Go easy on your knee, gorgeous!
I'm glad you're feeling better, honey pot. You're feeling better, right?
Yes, gorgeous.