Wednesday

It's the kind of day where you dutifully walk from one place to the next, one assignment and then another, one job done, another still ahead. March briskly, look ahead, proceed in an orderly fashion.

Breakfast first.





Then it begins: throw in a load of laundry, fill the tank with gas, visit mom, deposit some papers to the medical staff, go to grocery story to do Friday shopping now, because I wont be here Friday to do it then. Unpack groceries, make a second cup of coffee, get kids.

How easy it is to fill a morning!

Perhaps the highlight here was my pause by the rack of seed packets at the grocery store. Should I pick up some ruffled cosmos? Nasturtium? They do run out sometimes... How about some California poppies? In thinking about these flowers, I start looking ahead toward the next season -- one where I wont be quite this busy. One where I can actually dig holes for new plantings and snip hundreds of spent lily heads. That season will come. But for now, the march is on: one task, followed by another and another.


The kids do put a (temporary) halt to everything. I have to pay attention now to their quick movements. They are, of course, as sweet and charming as can be, but if the afternoon is to be productive and well spent, sitting back and admiring their charm is not the way to go. I should be guiding them now and though I may sometimes take a backseat to their games, the need for a gentle intervention -- a push or prod, is always there.

Today, Snowdrop and Sparrow play very well. We read, they do art, they do puzzles. And they cavort on the couch.

(reading snack)




(on a cat patrol)




(working on another super pig book)




(going for an orange segment)




(keeping watch)





And then they go home.

And Ed goes off to play volley ball with his group of winter volley ball enthusiasts.

And I research every listed assisted living facility within spittin' distance of here. It looks like next week I'll be negotiating my mom's acceptance into a place that will have an opening for her. The comparison shopping (and I do not love shopping!) starts now.

Tuesday

Well, I'm cheerful. Try to knock me down for it! Go ahead, just try.

See? it didn't work. I remain cheerful.

You could say it's the sunshine effect.






I don't dispute that sunshine in the winter is like mac and cheese on an empty stomach. Still, there's more:

We're getting closer and closer to spring. You don't yet feel it in your bones, but the days are indeed longer (sunset today: 4:55 pm) and the time to start looking at flower nursery stockpiles is upon us. Just one or two more day lilies! Just one or two! Take, for example, this one: avante garde. Don't you think it has "farmette" written all over it? Expensive, to be sure, but maybe just one?

But we don't talk about flowers just yet. Breakfast...





... is reserved today for discussing the details of my mom's move. I had a very depressing set of hours over the weekend researching available assisted living options for her. Most places weren't willing to consider her. I had visions of being left with nothing more than a room in a one star rated house at the edge of a forest in northern Wisconsin as an option. My mother is not an "edge of a forest" type of person.

Still, one place in Verona (a suburb of Madison) didn't exactly say no. I mean, they sort of said no, but nonetheless, they were happy to meet with me to discuss her case. To listen to my description of her interests and disposition. To show me what might be available. Maybe.

And so this morning, after breakfast, I drive out to Verona. Alright, it's not central Madison, but since my mother has reduced mobility at the moment, does that matter? I felt trepidation. You know how it is to be on the housing market: you set out full of energy and optimism and then you walk into someone else's cluttered space and you wish the design was a tiny bit different, well, a lot different, and the carpet has dog stains, and the living room window looks out on a ten lane highway, and your heart sinks because there just isn't anything better in your price range? I was thinking that my hunt for my mom would follow this pattern, even as we need a place for her and we need it pretty quickly.

And lo! Honestly, in my opinion, the place is just lovely (meaning their marketing team presents the place well).

All this is a tiny bit premature in that I still haven't heard about her eligibility for this next step. But I'm doing my homework and the first visit was a good one!

I suppose there is a bit of a let down: the place comes completely unfurnished. This means that Ed and I have to lug dressers, tables, chairs and bookshelves out of her current place, into a truck, then into the storage unit, only to move it yet again once a place is identified. There's a lot of lifting and moving before us.

Still, there is hope for a good outcome!

To celebrate my bouncy mood, I suggest Ed and I take a quick walk in the county park just up the road.






And now it's time to pick up the kids.

(Sparrow, want to take your cap off??)






(Snowdrop, currently in love with these chips...)






(Playing with letters: Sparrow, can you say the letter "O"?)






(Snowdrop: that's pretty funny!)






Toward evening, I take the kids back to their house, pause for a few minutes to check in with my daughter, then proceed to meet up with my former colleagues for a quick dinner at a small Indian restaurant we like.


So it's a full day once again. But a kind day! A sweet day, with a continuous sprinkle of good events. And a reminder that spring is not long in coming.

Monday

It is, of course, Martin Luther King Jr. Day. I've always liked this meditative moment in the middle of January. Nothing is expected of you except maybe to think a little about our times and the lives of those born to tougher circumstances. Reading a little from his speeches is always helpful, or if you want just a few words to push you forward in life, you could do worse than paging through some of his most memorable statements. Someone noted that we lean toward a Hallmark depiction of Dr. King. "I have a dream..." and there it stops. I think that's unfair. Those four words are famous because they will forever stand for something. Sort of like Silent Night Holy Night, or We the People. You can't say them without pausing to consider their meaning.

As I listened to the radio yesterday, where someone talked about Dr. King and his message of hope, I was not surprised to learn that most of us are in fact born to live with hope rather than feeling ourselves to be doomed. In the NPR segment, one prof of religion talked of hope not as a wish list for yourself ("I hope I win the lottery," "I hope I wont get stuck in the snow") but instead, as a feeling of community. In my understanding of this, by doing the work of linking yourself to others, you ground yourself in a life of hope, rather than disappointment and bitterness.

But the Dr. King quote that most stays with me today is one that has to do with understanding your limitations at the same time that you are not stifled or stymied by them. It's this one:

Be a bush if you cannot be a tree. If you cannot be a highway, just be a trail. If you can't be a sun, be a star. For it isn't by size that you win or fail. Be the best of whatever you are.


On a less philosophical note, did you know that today is also National Cheese Lovers Day? [Not to be confused with Cream Cheese Brownie Day, which is February 10th, or Moldy Cheese Day, which is October 9th. Oh, and don't be ahead of yourself on National Hug Day -- so recognized by the US Copyright Office. The purpose of that one is to "help everyone show more emotion in public" and the date of it is January 21st. On National Cheese Lovers Day it's enough to eat some cheese for lunch and maybe express some feelings of appreciation to your local cheese maker, if you should cross paths today with such a person.]

Ed and I do not have cheese for breakfast...






But we do take out a wonderful runny goat cheese (a Baetje Farms beer washed Vallee) for a very late lunch. (Is it even lunch if it's close to 5 pm?)





It feels a little wrong to take out a cheese made in Missouri when Wisconsin has so many fine creameries, producing award winning cheeses, but, the Baetje cheeses were unknown to me and a sale on this otherwise rather expensive cheese pushed me to invest in it and I am so glad I did! We had it for dinner last night and Ed and I dig in again today.

So long as we are on the topic of Wisconsin farms (talk about one thought leading to the next!), did you know that we are second in the country in terms of the number of organic farms? How about that! (Yes, California beats us there, but it is an unfair comparison! I mean, we're tiny and cold, they're huge and warm.)

Of course, I know you know that Wisconsin is the number one cheese making state in the U.S. We have, at the farmhouse, a chunk of Hook's 5-year cheddar just about every week for Sunday supper. The kids love it! (Luckily, they consider the 10-year cheddar to be too sharp. It's nice when kids favor the cheaper option.)

Perhaps you have concluded that France is the number one cheese consuming nation. That is not correct. On a per capita basis, Denmark heads the list. France is number four. We, on the other hand, don't even make it to the top fifteen. We do better in beef consumption: number four in the world!]

Why all this talk of food? Well, my thoughts meander as I once again attack my mom's apartment. Ed had gone out at midnight to Walmart to pick up card board boxes. Today, we both go over to pack up her stuff. It would have taken me six hours to do this alone. With his help, we're done in less than half the time.

This leaves us with just enough daylight hours to go cross country skiing! Cold but sunny. We choose the prairie trail for that late afternoon light.






Just an hour. Then home. At sunset.





Evening is quiet here, at the farmhouse. Leftovers for supper. Along with cheese.

milestones

I designated this Sunday as "pack up my mom's stuff" day. Full of brazen optimism, I allotted the hours between farmhouse clean up (early morning) and young family Sunday dinner (evening) to sifting through all the stuff in the apartment, packing all essentials, and discarding all the rest.

It's a bitter cold day. But of course, this is normal. It's January in Wisconsin. With a mostly cloudless sky and a decent snow cover, things are rather lovely outside. If cold.






Oh, but isn't it always cold on this day? Wasn't it super cold on January 19, 1985 when my youngest little one was born?

It's her birthday today!

I haven't a good baby photo of her but perhaps you'll be interested to see her at more or less Snowdrop's age? She looks a bit like her older self, don't you think?






I'll celebrate this day with her next weekend. We often push our birthdays around for each other to accommodate the distance between Chicago where she lives and the farmette where I live. Still, I can't help but think a lot about her wonderfulness today. January 19th will always be, for me, her day.

Meanwhile, back at the farmhouse, Ed and I sit down to breakfast.






And then I drive to my mom's.





She is such a keeper of things that the task of sifting and sorting seems endless. She is a note taker and there are notes and notebooks and folders and pads everywhere. And pens. Dozens of pencils and pens. What do I pack? What books? Which of her hats, caps, many, many pairs of reading glasses?

At one point I call her to clarify something about a particular scarf that she would like and which I cannot find (so many scarves! my mom beats the French in her affection for scarves!). She explains, I search. By the way, you kept the (such and such) folder, didn't you? -- she asks. Gulp. I look through all the messes of papers I stacked in the "YES" pile. Not there. I tear apart the bins of papers I placed in the discard heap. Not there. Oh boy...

It's like that all day long. I make decisions, some aided by her specifications, some -- wild guesses on my part. And I do finish sorting everything, but the evening is fast approaching and I have packed nothing at all.

Sigh... Tomorrow's another day.

The young family comes just as I throw the breaded chicken on the large skillet and peel some ears of corn for my corn loving grandchildren.












Toward the end of the evening, Snowdrop wants a few pages of our current chapter book. The secret's out! The reading of it always brings out a bag of potato chips!






So ends our day -- kids, chips, book, corn, chicken. Papers, scarves. Cold, sunshine, and a birthday!

Saturday

The snow is lovely. Not perfect (at just under half a foot, covering up another couple of inches already on the ground, it's not enough to be rated as stunning!), but still, it's pretty good!

(morning glance outside, right before sunrise)






I feed the animals with an eye out for Dance. She has been sick and basically living on the porch in the lair we set up for Stop Sign. But, dare I hope? Today, as I leave the house, she follows me to the sheep shed...






And she nibbles a little on some food. So maybe she is on the mend? (She then returns to the porch. I do not understand animal preferences! How is the porch better than a warm sheep shed??)

(Tomato, not liking the snow...)






(the beauty of a good snowfall...)






Breakfast.





And after? I offload my dresser to a student who comes with his dad and dad's big car, glances rather indifferently at the dresser's stylishness and asks "is anything broken in it?" then pays the full amount ($80). Ed's amused as he always is at cerebral types who put all their eggs into abstract reasoning (this student is a math major at UW), perhaps forgetting about the mundane practicalities of life.
I opened and shut all the drawers for him. It's not a complicated piece of machinery: they opened, they closed.


Since the temperatures are about to start their precipitous decline this afternoon, Ed and I go out on the early side to cross country ski. It's getting to be windy out there!






The trails aren't groomed so it's a little slow, but still, between all the shoveling, ice chipping and now skiing, I'd say we've had our outdoor fun for the day!





Chili, reheated for supper, never tasted so good!


In the evening, Ed brings in a huge cardboard box that we'd hauled in from the storage facility. It's full of those envelopes that we once picked up from photo shops where we left films for development. Each envelope has negatives, plus a handful of photos that I deemed unworthy for the family albums. So many photos! I want to go through them all before discarding them. I wasn't quite sure what was there, but I have a window of a couple of hours today and so I dig in.

They are, for the most part, pictures taken by me during my girls' adolescence. Perhaps predictably, many of them were taken during our various vacations and travels.

When you do a project like this -- sorting through countless, most often imperfect photos of people you love -- you feel torn. Throwing something away seems heartless. On the other hand, keeping photos in old envelopes almost ensures their ruin. So I pull out a huge stack to keep, even though I know that keeping photos in this way is also not too cool. In my view, in photography, choosing a good way to display your pictures is hugely important. Creating photo books, or online albums ensures that they will not be forgotten. A stack? It'll collect dust.

I did pull two photos for today's Ocean post, both taken nearly 25 years ago. Pictures that make me smile, because of where the girls were at the time: Polish highlands and Luxembourg Gardens in Paris. See if you can guess which is which!

Friday

How ridiculously packed was this day? So packed that I am three pages from the end of a book I love, and I'm insanely curious about the ending, and yet I have not had the time to finish the damn thing.

No one wants to hear details of another person's busy day. One person's "busy" is another person's boring. So, just the highlights of "boring:"

The animals:
I was troubled to see Dance -- our noble girl who gave birth at the age of six months and yet knew to take care of not only her own brood, but also her half-sibs that her mom had left behind. She is our friend. She likes us and tries hard not to be afraid.

But she is sick. This morning, she came out of the lair we have set up on the porch just for a second, meowed, allowed me to pet her, then went back inside. She hasn't eaten for days.

Ed and I conclude that she should be seen by a vet. We so want her to survive this. It should be easy: close the "lair," take her in. Except that the door gets tangled up and in our struggle to release it, she senses entrapment and escapes. So no vet. (She returns later in the day. If she's not better tomorrow, we'll try again.)

Breakfast:
Lovely. No problem here.





My mom:
Lots of issues today. Several hours of conversation. With her, with her county case worker, with the government agency processing her application for long term care. And with Ed, who truly believes I need to read more and learn more before I make the final decision as to which agency to work with going forward and which program best suits her needs. (I myself think I've done my homework, but Ed always find details that require further investigation.)


And there you have it. I am still hanging on the phone over mom care issues as I walk up the stairs to pick up Snowdrop. Fridays are "just Snowdrop" days. The little girl tells me -- you're late! I'm not really late, but on other days, I'm early. Today, I'm not early.

I let the little girl take the lead on our Fridays together. Without Sparrow here, she has free reign. It's a good day to really make progress on our chapter book. But she wants to break away from the predictable. Instead, we read many, many picture books, most --  a trip down memory lane. Things she liked as a three or four year old. I realize that this is the true marker of the passage of time: when your grandchild starts being sentimental on you and wants you to reread books that belong to her "younger years."

As we finish reading, the snow storm sets in. We need to go soon -- I tell her. But I want to work on a book!



 



She works on a book.






She has to show Ed her book.





We drive home in a snowstorm. Is it a blizzard? -- Snowdrop asks. Hmmm... what's the difference between a snowstorm and a blizzard? Trust Snowdrop to ask the difficult questions.

It takes three times as long as usual to get her home and four times as long to drive back to the farmette. I use the time to review everything by phone with my mom. I know, there's snow. But we're all crawling on the roads at a snail's pace.

Finally. I'm at the farmette again. The snow hits us from all sides. It's a drifting blowing sleeting pounding kind of event. The worst of the worst. And, there's old ice under the snow. Snowdrop fell twice on her way from the car to house. Never mind. We're all safely in our homes! At the farmhouse, I cook up a big pot of chili. Dinner is very late, but very warm and comforting!

No, not done yet!

Furniture:
My mom is letting go of most of her bulky furnishings, including the two dressers she has acquired in Madison. One of them is a solid piece of wood and I want to swap it out with the cheap dresser I have at the farmhouse. Well, ours may be cheap, but it's heavy. We've listed it on Craigslist and we have a buyer. Near midnight, I empty it out, Ed takes apart the drawers, and we haul it downstairs for a viewing tomorrow.

I know, boring, right? Except in doing this, we want to move some Goodwill boxes into the car. It's getting too crowded with mom stuff in our mud room. Ed puts on his jacket. I shout out -- wait! Let me shovel the walkway first! If you trample it down, it'll be harder to clear tomorrow!

And so I shovel away the beautiful snow that fell all evening long. Light and fluffy. A bit windblown, but crystal clean and white. It is what makes for sublime winters here, in the Upper Midwest. Tomorrow, we'll have to find time to simply play in it. For sure.

Thursday

In the sun room, another orchid is in full bloom.






Good morning! What a beautiful day! A harsh day. Cold. Sick cat on the porch. Mixed messages from government agencies that should not be sending out mixed messages. Super cold! But beautiful. Especially at sunrise.






You may, by now, roll your eyes at this breakfast routine of mine. Every day a photo. The place of the meal does not change. We've not eaten in the sun room. We haven't gone out to Finca, the coffee shop, in a while. Same flowers on the table, same guy with, chances are, same t-shirt. Still, for all the grit and harshness to the day (so cold!), when I put up this breakfast photo I always smile at the recollection of our morning meal. Warm, milky coffee, oatmeal for both today, sweet fruits, gentle tones.






The sky is very blue. No cloud, no wind, nothing but that forget-me-not blue sky and sunshine. Still, it's so cold! The animals stay inside. Ed and I stay inside.

Until it's time to visit my mom.

She hands me lists of things to pack. My doctor said I'm going to live -- she tells me, as if to surprise me. Well yeah! Why else all this fussing with a very messy transfer. I don't repeat to her the statistic of 3.17 more years. After all, it may be more. Why make her feel life is finite...


I stop at the grocery store on my way home. There's a storm rolling in tomorrow. We here in Wisconsin know that the best defense against a snowstorm is not to go out until it's all done  )unless you have to). So, almost mechanically, we stock shelves and make sure we're covered for the days of the storm. May the snow be dainty and light. Pretty and puffy. None of this howling wind, dangerous blowing drifts, piercing ice stuff.

One can hope.

In the afternoon I pick up the kids. This is getting to be a long process. Snowdrop's friend likes to play with Sparrow when he arrives with me to claim his sister. Games and works aren't put away, back pack remains unpacked. Disengaging everyone from each other is tough. And still, you have to take pleasure in the kids' love of fun, in their playfulness, in their ability to make a game of just about anything, including going home.












At the farmhouse, we spin through the usual.











Including art.






A book is in the works. About super pigs.











There aren't many things that are more beautiful than these two working a their art at my desk.


And in the evening, Ed and I both set out to my mom's apartment to offload the couch.






Ed asks -- so, should we sell the desk? 

No! And really, there is too little time. My goal is to pack up and be out of the apartment by next weekend. January is moving ahead really fast. That's what happens when you have full days. Today was a very full day. Cold, but very full.

Wednesday

We finish part two of the application process for my mom's transfer to an assisted living facility. And now we wait.

Despite the (temporary?) lull in paperwork, much remains to be done with my mom's apartment and I have that unwelcome conversation with her (one of many) today about what to pack for storage (for her later use) and what to discard.

Ed, listening in on the telephone call, comments -- it's sad for her. She keeps repeating that she can't go back, as if to grasp the reality of that fact.

He is correct. She repeats "how am I supposed to manage..." as if there is an expectation that she should. And sometimes, in my desperation to keep all the details of the application, of the move, of her current placement in order, I find myself mechanically repeating stuff that I know she knows. She asks for affirmation of her condition, I offer it. Again and again and again. Still, maybe I should stay silent and just let her express her dissatisfaction with everything? Perhaps there is greater value in just being quiet? I am the only person whom she will talk to. She is firm in this. Just me. And so I wear many hats here: her personal representative, her accountant, her packer, mover, finder of next home, her sole link to the outside world, her listener.

Of course, as I see it, there is a future for her. A likely 3.17 years of life, by governmental accounting. I need to guide her to some aspect of life that's pleasurable. To focus on what she can do, because honestly, despite her age, she can still think clearly, read, write, move around - though in a more limited fashion.

All these are morning thoughts, though they come after breakfast.






And after animal care. I no longer report here on the details of their care. It's so fluid! Some cats are missing, others seem ill. Dance isn't eating, one of the teens disappeared a few weeks ago, Stop Sign comes back to eat but never with her kittens. Who knows if they're still alive.

(Here's our outstandingly good looking teen -- Dark Blue Indigo Tuxedo. The girl with the four names.)






The cheepers on the other hand are doing well! Two are now (occasionally) laying eggs. No hawks have visited the farmette lands this winter (so far). They eat, they walk, they sleep. Such an uncomplicated life!

And here is a random flash of color for you: it comes from an orchid that I have kept for many years, despite the fact that it hasn't bloomed since I acquired it some ten years back. Out into the yard it goes each spring, inside it comes each fall. But this year, the stars were aligned: unexpectedly, a branch of buds sprang forth. And now we have blooms. There is a moral to the story, one that has to do with waiting. I'll let you formulate it as you wish. Here's the photo:






In the afternoon, the kids are here once more.

(I've got a new running theme! "The boy with the graham cracker!")






Snowdrop and Sparrow are both affectionate and giggly today.

















There are worse ways to spend an afternoon than to be with kids who are in love with life!


A bitter cold spell is moving into Wisconsin tomorrow. We're ready for it. I think!