Friday

If you are the type of person who easily gets despondent when dreary weather sets in, you'd be in trouble today. Another inch of wet snow fell overnight, but Madison temps are rising above freezing today and anything more that comes down from those gloomy gray clouds is bound to be super wet and unpleasant.

I have a list of early morning phone calls and I'm tempted to get to them before feeding the animals, but the cats are at the porch door begging and so I relent.





As I set about filling the cat bowls with food in the sheep shed, my phone begins its relentless ringing. (I left messages up and down organizational chains and now come the call backs.) I am amused that this noise -- of my cell phone playing Vivaldi's Spring (which has been my ringtone for years and years) -- terrifies five of the six shed cats. They abandon their food and scramble to escape. It's quite the sight to see the whole bunch of them push to get out an opening that can just accommodate one cat. Only Dance looks up with indifference. I would say that she is, by now, only a little feral. The others are still one foot in a human space and one foot out the door.

Breakfast. Ed and I review the weekend ahead. I'll be coming back from Chicago late Saturday and on Sunday we are planning on moving my mom's stuff out of her apartment. I am apprehensive. Ed assures me that he will take all heavy pieces of furniture apart so that we are able to carry them. I don't quite believe him. The young family has offered assistance, but I will have none of it. I may be insanely busy, but they are all super insanely busy. If we can, Ed and I will do it ourselves. If not, we'll worry about it next week.






One last look at the farmette lands, in their winter rest mode...





And I'm off to spend 24 hours with Primrose and her parents.


Chicago's weather is even less cooperative. The city's snowy surfaces are melting. It's foggy and I'm expecting a barrage of rain. It's a mess out there!

I hoist my duffel bag over my shoulder, zip up my jacket and take out my umbrella, just in case. Primrose and I can take a little rain, right?

(pause for "lunch" at a coffee shop...)






I pick the little one up at school... (just starting in on post-nap afternoon snack)





... and we walk home. Salty slushy puddles are impossible to step over. But we manage to just barely beat the rain.


Home at last. I throw down all the damp stuff and turn my attention to the little girl. She is just about 22 months old now -- a happy, spunky, curious toddler who sometimes still seems close to the toddler of yesterday, but more often, she acts as if she is awfully close to little girlhood.






So many new words! So many playful gestures! (It's interesting to me that none of my grandchildren belong to the broody quiet genre. They all clamber to be heard and Primrose has a vocabulary that allows her to get to the heart of what she wants.)






It's a spirited and splendid afternoon!






In the evening, my daughter and I go out to dinner. We're celebrating her birthday! Our meal is at the wonderful Daisies Restaurant.


 


On a wet wintry day, can you think of something better than a plateful of extraordinary pasta?

It's a beautiful evening. You can't let the weather get to you. Nearly always, it's what's inside that counts. Especially now, especially when you're with people whose smiles and laughter warm your heart and soul.

Thursday

A gentle snow fell on our farmette lands, covering all that was messy and trampled down, confirming once again the beauty of a winter in Wisconsin.




My morning walk to feed the animals is short but oh so sweet!

(all, waiting for breakfast)










Ed would have preferred to sleep in (and by that, I mean way past a decent morning hour). An evening of volley ball followed by a night of reading wipes him out. But, I shouted up to him that it's now or never. Breakfast is ready and I'm going to eat it. I have a full morning before me!






He comes down. The sweet thing about the guy is that he always opts in for breakfast.


Despite the snow, the rural roads are drivable. This is good, because I have two more assisted living places to visit. Perhaps you remember that I'm looking for a place for my mom and I toured one in Verona two days ago. I liked it. (In these searches, you have to force yourself to ignore the reviews. I've been warned about that: someone has a bad experience with the food or with an attendant and ten relatives write scathing comments. It's very rare that satisfied customers go to the trouble of posting remarks. So personal inspection is essential.)

Last night, I found two more places that could potentially offer housing for her. The first one is in Oregon -- another suburb of Madison. I really wanted to love this place, not only because it's ten minutes up the road from where we live, but, too, because it's close to downtown Oregon (library, park, even a swimming pool).

So maybe I'm influenced by the pretty snow, or maybe the place brings forth memories of winter weekends in New England (in the years I lived in New York), because it does look to me like one of those older residential buildings straight out of Vermont. And there the prettiness ends. It's drab inside. Needs a face lift. Sort of like the motel that once may have been pretty, but age has done nothing kind to it. Ed later tells me that he expected as much. The older assisted living homes do not have the money for any major facelift and these structures just do not age well. So if you were on a road trip, wouldn't you choose the newer motel, rather than that old drive up place where the air conditioning rattles and the bathroom sink shows decades of use?

I suppose it's all in what you need. This small place (with terrible views -- which to me would be a deal breaker right there!) offers a level of coziness and care that my mom would not like but someone else might relish. It does appear to have a very dedicated staff. Still, it would be a real step down for her. (Even though she has been living in a very uninspired downtown building, her apartment is clean and fresh. Or at least it was clean and fresh before Ed and I tore it apart.) She has had enough steps down in the recent months. She doesn't need another one.

At around noon, I visit the last place on my list. This one is in Fitchburg -- another suburb of Madison. This one is also close to me, though I honestly don't view that as a benefit or liability. I drive up to a decent enough building. But again, once inside, I am disappointed. The rooms are tiny. No kitchenette, not even a refrigerator. Older people, yes, of course (one woman beats my mother at 98!), but also an older interior. And a little too intimate. One big happy family, unless you don't like each other -- then not so happy.

I am so glad that the first place I visited was pleasant, or else I'd think we were in for sad times ahead.


From the assisted living property, I drive past the lesser lake (frozen, with ice fisher-people) to pick up the kids at school.






Happy kids...






Busy kids... ("can I finish this project?")






At the farmette, I bring out the sled. I mean, if not today, then when? Snowdrop reassures her doubting brother. He relaxes. He's thrilled!






Inside, we yet again go back to the book making project.





But not only. We play ball. We do puzzles. And we read. How I love books for kids! They have just the right amount of child impishness and adventure in them to make a reading time come alive. On a winter afternoon, they are like a warm quilt for the soul.


Evening. Ed and I read through the documents posted about my mom's benefit eligibility. We have a number of questions. That's a task for tomorrow morning. Early. Because by 10 am, I will be on the bus to Chicago.

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.