Monday - 10th

All good sources tell us that this will be a tough week, so let's exhale a little here, on Ocean.

First, let me show you what we woke up to:






It was amazingly pretty. So fine and delicate, like powdered sugar on a landscape that needed some sweetening. And of course, I knew it would melt soon.

We are having a very gentle spring. The temps are right on target, the nights are mild.

Ed and I are preparing to plant our tomato seeds. Talk about being stubbornly persistent! Last year we created a tomato bed that was absolutely perfect but for the sunshine factor. We gambled by putting it in a spot that did not get a full 6 hours of sun and we got very few tomatoes for our efforts. This year, we're going to do it right! (It should be noted that I say this every year.)

Once again we banter over which seeds to plant: Ed wants to use old seeds. I want new ones. It's a problem when you buy a handful of packets each year. You wont use all of them. There are just too many in each little envelope. We plant 100 tomatoes and still have dozens of seeds to spare.

(Ed, over breakfast, with the accumulated packets of leftover seeds which he carefully puts away each year...)





But dearest one, I already ordered new ones! He rolls his eyes at that. So unnecessary... I roll his eyes at his ancient collection. There are new varieties to try! The old ones are just as good.

In the end, we will plant both. And we'll never know which ones did better, because we don't keep track of which seeds came from which packets. Next year, we'll have this discussion all over again. There is comfort in repeating one's gentle skirmishes!


The kids come to the farmette in the morning today. I sense a greater relaxation -- it's as if they are getting used to their days being turned upside down.

They play as they often do -- side by side.






(He builds structures, she constructs sets; here, the characters bought tickets and now are enjoying a play.)






And we read (finding books of interest to both is not hard. Without him, she listens to Charlotte's Web and All-of-a-kind Family; with him, she adores Bernstein Bears or Katie Morag)...






(Both love playing with flap books)






And they eat lunch...






(Even though Sparrow polished off a bowlful of cheddar broccoli puffs beforehand; a gaga indulgence...)






And don't forget about artwork! Snowdrop does a "surprise" picture for Ed. Of a boat, of course!






And then I take them home. Or, as I like to say, to their set of rooms at the end of the long corridor that separates them from us.


Toward evening I finish clearing the flower beds. I can't say it's an immaculate job, but it's a good enough job. If I did nothing else (except for chasing the cheepers away from the tender young roots and shoots!)...

(Happy, with Peach, Henny and Tomato. We got three eggs today. Thank you, girls!)






(Don't forget about Pepper!)






... the beds will be fine and ready for April planting.


Supper? Oh, there are always leftovers after a Sunday family dinner. Crunchy chicken, steamed spinach, and a few bits of pasta that the kids left behind.

Evenings at home: do you love them as much as we do? Do you exhale after too full a day? Did you start in on War and Peace? (It's Ann Patchett's recommendation for isolation: you read it, 14 pages a day, you finish it and the pandemic is over and you'll have read War and Peace!) Do you fall asleep on the couch? Oh, that couch never felt so comfy and good! Ed, will you pop some popcorn?
Of course, gorgeous.

Sunday - 9th

In one of his story telling moments (they don't come often), Ed tells me about a place in Florida where you can park your boat for the season without too much worry about hurricane damage. (His friend is sailing toward it as we speak, eager to park his boat and return home.) There is a beautiful orange grove right by it -- he tells me, recalling his own travels there. With watch peacocks roaming the premises. And then : do you think we should get a pair of peacocks?

I look at him, trying to determine if he is serious. You can never really be sure.
They're aggressive! -- I remind him.
But so beautiful!.
Eh... once you've seen them roaming the parks (as they do in Warsaw), you've had your fill.

I don't know why spring puts us in the mood for this kind of talk. Last week he seriously suggested that we let one of the chickens hatch an egg. Happy has been chasing the girls a lot lately. Their eggs are likely to be all fertilized.

I said no.

Breakfast is very late. Our mornings are so full! Made fuller by increased time online, by reading, by writing to friends.





I clear the front street facing flower bed in the afternoon. In working there, I notice not a small number of cars going by (about two or three each minute, which is a lot for a rural road). Perhaps coming back from shopping trips? Maybe from a hike in the forest? You have to wonder how people's Sundays have changed...

Our Sunday, however, stays shockingly the same right now, which may well be a sing of how self contained we really are even in normal times. Outside work done, I come in to fix dinner for the young family. They are still in total isolation and so are we (I have to insert this repeatedly, for those readers who do not track Ocean daily: I don't want anyone to think that I support gatherings of any kind. I do not. Ours works only because both our households have cut off physical contact with the outside world).

Dinner is always very kid centered and that's a good thing! We can talk about their issues (no, Sparrow, you cannot have more cheese puffs before dinner), and only occasionally revert back to our issues.

(plate in hand, ready to eat...)
















After dinner, we go out for a little stroll in the yard.






It's cold. Everyone feels that nip in the air.





Still, it's good to be outside. We talk about building an obstacle course (Snowdrop's idea) when the weather warms up. About making a "tree house." About the fruits that may someday grow on the young orchard trees.


The young family leaves. I clear the kitchen and think how much I miss my other young family. And how grateful I am that we have good ways to talk, even though I wish so much we could talk in person.

Saturday - 8th, or a day in the life of Happy, the rooster

As I worked hard in the farmette gardens today, I came to the conclusion that changes are in order.

For example, exuberant joy has to be put on hold for now.

Yes, there are buds and tips everywhere...





Any day now, we will see the first daffodils. With April, we will have a riot of greens, yellows, blues. A gardener works toward that goal. Now is an exciting time to be a flower grower!

But one doesn't garden with an empty head. You dream, muse, make your plans for the coming weeks. You think about the beauty of the planet we live on.

This is very hard to do when the planet finds itself in a state of chaos. Joy doesn't sprout just because there is beauty and sunshine and spring is in full swing. It isn't like a daylily about to explode, just because the season calls for it. Joy requires the right conditions and I'd say we'd all agree that today's conditions are suboptimal. When you read letters from friends who have children and grandchildren in Italy, when you understand the stress young families are under -- well, you can't put that aside and giggle with glee.

What to do, what to do?

I'm thinking our focus should be on compassion and hope. If we do our bit -- you and I both, because we need near perfect compliance -- there is hope. If we read about the fear in others, their sorrow, their loss -- we have to churn out all the compassion within us and look for ways to let them know that we are by their side, albeit at a distance.

With this in mind, I am tweaking and rethinking the tone of Ocean. My writing has to be honest, but it also has to offer something that is maybe helpful to those who are struggling (with isolation, with anxiety, with uncertainty). Ocean has always had to balance acknowledging the realities of life with seeking out a day's finer moments. There is in all of us a desire to experience something more luminous than a brown landscape at the end of a long winter (so to speak).  I promise you that I am working hard to find that balance and to write about it.

Another change going forward: I'm shutting off comments. I've meant to do this long ago, because mine is not a blog that demands an immediate response. Most of you have switched to personal email anyway and I think it's far better that way. Some of you have been corresponding with me for years! I've loved these remote friendships!

We are evolving, seeking new ways to find happiness, to smile, to think about love.

(Happy the rooster in the morning sun)






Wait, does everything have to change?!

No indeed. Ed and I still sit down to breakfast, even as our bowls of fruit are less full and, unless the garden explodes in the next few days (it will not, because it's Wisconsin!), the kitchen table will sport bunches of flowers I purchased several years ago in Giverny rather than the fresh ones you've been seeing from the grocery store.






It is a gorgeous (if cool) day! Plenty of sunshine. I begin the laborious job of clearing the yard of last year's growth, so that the new stuff can fill the spaces.

(Happy and the cheepers follow my every move)






(Hey, emerging rhubarb!)






(Chickens in my pots. Flower pots.)






Dinner? Oh, that's the same as well! Leftover soup! On the downside, we burned some chestnuts. Ed felt bad for suggesting that they can be roasted in the microwave. They cannot be done that way. Believe me.

Friday - 7th

Random notes from the second day of spring:

Did you know that typically, spring comes here on March 20th or 21st? That the last time it fell on March 19th was in 124 years ago?

Oh, the passage of time! Can you believe that a week ago, your kids were still in school? 

Let's go back to the changing seasons. (A note to my Australian readers, who mused wistfully that they do not have spring to look forward to in these troubled times: you have autumn! Glorious, cool and sunny walk-inspiring autumn!) Here, I notice that almost behind my back, the daffodils are pushing their way up. In my warmest spots (for example, in the southern bed facing the road), I can see the bulging flower buds.






Breakfast. Interrupted by the porch kitties meowing their tails of because we sat down to breakfast before feeding them their morning grub.






It's much colder today and that's a good thing. I have a morning full of chores, bills (my mom's, our own), and emails. No pressure to go out, to take in a good walk. (We settle for a cheat hike: to the development and back again.)

It's hard to believe that this was a corn/soy field just a year back.






And the winds blow and our cheeks turn a rosy red and we turn around quickly and return home.


Several of you have emailed funny clips and jokes and I love them all! My laughter is really pronounced right now, probably because it is such a relief to laugh! (Ed is a smiler. His guffaw is saved for loud guy banter.)


The afternoon is a repeat of yesterday: Snowdrop is at the farmhouse while her brother naps at home. Of course, with a five year old, nothing is ever a "repeat." Yesterday, the little girl worked for a long long time on making a "calendar of the seasons."  It deviates slightly from the real Gregorian calendar in that the seasons appear to have fewer days in the Snowdrop version, still, her concentration on this task and determination to get this done so that she could hang it on the wall at home (all four pages for the four season) were impressive.

Today, she is in need of more help in terms of ideas. Normally, when she comes after school, she cannot wait to release herself into the freedom of her own world of imagination. But of course, right now, she has (almost) no limit on free time. And so when she comes here, she is ever so hopeful that I will help her figure out how to fill those long indoor hours.

We read, of course.

A lot.

And we eat. She can really make a dent in my mango supply! She leaves behind two raspberries. They are treasures right now, I tell her. She understands and gobbles them up.






Some modest play.






Some snuggle time with us on the couch, with "Olivia" on the screen.






In the evening I cook up a fish from our CSA (community supported, out of Alaska) small fisheries. A while ago I wondered how I would ever work through all those packets of frozen fish. Not anymore.

And the wind blows and the temps really dip tonight! And once again, we are grateful -- for the heat, the good food, the quiet in our lives right now.

With love.

1st day of spring, 6th day of isolation

What would you prefer: warm and drippy wet, or cold and sunny for your first calendar spring day?

We got the warm and drippy wet! As we listen to the pounding of rain on the rooftop, I think how lovely it is. So rhythmic. So predictable. With a rumble of thunder -- so spring!

(Just for balance, we're getting the sunny and cold tomorrow.)






Breakfast is very late. Turns out I sleep better in the morning than I do at night these days. Ed's habits are rubbing off on me.






I am thrilled to learn that the delivery of foods to my mom went off smoothly. Perhaps things will get a little more dicey going forward, but for now, she is in such a good place! Talk about timing! For the good fortune of moving when she did, there will always be the person who is less lucky, struggling to get approval, to find a space, to move. I know the process now. It's tough in the best of times. These are not the best of times.

I talk to my sister in Poland. She reminds me how many crises they've lived through in recent decades. She is correct of course. Each time, you get your bearings and move forward. Right now, the shelves in the stores are not at all empty. There was a time in our youth when you couldn't find anything you'd want to eat in a supermarket. Now (as then!), you simply can't find toilet paper.


In the afternoon, Snowdrop is at the farmhouse. We have formed an extended family isolation unit. None of us have any physical contact with the outside world. It is like "walking" the corridor from their rooms to ours and back again. (Sparrow stays home. He's a terrible napper here. Better off falling asleep in his own space.)






We read. And read. And she plays. I hear that she had a dream last night -- of being in school, of me picking her up, as usual. When she is here, for a few minutes it feels almost like the old times.






In the evening, I make a soup for two days, using lots of cannellini beans, I do have a lot of cannellini beans!

Welcome to spring, cannellini beans! Welcome to spring, children and all those who need a gentle hand on the shoulder right now.

with love.

Wednesday - 5th

This morning we wake up to snow.






It's not a big deal. The usual mushy stuff you get in early spring. Sort of pretty, actually, though the cats complained.





As I rest an extra hour in bed (because I don't know about your nights, but ours have become pot-marked with wakeful hours where we discuss nothing in particular), I thought about how hard everything is for people with few resources and, too, how hard it is for those who have to put themselves in dangerous situations (in Poland, one grocery chain relieved all seniors employees of their duties and put them on sick leave), and how really hard this is for parents with very small children.

Maybe also for parents with older children. Ed came back from his Zoom meeting with his techie pals and told me this joke, delivered by a dad of several school aged kids -- after two weeks of closed schools and a lock down at home, you'll realize the teacher was right about your children!

Having a little more time than usual this morning, I flick through news stories, searching for those that have something positive to offer. There aren't many!

But here's one from CNN.com: their chief medical correspondent talked to Deepak Chopra -- you know, the New Age movement guy -- about how to deal with the stress of right now. In the audio clip, Mr. Chopra sounded insanely calm. You could almost see a twinkle in his eye as he said, quite convincingly, that he began each day feeling happy. Or at peace. Or something equally positive.  All it takes is waking up to your four intentions for the day: to be joyful and energetic, loving and compassionate, reflective, and to keep within you a lightness of being and laughter. Not tomorrow, not later, but on this day. Got that? Lightness of being, darn it! Slow down your thoughts, slow down your breath. Do nothing: move into choiceless awareness.

It stresses me out just thinking about how much I fail at these steps, but maybe that's just me. I go back to snuggling with my usual inner chaos. 

And so long as I'm handing out advice and tips on managing, I'm sure some of you are wondering how the hell you're supposed to stock food for a month in your small refrigerator. Well, I learned something today! Many things that you think need refrigeration actually fare well in the cupboard. Ketchup, for instance. Even once opened. (I didn't believe it either, but hey, these guys swear it's true.) There! I freed up space for the bottle of wine you refuse to open unless it's perfectly chilled.


Breakfast.





I tell Ed he should practice cheerfulness. Ed isn't uncheerful. He's just Ed. Same old, all the time.

A break in childcare today. Kids are home, parents are juggling work and the demands of the very young.

Ed and I have no great desire to go out anywhere. Not even to the county park. Leftovers for dinner. Time to dig out those candles again. And to say a quiet thank you to all those people who are doing their damn best to keep us all fed, informed and healthy!

With love.

Tuesday - 4th

Beautiful sunshine! Happy happy sunny day to you too!

Ed and I are in our 4th day of complete isolation. We've not been anywhere near a public place or a near a person since Friday. But we do continue for now to form a cocoon with the young family. It's as if we live in one household, separated by a car ride. Sort of like a long corridor from their rooms to ours. They, too, are practicing isolation, though we got a couple of days' head start on them!

It should have struck me that throwing out a light mention of something health related on Ocean would lead some of you to send me sweet emails of concern. So, let me reassure you that any percolating health issue had nothing to do with any virus whatsoever. The tough reality is that life goes on despite the accelerated presence of the virus. Our medical facilities have been attending to the health care needs of people full time, before they had to take on the virus-related case load. These other needs have not gone away. Without question, in my mind, the heroes now are the nurses and doctors on the front lines, who suddenly doubled their workload under the toughest conditions.

[Having said that, I do understand that I am navigating a minefield of privacy issues. Should someone I know get sick, it's not for me to write about that here. But at least for now, we're all starting out at the same virus free gate. As you are too!]

I have another thought on the topic of the virus. I am reminded of past calamities facing the world: everyone talks now about the Spanish flu. About other crises. You like to remember the good guys, but of course, we've since learned that there were plenty of not-so-good guys during the pandemic of 1918. That in a "fend for yourself" mode, people turned mean.  Fast forward to now. I've read more social media lately than I usually do, in part because I want to hear how friends are coping and offer some words of encouragement or support if needed. And though I would "unfriend" in a flash anyone I thought was mean or a bully, I'm seeing elements of blame-filled words in comments to others. Since we have now the tools to be even meaner than back in 1918, where FaceBook and the like were not even a fantasy, I wonder if we'll stay compassionate now, or if we once again will reveal our inner fiendishness.  So far, my small orbit allows me to see a whole heap of kindness. I hope your experiences veer in this direction as well and will continue to do so!

So, back to the sunshine!

After breakfast...






... Ed and I go out for a walk in our favorite county park. We ride the motorbike, because it saves depleting the gas in the car and as I huddle behind the big guy, I again think how grand it is that we are at the edge of spring!






At noon, two things happen. First, I receive (for the first time ever) a grocery delivery. Just a few bags, to test how Ed and I will treat the arrival of foods from the outside world. A practice run on what to wash and clean, what to leave alone overnight.

The second event is more jovial: the kids arrive at the farmhouse. It's a rather extended visit because the young family is still wrapping up the medical emergency that arose (all's good, everyone's fine now!) and I worry that the day here will be too long for them. But of course, time flies.

(Lunch, waiting for the bubbles to appear on the pancakes so we can flip them!)






(Ed: Snowdrop, do you know why the bubbles appear?)






(Sparrow doesn't care about bubbles...)






(Snowdrop, thrilled to have free access to the now much appreciated blueberries...)






(While Sparrow naps, Snowdrop goes on a farmette treasure hunt...)






(I promised a movie...)






(Fresh air...)









And now it's evening. I take out the head of cauliflower and chop it up. Defrosted shrimp and all that corn from our golden days of buying dozens of ears of corn from the farmers down the road. Cook it up, stir it, season it and voila. Dinner for two days!

With love.

Monday

And how was your Monday? Business as usual? Ha ha ha.

You know, personally, I would like some more sunshine, thank you very much. We've been promised. I don't see it.

In the morning, we had some slight anxiety about a missing cat. As I walked back to the farmhouse after feeding all the animals, I had to smile, remembering the innocent days when all my anxieties seemed to swirl around farm animals. Ed would say -- well yeah!

There isn't much outside that inspires me to take out the camera. It's not me, it's that time of the year. End of November and end of March: the naked months. Dirt, branches, brown debris. We love our seasons, we anticipate eagerly all that will follow and yet the camera stays on the table.

Well, except for breakfast. Click!






And, too, I pick it up when the kids arrive for a farmhouse visit.






My grandkids are lucky for all the obvious reasons -- good homes, good parents, full bellies. Still, these are challenging times for every child, everywhere. Upended routines, worried adults. Sparrow knows this less than Snowdrop. She hears the conversations. Her mom is just now recovering from a bout of ill health and now there's this talk about a virus that she knows all too well by name. I can tell the little girl's got knots in her belly when the first words out of her mouth are that she wishes she had her Koalie with her to snuggle with all the time.






In fact, it's Ed who brings that giggle back in her, by suggesting a spirited game of ball.






Yeah! While Sparrow naps, she moves seamlessly from ball game to story telling and before the end of the first hour, she is her old self again.






(Sparrow, just barely awake from his nap...)






Evening.  Ed and I buy hefty gift certificates from Finca's coffee shop and Paul's Oasis Cafe. Talk about businesses hit hard! It could be that we wont ever be able to use them. How do you survive a sudden total shutdown? If you have just a few dollars, consider calling up your favorite local place and giving them your support.

Supper. I reach for some spinach and for the mushrooms. I throw a potato into the microwave and crack some eggs. Cheese - an Italian blend, shredded. Yeah, you guessed it. Frittata time. The perfect comfort food.





With love.