Friday - 70th

Well, I think we are all keeping soap companies afloat! Or even making them the modern superstars, as necessary to our existence as electricity and indoor plumbing. I am so grateful to Meyers Honeysuckle scented hand soap for making my life pleasantly fragrant forty or fifty times a day (I'm also grateful for electricity and indoor plumbing).

Note that I did not start the post with a review of the weather. That's because it's cloudy once again and yes, there was rain, and yet it's all tame compared to what's coming tomorrow and indeed all next week. (Storms.)

So, forget about the weather. Let's find some beauty in the garden even on a cloudy day. It's not hard.






Ed agrees to breakfast on the porch. He knows how much I love it. Still, I do miss the morning dapple of sunlight on his face...





The morning -- well, there's the food sorting and washing, but you don't want to hear about that. All household tasks are completed by noon, leaving me with an hour or so of leisure time.

Which I waste.

I do remember wanting so much to go for a walk today (especially since we are in for some more wet weather going forward), but the idea of doing nothing so appeals to me (do you ever get that craving? To do not much of anything?), that I make up many (credible!) excuses to abandon the walk and stay indoors.  After all, everything is so wet! And one hour -- that surely is too little time! I pluck a few weeds, take a few photos...






(I think I know every single flower I ever planted. But this one escapes me. What is it??)










... and return to a handful of minutes of doing nothing. Dolce far niente. Sweet doing nothing... So lovely!


In the afternoon, Snowdrop is at the farmhouse.







All smiles and full of her own plans on how to fill the time.






We do read a lot. She wants to return to chapter books. We go through one at a single sitting.


On the way back to the car, we pause to take in the now very profound scent of lilac. It's everywhere! I encourage her to pick a flower clump to take home...






... home, where Sparrow waits to see what his sister is up to.






And at the farmette, Ed returns to the tomato planting... The sun comes out for just a  very brief handful of minutes. The cats keep him company.






Me, I get that sweet FaceTime call from Primrose!






And the lilac blooms and the birds sing their warbly tunes...






The day ends quietly. Leftover frittata, asparagus on the side, a glass of Burgundy white. Our new British crime drama of choice, DCI Banks is now into the second season and I do believe there is an emerging love interest, which thrills me and makes Ed roll his eyes.

We laugh loudly at the comedy show that follows. This is a new thing for both of us: mirth is no longer a small chuckle, it's a bellow! Try it if you can. It feels good!

May we weather the storms before us and come out healthy and happy at the end of it all!

With love.

Thursday - 69th

A friend asked me today -- do I always wake up in a good mood? Don't I occasionally feel pissed at the world?

The thing is -- I do typically wake up in a good mood and I rarely feel pissed at the world (though upon occasion, I do fume at individuals in it). Oh sure, at times of crises, the day gets complicated very quickly and I can't say that I remain happy throughout. But those are extreme days. I rarely have them.

You'll challenge me, telling me it's fake, I'm pretending, it's an act. Call it that if you wish. I do know that it's deliberate. I've been at it for a long, long time. And if I understand yesterday's NPR story correctly, where a scientist talked of her research on optimism, some people are predisposed to it and some (not all, but a good many) can get to that same state by training themselves to reject ideas of infinite and inevitable calamity and accept, instead, the notion that this too shall pass and indeed, you do have some control over a better outcome.

So here we go -- morning at the farmette and as usual, I begin the day in my hope-filled mood. (And aside from those dismal moments spent reading news reports and then reviewing them with Ed, whose optimistic bone sometimes can appear to be very well hidden, I stay with hope and of course, with hope comes good cheer.)

Breakfast.






And soon after, Snowdrop and Sparrow are here. Their dad drops them off. Both kids are in high spirits.






A brief chat with Happy, the rooster.






This whole cheeper exchange just tickles the little guy no end.






Inside, Snowdrop initiates a pillow fight with Ed. At least I think it's she who initiates it.






There is a numbers puzzle that I uncover and bring out. Sort of easy, even for him. But Snowdrop surprises me by showing how high you can make the numbers go by joining them together. And if you turn 8 sideways, you've got infinity!






I notice that Sparrow's hair is rather long, so we play this game. He brings me a book, I'm allowed to trim a side of his hair. And then he brings me another book. I trim some more.






And eventually, they do art.






And there's more. Outside again, the kids indulge me. Go by the crab apple! I tell them. They do so and wait to see what's next.






Can I have a small branch? -- Snowdrop asks.
Flowers to the nose.
Heaven.

I drive them home with clippings from the crab.






In the late afternoon, I'm back at the farmette, with the lilac, the crab, the garden work.






It's a big day for us: Ed and I think it's warm enough to put the tomatoes in the ground.

The cats and cheepers follow us and observe.  (This is how tall the grass is right now!)










It's not a rewarding job. Ed had covered the field with a black sheet of plastic. Wood chips had been poured in various places. And still, the weed roots are plentiful and the soil is awful. Solid clay. Even with our added improvements (buckets of compost, of chicken manure, of better soil), we see that we're dealing with a tough growing situation.

We only plant some three dozen tomatoes -- a third of what we have. We'll do more tomorrow. But honestly, this may be a poor growing season for the tomatoes. We should have prepped the bed earlier (like last fall) and more thoroughly.

One more glance at the crabs...





And then I retreat to work on dinner. Lots of asparagus, pieces of fish, smothered with dill, lemon, garlic. You could not have a more season-appropriate meal.



So I start the day with that spring in my step. And then I take in all that happens in this world and most of the news is not good and that spring gets a little wobbly. Nonetheless, those of us who are doing nothing more grand than sheltering in place, whose family and friends are well, who still have an income of sorts -- it seems that waking up again, the next day, with renewed energy and a mega bounce is doable. So that becomes the goal. Deliberate optimism.

But the late evening is reserved for quiet contemplation. Because there really is a lot to think about. The quiet of the night is good for this. You're winding down. You have no more work or chores to do. Focus now on the enormity of tasks facing others. So many others...

Sending you and all those countless others who work so hard love.

Wednesday - 68th

All that delicate greenery, all the emergent blooms, the buds of future flowers, the pinks, whites, yellows, purples, the warm breezes, the blue skies with the occasional puffy white cloud -- they've conspired to help you find the joy that's so hard to work up in the weeks of the pandemic. Look here! -- they're telling us. Forget about everything else for a minute and look here!


I wake up and I scramble out of bed. Or bounce out of bed. Or spiral out and zip downstairs. If you are in Wisconsin and you have a garden and you have a bit of time on your hands, you will rush to be outside in that yard today. It's a given!

(Good morning, mighty lilac!)






(Hello, little anemonie!)






(Perfectly beautiful...)






(Swallow, returning to the garage to her nest...)






(It's all so lush...)






(the girls, gossiping...)






The rains have really helped the weeds sprout and deliver a hefty amount of invasive plant matter. Everywhere.

I weave my way through the flower beds, bucket and hand spade with me, humming, yes humming as I go along.

Within an hour or two (who's counting), Ed is up and he joins me. Ed doesn't wear his emotions on his sleeve or even inside his pocket. But today he is full of words of praise and happiness. Working on some tool repair job next to patch of ferns and geraniums brings out the sweetest grin. Scanning the flower beds, he marvels at their early season magnificence. You just can't help yourself on a day like this!







Breakfast, on the porch.


\



And then it's back to my weaving pattern -- this way and that way, pluck, dig, snip. Pluck, dig, snip.

All the way until lunchtime. Not my lunchtime. A little Chicago girl's lunchtime!






Primrose! Tell me about your day!!





She does. And it's wonderful.


Snowdrop is here in the afternoon.

I have given up trying to predict what will grab her during her visits here. There will always be reading time and eat-a-huge-bowl-of-grandma-fruit time. Beyond that, the girl is very careful to pick stuff that feels exactly right.

Much of it is outdoors today. First, she wants to check if the cherries are out and ripe yet!






Then she wants to plant some flower seeds.






And water them.






She instructs the cheepers to leave her seeds alone!






It strikes her then that she ought to feed the cheepers. I'm agreeable. They're agreeable.






And eventually, after this lego project and that book and more cherries and a jam sandwich, I take her home. Where this guy is happy to see her...






Back at the farmette, all is quiet. Ed is biking. I take out the pans, bring in the mushrooms delivered today by the Funghi Farmers, rinse off Matt's spinach and get to work. Wednesday night is frittata night. It hasn't the rhyme to it, but it's nonetheless the perfect dish to have waiting for a guy who has been riding up and down the hills of south central Wisconsin for a handful of hours.







During my drive home tonight, I listened to a brief NPR news clip about how one can help kids stay upbeat during these tough times, where nothing is as it was three months ago. It seems some of us are predisposed (for whatever reason) toward optimism. Others struggle to see a cup as half full. But it's not a given that you should remain with your half empty mindset. You can actually teach yourself to redraw the image of a dire situation, so that it becomes for you a half full cup after all.

In the alternative, you can get a boost from stepping outside on a day like this one. Look closely at something green, pink, blue... Something beautiful. Take a deep breath and hold it for a couple of seconds. Then exhale. And thank nature for giving us this incredible gift of a perfect May day.

Tuesday - 67th

We spoke to a live human being today! For us, this is most unusual. Aside from my daughter's family and one dental visit, we've seen no one, except perhaps through the rear-view mirror, at a curbside pickup of groceries, flowers, or wine. But today, as I drove up the driveway (returning home after being with the kids at my daughter's), I nearly bumped into Matt from Blue Valley farms as he was dropping off his delivery of asparagus and spinach. He was pausing to chat with Ed at a very acceptable distance of course. I joined in.

It felt both like old times and a bit strange all at once.

In the course of our conversation, I learned that both Matt and his wife continue to "meet" with their book groups, albeit via Zoom. And I thought -- book clubs! I should return to that long forgotten social construct. I don't know many people (women especially) who are not part of a book club. And then I spun back to reality: I don't have the time for it. At least not if I also want to keep up with my own reading list. Indeed, I don't have time for much of anything over and beyond what is before me right now.

Retirement has never felt so busy.

It's the usual stuff. Animals in the morning. (A nice morning, though a bit cool and definitely gray. But the crab! And the lilacs!)











Then come the weekly groceries. Bags of them. Wash, scrub, wash scrub. Dry, put away, unload the rest, put aside for three days. Wash hands for the hundredth time.

And now I rush to get breakfast on the table. Ed's sleeping still, but I need to get going. Ed!






He comes down. A quick run through what's ahead for us today and I'm off to see Snowdrop and Sparrow.

(The little girl says -- gaga, I want to clean up my room. Will you help me? Sure! You do the hard stuff, I'll do the easy stuff!  Why?  You're better at hard stuff! But in the end, she does nearly all of it herself. Sparrow helps by not taking out more stuff.)






(Downstairs play: he just wants to be part of her story...)











Lunch!






(All done!)






And now I am home and thoughts of book groups are long gone. Mom issues dominate the afternoon. There are some immediate little things and, too, big stuff: messed up bills that need careful handling, coordination problems that need thoughtful attention, long waits, lots of discussion. All afternoon long. And I'm not nearly done.

I do take a break for a walk. No time for anything big. Just up and down the farmette lands. Good for the soul if not for the aerobic benefit. I don't pick weeds. After all the rains, there are too many.



Supper -- soup, with all those CSA greens. Sorrel, spinach, stinging nettle. Yellow onion, wild green ramps, white garlic, and green garlic. Sauteed. Herbs, of course. And a dice of parsnip, because I have so much! Pureed lightly, then left alone as I add chopped asparagus and a handful of corn kernels. And cannellini beans. All sprinkled with cheese. Good and nourishing. But late. Very late. (All those greens and I still make a salad. We are that hooked on salads every night.)

Emails, posting, and pop corn for the one hour thriller followed by the half hour sit com. Read a few pages, but only a few, because the eyes close. There. A day in a nutshell.