Monday - 206th

Well, Ed is walking with a lighter step today. I'd say a bounce, in fact. The world may crumble, markets may crash, clouds may throw out thunderous sparks, but, hey, one miracle at least has happened -- Dance, the semi feral cat and the power queen of the farmette brood came galloping home today.

It wasn't immediate. In the morning, I walked over to feed the cheepers and four cats...






I took in the beautiful sunshine and the clear blue skies, the Fall gardens, the crisp cold air...

And then I went upstairs to discuss animals and everything else with Ed and I glanced out the window and I saw her -- running down the road as if she were a speeding car. Straight to the porch, meowing, hungry, anxious.

Where had she been for the three, or was it four, days? We'll never know of course. Her sprinted return suggests to me that she was lost and eventually found her way home, but this is just a guess. I'd never seen her walking (let alone running) along the road before.

Cats are full of surprises.

Breakfast, on the porch, with Dance. It's cold (43F, or 6c, by late morning), but we feel we owe her this...






In the afternoon, I spend time with Snowdrop. Outside, distanced, masked. Except when she is eating fruits.












It is so windy! I use twenty rocks to hold down the blanket for her! Twenty! Still, today she doesn't need a sleeping bag. That sunshine! Oh, that sunshine!


I come home in the late afternoon.  I glance at my Fitbit. My step count is way too low. Want to go for a walk??


We head out to our county park. The sky is a hazy blue now, but maybe this is a good backdrop to the bronzing landscape. Indeed, the muted light on the gently yellowing leaves is really pretty...













And calming. (Sending milkweed puffs into the air...)


















Evening. In the quiet of the farmhouse, a visit with Primrose...






There was a lot of medical activity in various fronts in my family today. (None Covid related. Just life.) A lot to work through and take in. Only at a very, very late evening hour did Ed and I sit down to our Monday dinner of leftovers.

On the upside, the popcorn kernels arrived in the mail! Popcorn and the return of Dance. You take your grains of sweet pleasure wherever you can find them these days.

Sunday - 205th

Last night, as I was finally packing up the ship and heading upstairs to bed, I looked at my FitBit and noticed that I was at 7500 steps. Third day into the new regime and I'm failing? No!

And so, at 11:30, I paced the rooms. I ran. I jigged and paced some more (much to Ed's amusement). And at 11:56 p.m. the bells and whistles went off as I hit 10 000. And I said to myself -- never again! It's bad enough to be eating corn puffs late into the evening (we ran out of popcorn! I was so disappointed!), but this is worse -- running around your home just minutes before midnight? No! I shall do better.

The morning dawned cold but beautiful. A few clouds, plenty of bright light -- just lovely. The walk to feed the animals should be grand.










We do, unfortunately, have yet another cat problem. Dance, the oldest of the lot, the most attached and calm member of our cat family, has disappeared. She has been gone three days now and that is not good news. Yes, she prowls at night. Yes, she has gone away for even a day at a time. But her usual habit is to sleep on the porch during the day, and to keep us company at breakfast, and to occasionally even beg an entry into the farmhouse, where she will inspect everything, then, satisfied, go back outside and wait for us to join her there.

She is our enduring pal and calm presence. Her strong, muscular body exudes quiet strength. We miss her and wonder what the heck happened to her? Cats who live mostly on the outside are always at the edge of trouble. It seems that in the end, she lost that fight. It's really sad not to see her here anymore.

Breakfast.






In the afternoon, I go over to read books with Snowdrop while her brother naps.

(Mask off for the fruit snack! )






(Mask on for the rest of our visit.)






(How I've missed sitting in the art room with them!)






And in the evening I return with dinner for the young family. This is the time I see sweet Sparrow too.












Perhaps he is getting used to these distanced meetups? On the one hand, that's good, on the other hand... let's hope this doesn't go on forever.

(Leaving their home, loving the light coming through their front yard tree...)






Final note -- as I readied dinner back home for the two of us, my FidBit went off, bells and whistles, marking the lovely 10 000th  step!

On the downside, the popcorn order did not arrive on time. We're still munching on inferior stuff in the evening. Life is so full of challenges!

Saturday - 204th

It's a day that went in a direction which I did not anticipate or support. On the upside:

I winter-readied part of the garden.

I had a very pleasant text conversation that went on for a long while with my son-in-law.

Ed and I had a sweet breakfast that did not start until close to noon.





And, I picked up a brimming box of veggies from our farmers who will be supplying us with produce all the way through November.

On the downside -- well, the day did not move forward. You know how it feels to be suspended? Like you're waiting for something, though you really can't tell what? Yeah. My Saturday, to a T.

Perhaps we need days like these. Transition moments. Moving from early Fall to late Fall, from one state of equilibrium to another.

October is a tricky month for us northerners. On the one hand, the colors are stunning. The gentle movement of a golden birch, or the magnificent display of red on a maple -- you really can't ask for better eye candy, though perhaps that expression -- eye candy -- deflates their worth, because it implies an insignificance, a triviality, even as the progression of Fall is spiritually moving, a heady experience that makes you think deeply about life and beauty and the passage of time.

But aside from colors, there is the matter of the shortening of days and the unpredictability of the weather. October is cold, but not always. Wet -- sometimes. Dark by dinnertime, with the expectation of even more dark thrown at you by the imminent return of daylight un-savings time (for us -- November 1).

You have to work harder to boost your spirits in October (and even harder in November, even as you're already working overtime on this because of COVID and everything else that the last few months have unraveled for us.) 

So okay, let's work hard and add some steps to the day; I did make it to 10,000 yesterday, but just barely. As for today -- let's walk the garden and take a look at what's blooming in the yard. Dahlias!











And asters.










Imagine yourself to be taking in a deep breath of autumn air! Earthy and fragrant, with plants that are quietly settling into their wintry repose.


Inside again. It's nearly evening. I have a predinner FaceTime with Primrose. Happy child!





Busy child.





Kids never have still days. Their wheels move at a constant high RPM.

Which reminds me, there's the matter of movement. So, isn't it time for you to do the Irish jig with us? Or, rather, with me. Ed did two steps then gave up. If we are ever in Ireland and the music comes on, he'll be the one having a Guiness (even though he's not normally a beer drinker, but when in Ireland...) and I'll show off my learned accomplishments. Want to try? Here's the lesson I found to be doable, even by a 67 year old:

I have to say, despite the kick kick squash the can, I'm still behind on my FitBit steps today. It's raining outside, but I must do my around the barn in eighty days!

New habits, new routines. You know the French saying plus ça change  (the more things change, the more they stay the same)? Don't buy it. We're all capable of even transformative change. Yes we are.

Friday - 203rd

Okay, I admit it: today I felt good about our erring on the side of extra caution during the pandemic. We do it because we can, of course. We no longer have work obligations. We live alone. But we do it, too, because we believe in our safe protocols. They're good for us and they're also good for all those whom we deliberately avoid. Weird how avoiding someone, anyone actually, can be a positive these days, but then everything about this year is really weird. To put it gently.

Another admission: we were up very late at night. Ed often takes a break from sleeping right between midnight and three and of course, he clicked on the news and then we were both up reading and talking. So I was a reluctant waker upper. Still, one has to feed the animals...






And, too, I admit it, we still appear to be very much engaged in the kitty hunt. This morning, the future owner of Elsie texted us. (Elsie is a very clever new name she gave to our Cutie, as it is another way of saying LC -- which stands for Lost Cat.) Yesterday, Ed and I had set a trap near a cornfield, in the area where she was purportedly last seen. A cat was caught alright, just not the cat. The future owner released the poor animal and asked if we may want to move the trap. She herself was in a hurry to get to work.

So, after breakfast...





Ed and I once again set out for Stoughton. This time we have the cooperation of the Garden Center to place the trap closer to where this cat, possibly Elsie was often spotted. We still think it's a longshot, because there seem to be dozens of cats roaming the town of Stoughton and they all really do resemble our girl.

Too, we go back to last night's search in a neighborhood nearer to us -- one which I never even knew existed. If you go on a cat hunt, you learn a lot about housing developments within a twenty mile radius of where you live.

(On our drive home, a view of the beautiful clouds... they look like venticular, or saucer clouds, but are they that? we are far from any mountains...)





At home again. The afternoon is threatening to degenerate into a reading marathon once again, so Ed proposes that we take a break for a lesson on how to dance the Irish jig. He thinks it may come in handy someday.

We watch youtube videos. I follow instructions. In slo mo, it's doable, but put it to Irish music and I'm panting.
Can you find a jig for slower moving people?

Hmm. I'm thinking that I better put some dance into my everyday or else I may never jig again.

Late afternoon and I am nowhere near my stepping goal. I pace the courtyard. I walk from kitchen to living room and back again, many times. This adds shockingly few steps to my tally. Fine. Out I go for an around the barn in eighty days walk. Next time, we'll hunt for Elsie longer and further, whether or not there is even a wee chance of her being found. I need the steps!

Thursday - 202nd

I had an idea for a short story and I actually sat down and put it down in real words. Now, normally I'd think this to be a good thing. I did something! Finally, after sitting quite still on my own little island (did you know that the word "isolation" is derived from "island?"), I did something that I haven't done in years: I had an idea and I typed it out, from beginning to end. With an edit throw in for good measure.





That's the good thing. But it comes at a price. First of all, I'm tired. We got a call last night at midnight from someone who thought he had spotted the missing cat. In the end we did not drive out to Stoughton to search around the dumpsters of a Subway store. Calls at night are almost guaranteed to be misfires. You can't see details in the dark. But I had pangs of guilt, which meant that I had to badger Ed for a good hour with questions such us "are you sure we shouldn't go?" And then I was so wide awake that I had to read down my mystery book for another hour before I could even pretend to be sleepy.

Too, I decided to resume monitoring my activity with a FitBit device, starting October 1st. You know the gizmo: it tracks your steps. I had tried using it years ago and decided it was stupid (meaning I wasn't getting the results I wanted), but now I am worried (aren't we all) about my inattention to exercise and I'm thinking that the little wrist device may motivate me. As it's the first day, I took a lot of extra steps. That's what you do when you start in on these things: you're all enthusiasm the first day and then it fizzles and you go back to slumping comfortably on your beloved couch.

And I'm also worn out with cat calls. We got another call this morning from the Stoughton Garden Center and again they swore the missing Cutie was a repeat visitor there. And this time we decided to go. It's daylight. What if it's her. The usual push to do well by the little girl. Of course, nothing came of it.

First, though, the animal feed... (many steps! yay!)






Then breakfast...






Then the trip to Stoughton, where we actually set a trap somewhere at the edge of the Garden Center's property where it touches the cornfields.  Pointless? Probably.

Drive home, lovely sky.






Write until my head pops with exhaustion.

I'm tired, too, because things aren't going that well for people who are dear to me. It's draining for them and I pick up the vicarious lethargy that comes with problems.

On the upside, I talk to my two old friends on Zoom and of course friends have a way of sucking tiredness right out of you!






Evening. Hey, do you miss my weather reports? It's getting cold! We have the first frost advisory for tonight. I take it seriously enough that I pack up my geraniums (plus a beloved begonia) and take them inside for the winter. I put them in the play room. Ah yes, there was a time when a little girl played many many minutes with these birds...






Another phone call. Another search for the cat, this time halfway between here and Stoughton. Another disappointment.

At the end of the day, I have to say -- tonight, only a frittata will do. Onion, garlic, spinach, mushroom, corn. And purple potatoes! Which turn blue when you cook them.

A quick but joyful FaceTime with Primrose...




Bake frittata, eat, and add a few steps. Because I really do need to get to my coveted goal of 10 000.

Wednesday - 201st

There is such a thing as too much reading. Oh, you can blame it on the weather (cold, with bursts of rain). You can blame it on the readily available material online. Or you can just blame yourself. Learn from mistakes! Limit it next time. And go out and enjoy the season. Any season, any weather. Just take it all in and be glad that you have some contact with the rest of the world. Distractions can be a very lovely thing indeed.






On this last day of September, both Ed and I woke up cranky. I suppose I egged him on by telling him about the UN Summit on Biodiversity that's taking place today, with the participation of all major countries of this planet, minus one. (You guessed it.) Ed is a committed environmentalist and as such, he belongs to the group of pessimists who see everything as coming too little too late. Hopelessness does not sit well with me, especially at the breakfast table. I chose to take this photo when he was somewhere else.





When I dug into my oatmeal, I was saying things like "you don't get it, that's not the point," and he was saying things like "you know what I think about all this, you brought it up."

But by the meal's end, we were aligned once again (oatmeal with fruit, kefir and honey is a great mood stabilizer; perhaps it should be required food prior the next debate). But then came the reading, the reviewing, the review of others' reviewing, and the reading of comments on such reviewing. Too much!

And so I was happy as anything to pack up my things and head out this afternoon for my distanced, masked, outdoor meeting with Snowdrop.






I have to find a spot where the wind would not blow us away.






And it is, as always, lovely if incomplete. But, lovely. Most important to remember: lovely.






Eventually, the temps dipped sufficiently enough for her to want to crawl into a present from Gogs -- a sleeping bag, rated as good enough for temps down to freezing! It's the only way I could think of that would allow us to keep on reading together outside, given that this is Wisconsin and we are heading into the dangerously cold part of Autumn.






We were cut short by sprinkles, but we did log in some 90 minutes of reading, interspersed with just being. Someone said a few days ago that for a grandparent, reading to a grandchild is his idea of heaven. I'll agree, though just being in each others company is also right up there.





Afterwards, I drove to do a curbside pickup (wine! you're thinking -- what, did I run out last night? ha ha. maybe) and this had me pass by Owen Woods, a nature conservancy right smack in the middle of Madison.

I was curious if fall colors were making a significant appearance. The answer -- just a little bit. Here and there.






Ed's out biking this evening. He'll have colors for sure on his route -- of golden corn fields and bronze soy beans. It is the season of color.

But, biking has its perils. He comes back late, shin bruised by a massive dog bite. A farm dog, identified by a neighbor as an Australian shepherd.  I've biked by an angry dog before. You can't get away fast enough. You hope for luck. This one pounced on Ed. So, there was the need to call the police, to get a report and hopefully sue the pants off the owner. Not for the small claim, but to put a muzzle on this guy, so that his dog doesn't bite again and do perhaps even more damage.

As we all sit around reading too much and worrying even more, we would do well to remember that October is, for us northerners, perhaps the most colorful month of them all. I hope you have a chance to go out, take it in, and feel its gentle climax as we shed another year of growth and get ready to bury in and hunker down for the cold months ahead.

Tuesday - 200th

On this 200th day of social isolation, of not venturing out to stores, cafes, eateries, I'm sitting around thinking how on earth should one celebrate National Coffee Day at home. Because this does happen to be, I'm told, National Coffee Day.

The company from which I buy all my coffee would like me, of course, to purchase more coffee today. I can hardly call that a proper celebration. I drink two cups each day and since COVID, that second cup has been a decaf (you can guess why). Restocking a rather stable supply can't possibly be a source of celebratory joy.

This same company also offers gifts today with every sale. Cups. New espresso cups. Latte glasses. Some with saucers. This, to me, is surely a terrible thing, contributing to excessive collection of things you don't need. I mean, if you buy coffee from these guys, you already have cups. Indeed, who among coffee drinkers does not have too many cups? And if I tell them to please skip the cups, I'll feel cheated. Like I'm paying too much, because with that price I should have had cups included. So, no coffee purchase for me today.

I write about this, because of the COVID quarantine. It does make you pay attention to things that will have passed you buy in other years. For instance, I learned that last last Saturday was National Daughters Day. I did not learn this until close to midnight. Thankfully I managed to dash off a message to my two sweet and wonderful daughters. Phew! Almost missed it. But the thing is, in years past, I did miss it. I never remember doing anything on a Daughter's Day in the past, even though I truly have amazing daughters.

The virus locks us up at home, all 200 days, closed off, glued to lots of reading material, some of it flagging obscure holidays and national days, triggering within you that feeling of resignation: it could have been so lovely to sit at our favorite cafe and sip a delicious brew, but hey, let me instead do what I do every single day of my life, Coffee Day or not, let me just brew that damn cup at home and call it special.

(Breakfast, inside, because it's really cold out there!)






Walk to barn -- with signs of Fall everywhere. And Happy, with his missing tail. (Molting.)











Afternoon cup of coffee.






Evening. I have to do something with the squash, the cauliflower. How about a veggie curry over brown rice? Let's get to work!






It's comfort food. Ed would probably say -- unexciting. He often thinks my veggie melange is unexciting (in this one, to the squash and cauliflower I add onion, garlic, spinach, and peas and plenty of spices, coconut milk, and lime juice for that needed bite).





But for me, it's perfect. When you have an evening like this one (presidential debate raging over the airwaves), you need comfort food.

Monday - 199th

Sometimes I think it's all in how you frame the question. Here are three versions of this query:

Would you make an effort to watch the northern lights?
Would you travel to, say, Norway to watch the Northern lights in a comfortable spot in pristine wilderness?
Would you go out after midnight if someone told you that you live in a geographic region that might witness the northern lights tonight?

I'd answer "yes" to the first. It's a hypothetical that doesn't commit me to anything. You bet, I'd like to see those lights!
I'd answer "it depends" to the second: I mean, how comfortable is the viewing spot? Will I be treated to a good meal before and after? Will someone be traveling with me?
I'd answer "no" to the third. I want to get a good night's sleep! It's cold today. Forget it.

[In fact, I did read that we may have the privilege of seeing the lights tonight and the idea of getting out of bed and perhaps driving to a spot without light pollution, even if it's just minutes away, does not appeal to me at all.]

Perhaps this is a good introduction to the shift we have had in our weather patterns, starting yesterday and surely continuing into this day. It's cold and wet. I walk quickly to feed the animals, trying to ignore the drizzle. No stopping for weeding this morning.






Breakfast? No question. In the kitchen.






And here's a wonderful activity on a cold Monday: a Zoom meeting with my Polish friends.





Inevitably we talk about the virus: raging infection rates in Wisconsin, somewhat increasing numbers in Poland. It's interesting to talk to people who are apprehensive about being where you are right now! Still, as always, we all come back to the subject of our grandkids. For all of us, I think, the necessary precaution feels endless, especially since kids grow so quickly. To miss a year (more?) in their lives (especially for those, whose kids live and work abroad) is beyond tough.

Curiously I am more optimistic about a slow return to better times in 2021. Or maybe it's because we, here, have been lead to believe that there will be a vaccine and that we will get it and that's fantastic, except, well, what about the others? Those grandparents who, too, miss their grandkids dreadfully?  I'm told Poland is all out of the flu vaccine, even as only a tiny portion of the population has been vaccinated.

Very quickly I am reminded of yesterday's topic of "good countries." Remember? Shouldn't we worry equally hard about the hardships of others, even if those others live outside our boundaries?

On a happy note, all my Polish friends are well, some are even traveling, others are as cautious as Ed and me. But we are all grandparents. We want the same thing: safe contact with our grandkids.