Wednesday - 355th

A stunning day. Really beautiful! All the animals are out and about. Inside the farmhouse, the chicks too are on the move!

Breakfast still in the play room, while it's neat  and tidy (no kids here yet). Too, we like being close to the sunshine (the play room is south facing, the kitchen is north and west)!

In the late morning, I sheepishly drive the Blue Moon over to the dealer, where the car is to receive its super environmental protection coating. You know, the dealer's money maker that I just could not pass up, because I have been so tortured by rust on my cars (the previous one was so bad that I swear there was more rust than car left by the time I was done with it). 

And here's a discovery: the more I drive Blue Moon, the more I like its utter newness! 

True, it all comes at a price (and not only a price to my pocketbook). I tell Ed that maybe we should wear "driving slippers," because the farmette lands are just too muddy in early spring. It's impossible to keep that mud out of the car. In my previous vehicles, it didn't matter. Snowdrop used to kick the back seat with her boots. That didn't matter either. The early flow of spring juices in the big willow that dangles over all the cars releases sap. Onto the cars. Didn't matter before, does matter now. I want to cover and protect Blue Moon -- a ridiculous idea if you think about it, but still, it's tempting.

When I pick up the ready car,  I swing by my daughter's home (avoiding any puddle along the way!)  to do a swap of books and produce. A chance to see the kids, or at least one non-napping kid and her mom.

And then Ed and I head out into that glorious sunny world for a walk in the Arboretum.

 On the drive home, as I again skirt around the puddles, Ed gives me a gentle reprimand -- gorgeous, you have to stop doing that. It's okay to drive through puddles, it's okay if Snowdrop's feet muddy the seats, and if you get nicks and scratches on the body. It's just a car.

He's right of course. But today, as I drive it in its polished pristine state and the skies are blue and the birds sing a song of spring (we heard the first sandhill cranes this week!), and soft piano music pours out of its sound system, well, it is a very fun moment, in a year of many moments that could not rightly be classified as fun.

Oh, and we encountered some of the wild turkeys. Sort of like the chicks, only bigger.

Hello turkey!

Home again. A Zoom visit with friends, a frittata for supper, with an eye on Dance who flits between playing with the flowers on the table and watching carefully for a golden moment when she can "visit" with the young chicks.

Beautiful early spring day. Really, simply exquisite.

Tuesday - 354th

This is when you start to bargain with the weather gods. You want each day to be even better, warmer, sunnier.  ("If you just keep those temps up there, I promise I'll try not to complain about rain, or the occasional nightly dips below freezing, or the heat waves that are sure to come this summer...") And this is just so like us mortals! Never satisfied. Two weeks ago, this string of warm-ish sunny days would have felt like a tropical interlude. Today, we just want to ignore the fact that it's early March. We want the great weather to continue, unabated. We want the moon.

Well, today we sort of get that moon. It's sunny, lovely and warm-ish (high of 37f, or 3c).

Good morning, baby chicks! Ready for your daily constitutional?

There's work to be done though, so we can't just let loose and indulge feelings of spring fever. We need to prep the old Mazda for a Craigslist sale. I didn't do a trade-in because in the end, my sanity clicked in and I understood that their "generous" $750 for it was not generous at all and that I could do way better, like two or three times better if I sold it on Craigslist. So Ed and I buffed it up, rust spots and all.

(Getting breakfast ready...)

Sometime in those hours of chores and chick care, I pick up one of the Subaru manuals that came with my new car. (Subaru is in fact named for a cluster of blue stars in the Taurus constellation. I hadn't realized that. You can read about it here.) You know how various electronics -- cameras, computers, etc -- come with quick info pamphlets that get you started right away without having to study the voluminous operational details in full user manuals? Well, Blue Moon has just such a "quick" start guide. It's 116 pages long.

It brought to mind an article from today's NYT on how we are overburdened with too much choice, too much complexity. too little standardization. Spending time learning all this stuff will help me make use of the car's incredible features. (I can only imagine how many additional features a high end car would have!) But it will take me away from doing other things. I have, for example, only five more pages to edit in my book project. That's sort of amazing: I got through the entire manuscript, in the months that I was forced to be away from my grandkids. But for the last five pages. So do I learn about the car, or do I finish the writing project? And if I make my way through the 116 page shortened manual, should I abandon the longer version altogether? At what point do you stop reading all the literature, all the small print, all the reviews that are thrust upon you as you buy, or update ever the next item?

In the late afternoon, after getting only to page 21 (and ineffectively at that, since you really should study these things while you're in the car staring at the dashboard), I put it down and Ed and I take our walk through the park that had given us so many skiing days this winter! No skiing today, just a nice, sunny March late day walk.

(Lake Waubesa, where the river runs to it. The fisher people and their huts are on the retreat...)

(Evening at the farmette... With the animals.)

Monday - 353rd

Our march to spring takes a little March pause today. Sunny, but cold. Puddles froze overnight. No matter. I give them two days to melt into mud once again.

(There is still snow on the farmette lands -- just less of it. Lots of bare spots.)

Breakfast, after I greet the chicks. They look like they're growing!

(good morning Rosie, Cherry and Uni -- did I get the names right, Snowdrop?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then I basically go blind to the world. I mean, I have my long overdue eye check and you know how that goes -- many drops cloud your eyes so that by the time you leave you can see absolutely nothing with any clarity whatsoever. That you should be set loose to drive yourself home afterwards does not seem right. Especially on a bright sunny day. It's a good thing that I know my way home with eyes closed because they may as well be closed.

And don't you think that this is just about the best possible moment in your life to go ahead and purchase a new car? When you can't see anything? And you don't want to spend any time inside any dealer's showroom because, you know, there's a pandemic raging across our planet right now?

The car purchase issue has been on my mind for a while now. After much misery with working through the problems in my rusty old Mazda, I had decided weeks ago that it's time for a change. And last week, I actually "bought" a car. Without any visit to any dealer, without even seeing any car at all, I made a deal with a car sales guy over the phone. To be finalized on or before March 1st. Oh, Ed and I had many discussions as to whether this was a good strategy. The old Mazda can keep going probably for a while longer, but each repair has been more costly than the previous one and, too, if the car breaks down on me, then selling it would be a challenge. And finally, you don't see interest rates like these very often: 0.9%. I mean, really? 

And so toward noon, Ed dropped me off at the dealer's and the tortuous process of purchasing a car -- one that I could only sort of kind of see, what with my impaired vision -- began.

You'd think that it would be easy and fun. After all, I had negotiated the model, even the actual car, rolling off the delivery truck just last Friday, certainly the price. 

It was not fun, it was not easy. I had to go into the showroom constantly (double masked) to attend to various stuff, sanitizing my hands obsessively as papers were passed to me for review. In between signings and elbow bumps, I waited outside -- on this one cold day of the week, and as I looked over this piece of new machinery I tried to feel the joy you're supposed to feel when you hand over a sizeable chunk of your income in exchange for a tangible good. I even gave the new car a name -- Blue Moon, because, well, it's blue and the purchase by me of this and any car at all happens once in a blue moon. Like maybe every fifteen years, or maybe never again, given my age.

In a sense, everything was smooth enough. Everyone was nice, everyone was polite, tolerating my desire not to sit anywhere or linger inside or touch anything there. And the car -- well, it's really lovely and its functionality is perfect: big enough to fill with a pack of kids in the back seat, but only two inches wider than my current Mazda, so it should fit in nicely into the parking space at the end of the driveway.

But at the close of three hours, as I got into this very nice car, I thought -- this can't be mine. I don't belong in new cars. I can't appreciate them because they don't matter that much to me. In the end, it's just a car. And, too, I let myself be conned into adding on a rustproofing guarantee (for 7 years!) just because my past two (used) cars were so rusted through that I craved a protection against road salt. They knew my vulnerabilities! They called it a fancy name (environmental something or other), zapped on a nice price for it and promised that if ever even a hint of rust or paint fade or bug stain or anything threatened the car's exterior, I could just bring it in and puff! They would magically mend it.

Ed straightened me out properly on that one. As I later told him about it, he reminded me what I already knew: insurance, warranty, promise -- loaded words, banking on the susceptibility of the foolish and the weak. 

They wouldn't have sold it to you if they thought you would actually need to use it....

I know Ed, I know.

Still, let's be positive about the whole messy day: the eyes will clear eventually. the car is lovely and it will protect me and my loved ones better (all those safety features!), and tomorrow, spring-like weather will return.

From Ed: Be sure to read the informational materials, gorgeous. (He knows me too well.)

(Evening walk by Lake Waubesa: still a tad wintry)

Sunday - 352nd

The day is so like a hundred others in past years -- ones with young families at the heart, with my eyes firmly focused on the youngest ones in our midst. But of course, the day is uniquely its own, because the past 352 days have been nothing if not unusual for us all.

You know that I am in Chicago for a weekend with my daughter and her family. (They are not yet vaccinated, but I am.) And you know that I haven't played or hugged or chased or eaten with Primrose (who is almost three) since this summer. That I haven't played or hugged or chased or eaten with her mother either. These months have been a tough slog here as we waited for the vaccinations, but really, if I would compare them to the months of others who are still waiting, or saddened by losses of any kind, or not well themselves, well, we've had a pretty calm year. Isolated, quiet and calm. So far.

But now, starting with Friday, we have reentered the orbits of the young families, though one at a time and with spacing in between. We feel safe because they are so careful! And they should feel safe too, because Ed and I are continuing to isolate for their benefit.

 

Sunday morning in Chicago. I let the parents sleep in a little while I play with the little girl. I help her get ready for the day and she helps me, admiring all my creams and shampoos and combs, playing her guitar for me while I shower. She picks out her own clothing...

 

 

 

...and then we're off to build caves and hide with snakes and loud dogs in them.

And eventually we hear stirring upstairs. Her dad is making us a breakfast of Swedish porridge. It's fantastic! Pearled barley, sunflower seeds, flax seeds, crushed wheat, crushed rye and water, soaked then slowly cooked and patted with butter, a dash of milk, maybe a dab of jam.

Fortified, we resume our play. (After her hair is properly clipped back by mom.)

 

I haven't mentioned the weather -- it's been spring like!! Above freezing every day so that the snow is melting. Slushy at times, puddly at other times. Good walking weather!

First sprouts! (One has to acknowledge that Chicago gets these a few weeks earlier than we do.)

And now we're home again, eating a delivered lunch from Lonesome Rose. This feels truly like a collage of memories. On previous visits, we would often end our time together with a brunch at Lonesome Rose. Their breakfast burritos or bowls are totally modern, fresh and honest. We can't go to their restaurant of course, but here we are, eating their foods nonetheless!

With bakery treats from Lost Larson to finish the brunchy lunch.

And then I have to leave. And it would be super sad indeed (such a beautiful weekend!) if it were a departure riddled with uncertainty, but I am confident that we are all moving to a better place, certainly to a place where we can resume being with the people whom we love so deeply! So, a goodbye laced with hope and a love you so so much, and a see you soon!

I drive home. Well, not entirely home. I go a little further to deposit some boxes of baked goods for my other daughter and her family. Here, the masks have to come back on for me, and a great distance has to be preserved. For a handful of days, so that I don't mix household stuff.

 

At home, Ed gives me a report on the farmette weekend. Yes, the chicks are alive and well. The visiting cats will sit on top of the box where they live and look down at them. We can't tell if it's out of curiosity or something more sinister, but so far, no one has done anything naughty. 

There's still snow on the ground, but not a whole lot. How quickly we jumped to better, brighter, balmier weather this year! How utterly wonderful to have had this gift of an early spring.

Saturday - 351st

If you looked here yesterday, you'll know I'm in Chicago, with my younger daughter and her family. Having had a long stretch of time without such visits makes this one precious and extra sweet. But too, it means that I write less about it, because I don't want to give minutes to something like writing, which is inherently lonely. This is not a weekend for hiding behind closed doors!

I'll include a sprinkling of images from our day. From when Primrose wakes up...

What would you like to wear today, little one? 

This, grandma.

 

With breakfast treats from Masa Madre...

And of course, our usual time released selfie...

To a long walk with the young family to Lincoln Park...

And more playtime at home (she is recording a birthday song for a friend)...

A game of chickens...

A dance, or two, or three...

With lots of splendid hanging out.

All this until evening, when we eat another family dinner, one that I did not plan, prepare, serve and clean up after. Take out from a pizza place they say has been their lifeline to good food during the pandemic (Bungalow by Middle Brow).

Best way to describe the day: one with lots of time to just be with this young family whom I miss in the best of times and have missed excruciatingly in not the best of times.

A weekend to appreciate and love with my heart and soul.

I do hope the full moon shines brightly over all good people everywhere tonight.

Friday - 350th

The most important thing to remember about this day is that I reenter the world of my Chicago grandchild, Primrose.

Of course, it's the vaccination that makes this possible, though there isn't much guidance as to how best to reunite safely with your kids and grandkids after getting your shots and so the cautious approach is probably a smart idea. Meaning, you don't just jump into everyone's space at once. You assess their vulnerabilities, you count the days, you discuss with your kids who goes first and what amount of time should be wedged between the two visits and then you proceed.

I haven't had an indoor unmasked meetup with Primrose since July. The family is endlessly, tirelessly isolating, but the little girl goes to school and so our only get togethers have been in a park, with masks. Today all this changes.

But first, there are the morning farmette routines, the animals, the walk to the barn -- all in beautiful sunshine.

And of course, I spend time with the new farmhouse residents. You're always a tad anxious when you come down to their boxy home after the first night: did the temp stay at the requisite 95F (35C)? Did they stay warm enough? Did they survive??

It did. Plenty warm. They survived.

Breakfast, near them in the sun room.

We do have a double agenda: getting them used to us of course (the last three chicks we raised were plenty used to us in the farmhouse, but once released to the flock, it became all about their own pecking order and we were pretty much ignored), but also getting the cats used to the chicks.

Our cats are hunters. We're never going to be able to put up cute videos where they cuddle with baby chicks. They hunt mice, chipmunks and every once in a while, they'll go after a bird. Or a bug. It doesn't happen often, but we've certainly seen them bring in small feathered friends. The chicks will surely tempt them. At the very least they'll be chased and tortured by the cats, especially the Unfriendlies, who think themselves to be in charge of patrolling the farmette's boundaries. And so until they are nice and hefty and ready to join the flock, we have to keep them safe.

Dance is the most frequent farmhouse visitor and she is definitely intrigued by the big box. We've let her peek inside, hoping that some form of acceptance will occur, but we're not betting on it. The box is covered from all sides. No cat can get in.

But shortly after noon, I leave all this behind, pack up the rusty but still trusty silver Mazda and head for Chicago.

 

 

It is so strange to be coming up the steps to their unit once again! So strange not to use precautions! So wonderful, too.

(picking Primrose up at school)

 

(Home, the young family's home. Playing with Primrose once again...)

(And yes, it was grand to see my daughter and son-in-law once again. To talk late into the evening, to visit!)

It's like riding a bike: face to face visits -- something that we haven't done for soooooo long! -- are as easy to return to, as if you never had to leave them behind. And yes, you want to forget that you did have to leave them behind. Thanksgiving, Christmas, all that happened only via video calls. And they were great and they brought us closer together, but you never want to do them again. At least not as any new normal. May the new normal -- face to face, hug to hug. -- may that happen soon for all of us. This is my most fervent wish for you, for me.

With love.