several calls later...

When it is a supremely cold day and you can't imagine an enjoyable walk, let alone a bout of ice skating, you turn toward your inside world and you reach for the phone. Well, in my case, for Skype and Zoom. I have a bunch of oversees calls to make and today seems perfect for this.

Ed claims I exaggerate the chill in the air, but I tell no lies! A high of 11F (-12C) is by definition nippy. Nonetheless, the sun is out and the farmette lands look dazzling, even though there are too many bare patches for my taste.

Breakfast, with an Ed who now has short hair and no beard.

We do some armchair gardening then. This is tricky. Ed likes to research every step we take while I settle easily for things that "sound like they might work." I'm charged with figuring out how to put in a large crop of lavender, he assists with selecting more trees for our Great Tree Planting Project out back. Guess who gets done first? And guess who then offers suggestions and revisions that completely upend my entire planting idea?

 

By late afternoon, I have had it with couch sitting and spinning in circles over trees and lavender cuttings.  I drive out to do an outside visit with the grandkids. Sparrow was back in school today but Snowdrop unfortunately has to suffer the disappointment of staying home and not going anywhere at all. I reassure her that even if she could go skating today, she would not want to go skating today. Way too cold. She disagrees.

I'm prepared for the frigid temps. I come with quilt!

 

(Sandpiper comes out to say hi... He cannot get used to my mask!)

My toes freeze, but the older kids and I put in a good forty minutes of play. Snowbirds and rabbits. Footprint makers.

And so ends another day of this rather choppy week. I'm still smiling, still enjoying the winter world, but honestly, I'll be happier when we finally return to greater predictability with our routines back in place. So far, every day of 2022 has offered surprises of the kind where you have to adjust your thinking and your daily life to feed the needs of the moment. Never before have I felt so much that being flexible and resilient serves you well in life. We adapt. So long as everyone is well or getting better -- we are happy.

With love...

and many more...

Whereas I cannot remember a year where I would have not been present for my older girl's birthday, my younger daughter has by now had more birthdays without me at her side than ones where I could pop in and give her a great, big hug. Shockingly, more birthdays hit the weekday than the weekend (ha!) and so more often than not she has been busy with far away studies, then work, rarely afforded vacation days in this cold winter month. We have postponed and deferred and I'm sure she feels less fussed over than the average family member (especially since an increasing number of family members are below the age of 8 and so fusses abound). But I am equally positive that she knows that she is and always will be my beloved younger one, the little girl whose spirit is gentle but whose passions run deep. Happy, happy birthday!

(From a FaceTime call today: I'm in the car, bundled up and pulled over, she is with Juniper)

It's a brutally cold day. That's not unusual and indeed, it can get even worse at this time of the year. Still, despite the brilliant sunshine, no one is especially clamoring to go outside. 

(the cheeper girls give it a try, then give up and retreat to the barn)

It's the kind of day where both Ed and I think hot oatmeal for breakfast is a good idea.

Afterwards, I trim his hair. I always ask if he's absolutely sure he does not want to grow it out to a ponytail and he always smiles in response, recognizing the ridiculousness of the idea. Pony tails require care. I can't get Ed to comb his hair, let alone do something so taxing as pulling it back into a neat swag of curls.

And when the sun is at its warmest moment and the thermometer reaches a toasty 12F (-11C), I drive over to my older girl's home, where the kids run out for an outdoor greeting and then shiver on the front step over their gogs snack.

Sparrow is not a cold weather person and after a few minutes he retreats indoors. Snowdrop lasts a little longer and we read together in this fashion, there on the front step, over muffins, gingerbread, cherries, berries and mango, and of course that essential -- the warm thermos of cocoa.

All three kids are okay, but each presents a trickle of mild symptom, the common denominator being fatigue, maybe some sniffles, maybe a slight infection. Troopers all.

And then I drive home, stopping at the post office to send a registered letter, and as I wait forever in a place where mask wearing by some is mocked (have you seen the "just up to my lip line" version of this?), I think -- my sick grandkids come outside in this cold weather to see me for a little bit in this protected fashion and you can't even sell postage stamps to customers of various vulnerabilities wearing a mask properly! How weary one can get with humankind...

But not too weary. Most people care. It is always important to remind yourself this: most people care very much.

In other news, I read today about the tragic skiing death of a well known and well loved young French actor. The details of this caught my eye because it all happened in a place where I would surely go, were I to go skiing in the near future -- a quiet skiing corner in southeastern France. And it reminded me of why skiing these days is such a dangerous sport: it's not how you ski, it's the reckless others who are your greatest enemy. Someone ran into this guy.  Okay, this is a tragic and rare ending, but to a rather routine these days event. Last time I skied the Alps some eight years ago, I was also slammed into by an out-of-control big guy who was skiing on a slope well beyond his skiing abilities. I swore I would never ski again. These days I keep going back to the idea of maybe someday doing one more grand run down a big mountain. And then I remember the craziness of some novices who go to ski resorts because it's a badge of honor to do so, rather than because they care about the art of the sport, and I think -- eh, maybe I'm done with downhill. Let's stick with Nordic!

Which reminds me -- might we get some more snow please?

There is something astonishingly peaceful about a January night. My candle is Evergreen from Brooklyn Candles. It's my new favorite: pine needles and a touch of eucalyptus, laced with cedar, oakmoss and wild currant, with just a touch of balsam, black walnut and smoked vanilla. That's their description. And it's spot on.

Happy winter birthday sweetest little girl! 

With so much love!

where are we now?

For the young family, it's a question of waiting out the remaining days of a mild but perniciously infectious virus. Both of the older kids need a negative test result and/or the requisite number of days to pass before they can return to school. Sandpiper, the youngest, is probably happy to have them around. Virus / no virus -- this has no meaning for him. Brother and sister are home. Yay.  As for me, well, the farmhouse remains off limits to them all for now, and even ice skating with Snowdrop is put on hold. I'm also counting days and/or waiting for better test results. But I will permit myself an outside meetup with the young family, at a distance, me in a super duper mask (which probably is a fake, even as it has proper markings... I mean, what's to stop someone from putting on fake "proper" markings? Such a challenge it is to pick out colorful masks that are authentically what they claim to be!).

In terms of the bigger picture (the one beyond just our immediate back yard), we are all also waiting: waiting for this surge to pass, for our hospitals to empty out covid wards, for schools to reduce the number of Covid alerts (which no longer scare the daylights out of me, since Omicron cannot do even more harm to my Madison grandkids).

Staying patient is not a skill that is rock solid within me, but the following things help:

I can say honestly that I am done with living in total diffuse fear. Ed asked me today what scared me more during the pandemic -- our own infection or passing the virus to the young families? A regular Sophie's choice type question, don't you think? I told him honestly, it kept changing. Them, us, us, them, the pregnant moms, us again, the kids, the babes! But since yesterday, when the last child here got infected, I (mostly) quit worrying. Even in Chicago, we are moving past the weeks of having a newborn in the house. The vulnerabilities diminish. [And I say this knowing that other families are still in danger. Immuno-compromised, or with underlying conditions, and of course, the anti vaxxers who stubbornly would rather crowd the hospitals and infect the babes and the vulnerable among us, than get that protective shot.]

The other thing that helps is reading less about the horrors of Covid and more about what post-pandemic life should look like. It brings me that much closer to the idea that we actually may well be approaching a post pandemic life. (No, do not tap me on the shoulder here and tell me about all the variants that can still mess with us. I do not believe in living with imagined and not yet real or likely dangers.)

So, that's where I am now: (a tad) less scared for my family, for us, and happily diving into really ambitious plans of how I might behave once we are done with being in crisis mode. Ed said to me, as if realizing that this pandemic may indeed be on the wane -- from my vantage point, it's been really great to be hunkered here with you. I share that feeling. We had one pandemic crisis moment just before Christmas (call it the "excessive clutter" moment), but it passed rather quickly and with no damage to anyone. Otherwise, we really, really like being under the same roof together for extensive periods of time. 

But I do miss the occasional trip. One that takes me far and has me wake up in distant lands. The pandemic has taught me to not love grocery shopping. And restaurants are fine, but I can live without them. Big parties? Loud music happenings? That's never been me. But waking up and starting the day with breakfast in a place where people speak a different language, or at least a version of English that sounds like it couldn't possibly be English -- that is where I grow and learn best. And I miss it.

Okay, a few particulars.

It's the third time this month when we woke to a beautiful day with temps just over the freezing point. It would have been perfect for skating with Snowdrop, but as I said, that's on hold. Instead, I drive over to my daughter's house and set up an outdoor snack for the three older kids stuck at home (the third is a daughter of the babysitter. She's finishing up her Covid run as well). I've baked some muffins, cut up some fruits and warmed up a thermos of hot chocolate.

The kids play and I mostly concentrate on keeping my distance.  

(Snowdrop and playmate for the day)

 

 

 

 

 (Sparrow, recovering)

 

 

It's a little hard when Sparrow wants so much to be pushed on the swing, or one child wants help with a boot, but I am very good at not breathing for a few seconds as I attend to these trivial demands.

Mostly though, they saunter and take in the sun, and when the two younger guys go in, Snowdrop and I linger by the swings and she says in her reflective voice -- gaga, do you realize that every second is a moment in your life? Yes it is, little girl. Yes it is.

And after my visit, I swing by the farmhouse and pick up Ed and we head out for a walk -- a now late afternoon walk along a more distant segment of the Nature Conservancy. And the light is once again stunning!

After, I have an errand to run at the UPS store and Ed tags along with me, which I like to pretend is sort of like traveling together to distant places only without the inconvenience of long flights. 

The sun has set by the time I'm done. Ed suggests we go back to the pond by the Montessori school where Snowdrop first stepped on ice wearing skates. You should skate today -- he tells me. I keep the skates in the car these days and I like the idea of just swinging by our local rink (or is it pond?) and putting in a few laps. The ice is beautiful tonight. Just a few lumps and bumps, but otherwise perfectly refreshed and cleared of any snow.

 

It still surprises me how far I am from my skating of some decades ago. Oh, I'm fine, I'm confident, I'm plenty smooth. But I dont have the command I once did. I feel like a grandma on ice. An experienced grandma, to be sure, but no one could say I'm showing off. I have become modestly ambitious. And that, perhaps is a good thing!

With love....

a moment of contemplation

The holiday today (it's Martin Luther King Jr. Day, for those of you who do not live in this country) always offers a moment of quiet. Of reflection and commitment. Of opportunity. 

 

We continue to have very small amounts of snow, so yes, it does feel like January, but the temps are just below freezing. Very reasonable. January can be much meaner than this.

Breakfast, late, leisurely.

I have a Zoom get together with my friends in Poland. Covid catch-up still takes a chunk of time and of course, I have my own updates to share. Omicron hasn't hit Poland hard yet. We're the ones struggling with it.

 

By afternoon the sun is out and I prepare to drive over to my daughter's house. Because there is a fresh case of active Covid in her home, I can't be sure that those heretofore uninfected will remain uninfected. To be safe, I arrange to do outdoor stuff with Snowdrop. Ice skating comes to mind. It's perfect weather for it! As an added precaution, the parents do a rapid test on the girl to make sure she remains negative. 

She's not negative. Somehow Omicron left her alone for a good ten days of familial infections, but today it reached her as well. (Her mom is now the only one in the household who remains negative! Who knows why. She's been with the infected boys round the clock, just like the dad. He is sick. She is not.)

You know what my reaction is? Well, first of all, I want to drive out there and leave a few things for the kids. Snowdrop is asymptomatic, but her infection stretches the confinement and isolation for her, for the parents (Sparrow is able to return to school tomorrow). That's just such a bummer, especially on this very pretty day.

(I am reminded of the earlier months of the pandemic when I would routinely "visit" with the kids standing on their back deck, looking in...)

 

My second reaction is that I should test myself, given my time with her last week.

I'm negative.

Is that a good thing? Well, yes. For nearly two years I have been obsessively trying to keep us negative, because we don't want to come down with a serious disease that is overwhelming the health care system and killing thousands by the day. And equally importantly, I did not want to infect the little kids. Maybe they are less vulnerable than we are, but they are little and infections are pernicious and I was not going to bring it into their home if I could help it.

But now all the Madison grandkids will have had the Covid and so bringing it to them becomes a moot worry. And if you are vaccinated, isn't it the case that, with Omicron, you are quite safe from serious disease? So shouldn't I lessen my hyper vigilance now? Should I really carry the burden of worry with me going forward?

 

Since I could not take Snowdrop skating, Ed and I took a walk along the trail in the Nature Conservancy.

The light is beautiful -- a deep gold with bronze overtones. With each step I cannot help but return to the same question: could it be that with Omicron, with such huge numbers of people getting infected, could it be that we will finally be done with the pandemic?

It could be.

 

Oh, excuse me, FaceTime is calling. Hello, Primrose!

With love....

Are we done yet?

I'll give you the end line first: no we are not.

Now let's get back to this wintry Sunday where the chickens continue to hide in the barn, and the cats are patrolling farmette lands because a visiting cat is messing with their sense of ownership and territorial dominance.

Breakfast is late because there's a lot of family activity and it sucks me in completely. First there is the issue of a hacked credit card. You know how that goes! Darn thieves! Then, second one of the parents in the young household with Covid now has Covid. Now I know what you're thinking -- oh, that's Omicron for you! It does not recognize vaccination as a barrier. It just walks right in, uninvited, and takes over. But here's the other menacing feature of Omicron that I already noted in my post of two days back: it doesn't just come in, get you all sick and leave. It hovers and moves stealthily from one person to the next, not all at once, but little by little, and even though you think you're all done with it and no one else is going to get sick, BOOM! The next soldier falls. And the ones left standing can only wonder -- when will we know for sure that we are past the danger zone? Because the timeline changes with each new case. So instead of having a ten day lockdown and you're done, you have a rolling isolation that just goes on and on and on. Nasty little virus, isn't it? Has no politeness about it. It's all brash and boastful and succeeds in completely wrecking your equanimity.

I've been reading many articles about the Omicron variant and I appreciate how so many researchers are now looking at it in a new way. But here's what I'm thinking: the people who were worse off with the previous variants are still the worst off. Older people hide with this one because no one has told them that they are safe. Just lots of whispering about waning immunities. And then come the working parents: worst of all are the working parents. Just like before. Child care comes and goes. Schools open and close. Babysitters, who used to stick by you when your kid was laid up with a cold, now run away when a child so much as sniffles.  And of course, if your child is sick with Covid, then there is no one, absolutely no one to help you with the load, even if you have to work. And so long as Omicron is perceived as a public health emergency (and using one set of markers, it is that -- witness the hospital crisis), you, your job, your family, young and old, are left there like bobbing ducks on an ocean that's under a permanent storm warning, with lightening strikes left and right, seemingly random and without warning.

In other words, I really feel awful for my daughter and her family, even as I can do nothing to help them. No, they do not like chicken noodle soup. I know, right? Where is their Polish blood? (Ed and I, on the other hand, have stocked our pantry with cartons of chicken noodle soup. Just in case. Low sodium, because we're old, and organic because I'm a believer.)

Breakfast comes after I have sorted through my daughters' messages, so it is later than late. Dance will not keep her nose off of my croissant.

Photos today are all taken by Ed.

And then Ed and I go out. Me in my new warmest puffy parka in eye popping cherry red. He suggests I try skating on Lake Waubesa. He'll keep me company, though he himself doesn't skate.

Great idea!

Terrible idea.

The ice is ravaged by tire treads from slushy days of our one day warm spell. And there are drifts of snow everywhere. Miserable skating.

I give up. 

Ed suggests I next try the pond where Snowdrop first tried to skate. I'm agreeable.

Ah!

Much better! Sure, I could do without the light snow cover. It makes for a jerky glide, especially when you're trying hard not to skate too fast.

Still, it does me good to get stronger on the ice again. Skating is not like the bicycle. If you let go of it, you can lose your skating legs rather quickly, especially on textured, ravaged, snow dusted ice. I tripped up twice today and nearly lost it a handful of other times. I used to spin and do perfect figure eights. Now, I'm happy just to do long, sweeping glides. With controlled speed! It's good enough.

At home again, I brew a milky coffee and eat my gingerbread. And burn a candle. Fern & Moss from Brooklyn Candles. A hint of sage and lavender, a whiff of spruce and pine, and a long finish of oakmoss. 

With love...

Saturday

I had many many goals set for today and the two days that follow. Because I wont be looking after any grandchildren I have no excuses for not attending to details of life. Some of those details are boring (yes, the stuff you and I do to get from one day to the next), some are challenging (deciding where to go for a ski week outside Wisconsin in five weeks, given that we all have no idea what the status of Covid will be in five weeks), and some are just plain old fun (soaking up a forest on skis at our local county park, after a breakfast of reheated croissants).

Let's plunge straight to the fun stuff. 

During breakfast, Ed tried to convince me that Durango, Colorado is my best choice for skiing, despite the fact that the town is many many hours away from Denver, where presumably I could fly to from Madison. When I protested the long drive, he noted that I could additionally fly from Denver to Durango. Never! -- I said. Short flights are the worst! They are always on tiny planes that rock in all directions the minute a cloud puffs up in front of them. Moreover, once I'd arrive in Durango, I'd have to rent a car, because it is impossible to imagine that I could ski straight out of the tiny airplane onto beautifully groomed Nordic trails. Not that I even know a thing about Nordic trails in Durango. This was all Ed's idea because I believe he once traveled through Durango.

After this, we did go out to ski locally. It was cold, and the 1/16 of an inch of fresh snow did nothing to take away the iciness of the terrain. Still, skiing in the park to the right of the road at least keeps us off groomed trails, so however slippery it is, it wont shatter our bones if we fall. And, as always, it was peaceful and beautiful!

An apres-ski treat:

In the afternoon, I set out to touch base with the grandkids who haven't been part of my orbit this past week. I did not strike gold.

Sandpiper was napping when I called.

Primrose and I communicated via text -- a preferred form of communication of all the older grandgirls.

Juniper was unavailable. She wont be available for a video chat for a good six months, I should think.

And Sparrow hates with a passion meeting up via Zoom. I promised him that he could go on practicing his handwriting (apparently his preoccupation this afternoon) even as I chatted "at" him via the screen, but that wasn't going to cut it either. 

The conclusion? Sometimes grandkids have better things to do than to humor grandma. Which honestly is a very good thing!

In the evening, after a dinner, I struggled to enjoy episode 6 of Breaking Bad. How can a series be so good and so, well, unenjoyable? Life is full of contradictions.

Friday

I'm definitely treading water this week, waiting to see if the ice doesn't crack under my feet. Do you see why this convoluted upside down image makes sense? 

While I wait to see if anything changes for the worse (so far the answer is no, everything is the same, which is good!), I dream big. Of skiing skating with my grandkids. And Ed (the skiing part). Of skiing by myself. Far away.

As I think about all this, I get so very hungry for crispy breads and flaky croissants. So I tell Ed -- breakfast will be late, but it will be yummy!

(to the bakery!)

 

(... for croissants!)

It is cold and there's a dusting of snow. Just enough to make your skin prickle and your car skid. I'm not sure it makes sense to go skating with my inspired skating super champ, but I pack up the necessities just in case.

I pick up the little girl and offer her some choices. Evey day she has been testing negative and today I feel she is past the window of possible infection and so the farmhouse is again on the table. 

She wants it all.

And I thought about an article I'd read in the paper today about how difficult it is for families before an infection hits their home (avoiding it is so stressful!), and when it enters their home (do you segregate? isolate within? whom do you test and when?), and it continues to be difficult as days of waiting and watching become intense. Here's why: some, but not all family members will become infected. Sequentially. So you have new triggers of shifting quarantines. In the meantime, your sitters stay away, your kid's schools throw down their own reentry requirements which change as different household members get sick and which will be separate and different for your workplace. Those lucky enough to stay negative, nonetheless have to follow the labyrinthian protocols -- all there of course to make others maximally safe. But it's messy and complicated and it all changes over time. Just one tiny example: Sparrow was under a ten day quarantine, which the school district changed to five days, effective next week, thereby shortening his stay at home to... nine days! Believe me, the parents are happy to take that extra day of childcare!

So because it's been one crazy ride, I'm ready to give the girl anything she wants today. Including time on the ice. And believe me, nothing about this day's weather is pleasant. It's bitter cold again, there's a wind, and there's that intermittent dusting of snow. We were the only live beings outside!

 

 

 

Yet, she was happy.

And proud.

And I was proud too, mostly because she wanted this despite the bad weather and despite the fact that she also longed for a cozy time at the farmhouse.

Which she got.

It was quite dark by the time I drove her home. The car had that extremely cozy feeling it gets on wintry days when it is so cold out there and so warm inside. She was well fed and rested and ready to talk about school.

I listened to her tales of some child's misbehavior and I threw in the comment that maybe the boy under discussion wants to get attention or maybe he's just getting used to school. I note that her mommy, who volunteers in the classroom for about an hour or two every couple of weeks thought him to be a smart and interesting child.

Oh, he just shows off for the parents! He wants all of them to like him. He wants to seem cool.

I ask -- so... so, how many of your friends have parents volunteer in the classroom?

All of them! 

Really? Are they mostly mothers? I know that most mothers work, as do the fathers.

The volunteers are all mothers.

No dads?

One boy (the worst behaved, according to her) has a father who sometimes comes. But his mother also volunteers.

Yes, here we are in 2022 in a progressive community of parents who buy their girls books such as Rosie Revere, Engineer and She Persisted and Herstory. Just send your dads to school to sort books for the teacher already! Shush!

 

A crazy week indeed. The type that requires some quiet moments, maybe in the forest? I'll put that into my calendar for tomorrow.

With love...

 

Thursday

The good news is that today we will top the freezing line again. Just a couple of degrees and just for a few hours, but still -- warm, for January in Wisconsin. The bad news is that today we will top the freezing line again. Yesterday afternoon, most of the outdoor ice rinks closed in Madison. I read that there was "puddling." I didn't see any of that on the rink we skated, but perhaps today will be different. Perhaps we'll be chased out of an ice skating adventure by ever forming puddles! I always thought that once formed, ice rinks sort of stayed put, until the first crocuses popped out. Who knew I had to live in fear of melting ice!

Ice skating not withstanding, it was pleasant to walk to the animals this morning in balmy air that was stuck just at the freezing point.

Ed has started talking about our planting plans for spring -- that's how good it feels to be outside right now!

(Breakfast)

At the grandkid home front, everyone is doing exceptionally well. No one has any Covid symptoms, and Snowdrop continues to test negative (as does Primrose in Chicago). True, her brother remains trapped at home while she gets to go about life almost as she knew it before. This is the time to dust off the old saying about life being terribly unfair. There is no other explanation.

 

I picked the little girl up at school in this new way of ours -- I wear a mask, we plan an adventure that's totally outdoors. I don't have to ask what she would like: yesterday, on her second day on skates, she caught the skating bug.

And so we return to the rink in her neighborhood park.

Sure, the ice isn't brilliantly clear or perfectly smooth, but there are no puddles and it is eminently skateable. And in this sport she is brave and strong and very quickly she ventures out on her own. She has secured her balance on ice.

Again and again and again.

I lure her off with a snack, hot chocolate, and some reading...

 

 

 

... but afterwards, despite the fact that I had taken off our skates, cleaned them and put them away, she wants to skate some more. Back we go!

The sun sets and I am feeling the chill of moving around over a sheet of ice for the better part of the afternoon. 

 

 

 

I take her home.

I have to add here that this isn't only about the little girl skating. I used to skate quite a bit when I was younger. And of course, eventually I stopped. Most older people don't skate much. Somehow the thrill of putting on blades and slipping around on ice dissipates. When I did return to it a few years back for the exercise if nothing else, I crashed and decided that maybe senior skating isn't such a great idea. But since then, I've given a lot of thought to why we limit ourselves as we get older. Not doing sports you once loved seems like a cop out. Perhaps what should change is that I shouldn't skate recklessly (I was a demonic skater: a bit of a show off on ice). Gentle skating is fun and teaching a grandchild to skate is deeply satisfying for many reasons. And you don't show off in front of your grandkid, so a fall is not going to smash your bones to fine powder.

This afternoon as she took her short little steps on the ice and I skated off on my own for a while, I felt I'd gotten my skating legs back again. And at my age, well, that's deeply satisfying.

Hot soup for supper. It just seems fitting after an afternoon on the ice.