Tuesday

There is one thing that schools the world over cannot agree on and that is when to give kids a winter-ish spring break. In Europe they grant a mega dose of days off both in February and then once again in April (or around Easter). But don't ask anyone which days are considered standard vacation stuff. There is no consistency. Here, in the U.S., it's even worse. Universities are almost always on spring break in the second half of March, no matter what. (Well, some weren't off then during the pandemic, but that's another story). But schools? The chaos starts now. Snowdrop is on winter break at this moment. Sparrow is not. Snowdrop parades in her pajamas at 7:30 and munches leisurely on a slice of toasted cheese bread for breakfast. Sparrow has to hurry to get to school by 8. Guess who is the unhappy kid in that household? Then in March they'll both be off. Not in mid March, when our university shuts down and parents are on break, and not near Easter in April. This year spring recess is stuck at the tail end of one month and into the beginning of the next. But that's just them. Others do it differently.

Me, I am mightily confused between breaks and seasons and all the rest of it. We're just a short leap away from spring, but we still haven't had a proper snowstorm this year. No snowmen, not much skiing. That's okay, I'm packing my skis and heading out elsewhere in about a week. A place that was suppose to be snow covered and wonderful, but which actually has had rain on and off for a good chunk of February. I may have to search for snow at higher elevations.

It's all very baffling.

Which is why it's wise to start the day right. Feed the animals...

... then feed your own soul with a warm and cheerful morning meal.

Alone, because I did not have the heart to wake Ed. His sleep cycle is completely bonkers right now.

Oh, and I bake muffins, because we've all missed them.

In the early afternoon I pick up Snowdrop at her house. The girl is well rested and peppy, so I nudge her toward skating. I can't say she jumps at the opportunity. And to her credit, she's not the only one who would rather be inside: the neighborhood ice rink is empty. The nearby playground is empty. our town is full of shut-ins. Still, she goes along.

I don't bother with my skates. I shuffle on the ice in my shoes and keep her company as she works on gaining strength on her blades.

I wonder if this is our last time skating this winter. At least I don't doubt that we'll continue to have below freezing temps. And will the kids ski? Well, we'd need some snow. The elusive white stuff that is in such short supply this year in south central Wisconsin.

Love that Valentine!

Oh, Valentine's Day! Is it a Christian response to a pagan winter festival? Named after Valentine who defied Claudius and was put to death for it? Or is it merely an embellished and romanticized day that flourished once the printing presses permitted the distribution of mass produced cards? (Did you know that Valentine's Day is the second biggest card giving holiday in the U.S.?) I do not care that some deem it a fake tribute to complicated feelings. We enjoy lots of fake, made-up, commercially motivated, unbelievably schmaltzy things in life! Why not rejoice in pinkness in the middle of what is surely the longest shortest month of the year!

Ed has come around to it. We no longer discuss the ridiculousness of dedicating a day to expressing love for each other. He gets the card, pays for the flowers. I pick the flowers and focus on the food for the day (which this year is funny, since he's still not very hungry).

We walk hand in hand through life and so it stands to reason that we walk hand in hand on this day as well.

Figuratively speaking. In cold weather, he sticks his hand in his pockets, I keep mine cozy in my wool mittens. 

A quiet day at the farmette. A Rose Botanica candle, with hints of wild fern and rose petals. A Zoom call with my two buds down south. And a huge relief that tomorrow we begin the second half of the longest shortest month of the year. From there it's downhill all the way til spring.

With so many hearts and x's and o's to all who make my world a beautiful place every single day of the year.

Sunday

Ed's still resting, the temperatures are still too low for words, the cheepers are still those crazy hens who can't quite figure out the complicated business of great sunshine and horrible cold. In other words -- winter has us in its grip here, at the farmette.

*     *     *

I take a pause this morning for reflection. An old blogger friend (whom very ancient Ocean readers may remember from the early days of blogging -- she wrote Crow Cottage way back when) died this weekend. Such a fantastic person! I have this brilliant image of her, living as she did by the sea, in love with her lobsterman husband and her small community that perhaps reminded her just a little of her beloved England. She was a person who loved every animal on the planet. Oh, but she was not a whiner. Honestly, she defined stoicism in the face of mounting health issues. And she expected the same from you: don't gripe. Life's too short. How right she was! She was one who spoke her mind: on recent attacks on democracy and, well, on basically anything. A woman who in the last years knitted hundreds of caps for the homeless and in support of animal shelters. With her little tag -- with love by Rebecca. There's a void for all who knew her. Bex, you will be remembered. I can hear your quick reply now -- eh, don't spend too much time fretting. Take care of your chickens and give your cats a hug. Oh, and Ed too. And don't bother writing to my lobsterman. He doesn't do computers. Cheers! Yeah, cheers indeed.

*     *     *

Breakfast, sort of alone but not really. Ed rose himself to go card shopping (for tomorrow's celebration) even though I told him it was totally unnecessary. (I noted he had the Dollar Store website opened on his laptop. It's where his friend shops for cards. Men, with a shared philosophy of cards.) I fed the animals.

He picked up my order at Batch bake house. I'd put it in long ago and I'd included some Valentine's treats for the young family as well as pain au chocolat for our own Valentine's weekend breakfasts. Turned out of course that he wasn't quite ready for pain au chocolat. But I was!

All day, I dotted i's on future travel plans. And we did take a very short walk. The sun helped, though only at the margins. The cheepers were right -- it's brutal out there. Misleading sunshine!

 

In the evening, the young family was here for dinner and though I don't really do anything for the big red heart day tomorrow for the kids, I did get super tempted by the special occasion cakes, so we had the one with both chocolate and strawberry stuff all over it (a stellar combination).

(Sandpiper loved it.)

(The little guy can now crawl and stand up to his two older sibs. Well, with their help.)

All lovely stuff. I was a little miffed that the Super Bowl (which I dislike completely) trumped the Olympics on TV, but hey, that's a spoiled person's complaint. There's plenty of stuff to watch. We settled in to a night of Braking Bad gore and, late at night, the tail end of some Olympic events. 

With gratitude for all that I have, for my family, for my friends, for Ed.

And with so much love.

Saturday lite

My low key Saturday! I do not see many of such Saturdays in the months ahead, so let me sit back and relax through this one.

Well, not entirely. Up early, checking on Ed, who slept on the couch because I thought his restlessness would keep me up. But he wasn't restless. Indeed, I think he slept a good 20 out of the last 24 hours without twitching a muscle.

Checking on the animals would have been more fun if we hadn't plunged into an Arctic blast once again. 

(The two youngest cheeper girls: is this cold for real??)

And I wanted to bake something for breakfast. Not that Ed is eating anything at all, but the kids are here today and another one of those snacking cakes would be good to have around for the weekend. I pick the Double Apple Cake. And it will turn out to be one of my favorites.

Quick bite with a cup of coffee...

... and then I zip over to pick up the two older kids. Sorry Sandpiper, you're eating/napping/sitting at home today!

The older guys are spirited and playful...

... and it is altogether a grand set of hours with the grands.

Now comes the "Sit Back and Veg" afternoon. I don't completely tune the world out: quite the contrary, I spend a lot of time researching corners of the globe that may see me in the next few months or years or decades. Or weeks. (You cannot commit to anything right now, but I'm pretty certain that I'll be on my feet and moving soon. Well, maybe toddling along. I haven't entirely regained my swag from before the winter tumbles.) 

And the evening came before I even noticed the lateness of the hour. Yes, we've been lax in our sport activities. A busted knee, a twisted stomach, an Arctic blast all tipping the scales in favor of just staying put. Yep, Ed, me and the cats who are forever coming in, going out, coming in, going out.

missing pieces

1. The Way It Works

Writing an Ocean story every day is anything but rote. Nonetheless, I do try hard to stick to certain rules of the road. If I follow them, the process is generally smooth. A post appears at your doorstep when you wake up in the morning (if you are in North America). 

 

Here's how it works: during the day, the post gets its first rudimentary form. This is my Stage One. It's not finished and it will go through several edits, but I find it really helpful to at least get an idea on paper early, so that I dont have to struggle with it later. As with everything in life, you learn from your mistakes.

Stage two happens after dinner. Here, I rewrite, I add on, I edit photos, I slap it together, do a read-through and then put it aside. But, dinner is getting to be later and later for us. I don't start cooking until 6:30, we rarely eat before 7:30 and there's a lot going on in those evening hours: the cats come in and out. They clamor for tidbits from dinner. Simultaneously we start our evening viewing (lately it's been the Olympics, plus the incredibly disgusting but excellent Breaking Bad episodes: we're on season 4). There are pauses while I clean up. And pauses for when Ed makes pop corn. And pauses because a cat wants to go in or out. So really, our evening, in all its professed calm, is pretty chaotic.

When I'm done, I put the post aside. Stage Three (publish!) will happen between 10:30 and midnight, because that's when I go to bed. I either give it one final read through, or I assume I've done enough work on it. I click publish and the day ends with me reading novels upstairs.

There is a Stage Four: in the morning, I often go back to Ocean, giving the post one quick read-through to correct typos. They're easy to miss when you're tired. 

Spreading things out in this way assures that a post will appear on time every day. But of course, things happen. Yesterday was a day when things happened. Let me turn to that.

 

2. Fill in the Blanks

I have said this repeatedly: Ocean is as honest as the sky is gray right now (trust me, it's gray here, at the farmette). But it leaves things out. Personal stuff, of course. Especially other people's personal stuff. But mine too: the older I get the less I like to write about doc visits. People get health issues when they age. Most get fixed, some linger. There, I've said all that needs to be said on this subject. (Similarly, Ed and I rarely review health matters. Neither of us likes to talk about them.) So, unless it's essential to what I consider to be the main story point of the day, I'll leave medical stuff out. I am not that older person who gathers with equally aged persons, thinking it's fun to go around the circle and upstage each other in what's wrong with you on any given day. But, sometimes my silence in a post messes with things down the road. Like for instance, I left out yesterday that the reason I was up all night was because I was dealing with the usual Crazy Whatever syndrome. It's annoying, and it also requires that I check in with a team of docs to make sure things are okay. Since we're still in Covid times, I calculated that the best time to do a check in was when the night shift was leaving and the day shift just starting. Meaning early. Before sunrise. And dedicated as am I to Ocean, I took my laptop with me, in case I had to stay there the whole day because, you know, we're living in crazy pandemic times!

I didn't have to stay there the whole day. Things weren't crowded or chaotic (Omicron is really waning here) and so I breezed through in a couple of hours.  By evening though, I was exhausted with my Crazy Whatever syndrome. It was the rare time that I didn't want to cook. Ed said "Let's Get Chipotle's take out." We ate and I occasionally dozed off, but we proceeded as usual and watched the Olympics and Breaking Bad and I slapped the post together and then I nursed a stomach ache (see point 3). So I skipped the final edit and went to bed. And I forgot to click publish. Ooops. Sorry guys. I woke up to emails and calls asking me if I had died. 

 

3. It Isn't What it Was

Related, but deserving its own reflection was our take out from Chipotle's. We used to pick up their burrito bowls maybe once a month before the pandemic. Every couple of weeks I come across an evening when I dont want to cook. We alternate then between Thai, Chinese, or Chipotle's. Occasionally there will be a pizza, but it's rare, because I dont like most of the pizzas within driving distance. Or it will be sushi if I'm beyond caring about all the soy salt I take in on a sushi night. 

During the first year of the pandemic we did not do any take out at all. I just cooked. Every day. No exceptions. Eventually though, I loosened up and we reintroduced Chinese. And yesterday, we reintroduced Chipotle's. 

The whole experience of going back to a prepandemic place reminded me of when my daughter and her husband went out to a restaurant this winter (after Covid had swept through their home, they were in a safe place, having both been vaccinated, boosted, and plenty exposed to the virus). They dined at one of their favorite places, which happens to be a favorite for Ed and me as well, so I was eager to hear about the splendidness of that meal. Well, it was a bust. The place was empty and understaffed. My daughter's favorite dish came late and half the essential ingredients were missing. Conversation never runs smoothly when you are waiting too long for food and you are keenly aware of the fact that you have to be home before the babysitter time runs out on you. The evening, in other words, was... not the best.

I'll say the same for our dinner from Chipotle's. I hadn't gone there for these several years because it has inside tables and there are always people eating at them, breathing in, breathing out. Plus, Chipotle's always seemed a little germy to me, even in prepandemic times. The servers are young and careless and the food sits out in the open. Still, we are not crazy fussy and we always loved our burrito bowls.

Yesterday, as we were feeling more optimistic about the state of the pandemic, I entered the fabled halls of Chipotle once again. 

It was nearly empty. I thought -- fantastic! Less exposure! 

In retrospect, that should have been a warning: Food Not So Fresh. Not many people eating means that the young servers and cooks, with their masks half way down their chins, are going to be careless. Food sits. Too long. Young servers do not observe hygiene protocols. Ed and Nina get food poisoning.

So, I'd say it was a pretty crazy Thursday!

 

4. As for Today... 

 

Well, Ed stayed in a supine position upstairs all day (he was hit especially hard) while I went about the business of life. Breakfast most definitely alone!

 

 

 

I'm feeling good about the animals. Yesterday's adoption of Berry really lifted my spirits, so that I no longer look at the six turfy feline residents of the farmette and scowl. And the cheepers, too, are doing well, this despite an attack on their coop the night before. The angry chicken-hungry predator did not get in. Everyone's safe and indeed, enjoying the one-day warm up.

 

 

And I pick up a cheerful Snowdrop. It's her last day of school for a while. Next week, most of the days will have schools closed here, because the teachers need a pandemic break. True, the parents need a pandemic break as well, but hey, whoever said that life is fair.

(Happy boys at home)

Maybe not fair, but very wonderful. And full of hope.

 

With love...

 

Thursday

Up most of the night, out of bed by 6, with no naps in the game plan for today. This is a recipe for a very tired day going forward. You have to ask -- why the heck do I do this to myself? The answer -- a shrug. It happens.

I had some appointments this morning and so breakfast was on the late side. I was glad that Ed joined me for it because the table looked unusually uplifting. I had ordered some bunches of daffodils from the grocery store but they ran out. The shopper chose a substitution -- a primrose for each missing daffodil bunch. I mean, don't they all shout spring at you? 

 

 

 

Ah, the primrose... the lovely, lovely little flower of Parisian parks and English woodlands! And Wisconsin kitchen tables. I've tried growing them, but the animals chomp at anything that pops out of the ground that early here in Wisconsin. 

And speaking of animals, I have a flash bulletin on RD Berry, the cat we took to the Humane Society just yesterday. We checked in on him today. We see that they cut off his clumped hair and checked him over and gave him a name (to their credit, they did not ask us if we had named him). There he was, listed as Big Mac.

Big Mac?? 

There is nothing big or hamburger like about him! Still, his personality wowed them and wowed new owners. We were told they are very excited about bringing him home. And so RD Berry, aka Big Mac, is adopted.

This makes us so happy! May it be a forever home for this gentle little feline. 

In the afternoon, I pick Snowdrop up at school. I listen to her stories of recess play. She and her friend are working on a language that trees would understand. It's silent and takes place in the quiet of the head. I have to smile at this account: are they just playing? She would say no. They're very serious about it. Well now, don't I sometimes murmur a humble gratitude to the trees in the forests we walk or ski through? Why do it if the trees do not understand my words? Maybe speaking to a forest is a method of simply acknowledging our connection to the trees within. And what lover of the natural world would not want to do that?

On the way home she tells me she wants to be an environmental lawyer. (This after I cursed -- in a family friendly manner -- a truck that spewed a dark cloud of smoke from its exhaust.) And here I do smile. It's been a quick jaunt from dancer to chemist to veterinarian to environmental lawyer. It's wonderful to see kids excited about their futures.

Including this guy:

He graduated to munching on bread sticks before supper. Soon it will be olives and roasted beets and stinky cheeses. 

Kids grow up. They're good at that. And we just sit on the sideline, wondering what just happened...

 

With love...

puzzles

It's like jumping into the icy waters of Lake Monona in February to raise money for a cause. Or buying a pet rock. Or wearing cat-eye glasses. It's a fad. So I resisted it in the same way that I did not jump into a cold lake, nor own a pet rock, nor choose pointy frames for my eye glasses.  I did not play Wordle. Not until 7 days ago, when I said what the hell and took the plunge. No, of course I wont join the club of result posters. For one thing, a good score on my part may simply mean that I have more time to waste on thinking about the possibilities. Unlike, say,  team big T, composed of Snowdrop, dad and mom, whose goal is to finish the darn thing at breakfast (which they do), before they all have to leave to get to school by 7:40. I'd crumble under such pressure!

So it turns out I like Wordle. And I like the NYT Spelling Bee (which I just tried today), though possibly not enough to pay their extra monthly fee for it. I think word puzzles should be free for seniors. You want to keep their brains exercised so that they don't develop dementia and cost the taxpayer extra money in needed services. But how do I feel about adding these brain teasers to my "goof off" list? That list has things on it that take me away from my platinum level "awesome ambitions" list. Is it okay to not be inspiring or productive or mega-creative at age 68? Can I shed my life long ambitions, in the same way I have given up on bikinis and skinny low-rise jeans?

Ed asks almost every day if I will ever return to my book writing. But I think he's merely speaking to his own momentary laziness. He still aims to get things done. Big ticket items. Inventions and designs. People doing nothing make him nervous. There but for the grace of God walketh he. Me, I think my whole person is telling me to quit making grand plans. Puzzles are an important component of that process of letting go. I know that the president of the United States is ten years older than me and has to keep straight many important details like which country is an evil enemy and which is our best friend forever. But he also has a staff that walks his dogs and writes his emails for him when he's feeling not quite up to snuff. And I bet he did a good number of puzzles on that train ride home to Wilmington Delaware each weekend, because you can't just always read policy papers and write proposals for new legislation.

 

In the afternoon I got my shingles vacc no.2 (I still need no.3 down the road). I read a compelling piece (in the NYorker) about the unexpected consequences of being fully vaccinated (I'm talking about ALL your recommended vaccinations, not only Covid). And I had to smile: so, you think vaccinations may lead to unknown bad outcomes down the road? Think again. It appears that vaccinations may well protect you in ways beyond shielding you from the disease under consideration. Your flu shot may have boosted your resistance to Covid. Your polio -- to the flu. And so on. So, I'm loading up: shingles vax, get to work on boosting my immunity in general, so that I can do more puzzles, write at least a few stories and still travel far and wide.

(As a side note, I do find it remarkable that the recommended Shingles vaccine is not covered by Medicare. I mean, you're told to get it, right there on the state registry and on your MyChart page. And then boom! You get the tab for close to a couple of hundred. Our preventive health care system is so messed up!)

This is my day then. I did not take my camera out, except once, for breakfast, and only because I thought the tulips looked liked they deserved a moment of glory.

What, you think my day looks gloomy? It doesn't though! Oh fine -- here's a sweet bright spot -- a screenshot from tonight's FaceTime with Primrose. We both happened to be munching on apple chicken sausages and playing with our spinach.

There. Happiness abounds. Look left, look right, look in front of your nose. It's there.

With love.

things are what they are

Find the good, be grateful, keep the hope -- remember how hard it was to live by those words at the beginning of the pandemic? Things have improved. It's less of a stretch to search for joy when infections rates are going down and hospitals (at least here in my region) are discharging many of the Covid patients. And we are finding the good in this snowless winter. And we are grateful that we had this short time with the sweetest cat we're ever likely to know.

It's not that RD Berry has died. Quiet the contrary -- he is doing well. Ed did not manage to comb out many of his clumps of matted hair, but he looks only a little ugly now. And the face and the soul -- all charm.

But he wants to go out. It's not good to keep him in the shed, even though it is warm there and we bring him lots of food and rub his cheeks and Ed plays a solid hour with him each day. RD Berry looks out the window, he sees the other cats, he watches the deer graze at dusk and he wants to be part of it. Even as we have 6 stubborn cats who have marked their turf and accept no other feline into what they consider to be their farmette lands. You know, they pay the taxes, and feed the cheepers, so it must be theirs.

If we let RD Berry loose, they will chase her away, just like they've chased all other ferals and strays -- Pancake, Marmalade, Coon Guy -- they came, they stayed for a bit, loving the food we left for them and then they got chased away. 

The only thing left is to take the abandoned and neglected RD Berry to the Humane Society. They will care for him, they will chip him, and they will find him a good home. That is the hope. (I refuse to go through Craigslist again: placing two reasonably friendly feral kittens through  Craigslist was awful: they switched homes constantly and in the end one escaped and never returned.) 

We sure will miss his gentle ways and gracious acceptance of whatever is handed to him.

It's very sad to see him go.

 

At home, I bake. When in a kerfuffle, I bake. I pick out a Ricotta Blackberry-Blueberry cake. Many berries to honor RD Berry.

And in the afternoon, I bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse. 

She is in a philosophical mood. I should be able to handle a 7-year old's philosophical mood, but I find myself stumbling. She goes right to the heart of it: meaning of life, what if this, what if that... Surely it is not my place to punch holes in her belief systems, her dreamy imaginative world -- who am I to say no, Virginia (Snowdrop), there is no Santa Claus (quest for magic in real life). 

We stay in the car in the farmette driveway, motor off. She seems determined to get me to commit to something. I go for the copout -- "different people believe different things..." But in today's times, I feel this has to be further qualified. I mean, there are verifiable facts and there are wild conspiracy theories. How do you preserve fantasy for a child and at the same time teach her that truth is fact-based? 

I remember this happening with my kids too: when they were very young, I thought -- my, the physical work in caring for them is brutal! I can't wait until parenting moves to challenging discussions, rather than wiping noses and playing dress up. And then one day it moved to challenging discussions and I thought Holy Granola! They can really ask the tough ones!

And then, in one snap, Snowdrop turns off her serious deliberations and skips to the farmhouse.

I had moved a bookshelf from the upstairs bedroom into their playroom. The chapter books have been stacked in piles all over the place (there's no room on the picture book shelves). She needs easier access to them. Too, I have to get her permission to move out the endless series that she has outgrown. Sophie the Mouse -- all 40 books. Critters Club -- same thing. I doubt her brothers will reach for these. Maybe Primrose and Juniper would like these books with strong female protagonists. Daisy Dawson, Cam Jansen, Just Grace... But do I need to keep dozens upon dozens on the off chance they might someday like these when passing through here? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I bring Snowdrop home, I find her two brothers playing with blocks and structures on a mat together. True, the little guy is content just clutching a block in his sweet chubby hand. Building is not in his skill set yet. But it will be. Very soon, it will be.

 

At the farmhouse, the cats come in, go out, come in again. I shake my head at them: guys, you shouldn't have chased Berry out. I know you cant help yourselves, but still, you shouldn't have. Sigh... We love you anyway you crazy animals! Yeah, we love you anyway.

Monday

A ridiculous day! 

The animals thought it was the onset of spring. Chicks hiked to the garage, the cats perched on tree stumps.

Breakfast started off well enough...

... but in the middle of it, I got a text that my groceries had been delivered. Groceries included ice cream for the kids, so I needed to get up and refrigerate the darn yogurt pops. I checked the back door (where the bags should be delivered). Not there. I checked the front door (where they are sometimes mistakenly delivered). Not there. I checked the porch (where they are delivered when it rains; it's not raining, but still...). Not there. 

Finally, I clicked on the photo they take of the bags once delivered. Seriously? They're by my mom's mailbox at her Assisted Living residence.

Well, at least I got to say a quick hello before I scooted off to bring the bags with ice cream pops home.

And then I chased a vision. For the rest of the day. A vision of what I would do in March, given that March is never a great month here in south central Wisconsin, at the same time that this year, March may offer us at least a partial reprieve from Covid prison. So I made plans. Big and little, all day long. And it wasn't until the sun was getting low and the air was getting nippy once again that Ed and I looked at each other and said -- shall we? And off we went to move our legs some, because really, it's the only way to stay strong: get off that couch!

I'm still bracing the knee, but I swear it feels better rather than worse. At least that's the way the mind works when you look outside and you think -- my, next month we're getting sprung! And it will be spring! Amazing!

Sunday

1. RD Berry

RD Berry remains a big topic of discussion for us. Remember? She is that once lovely Coon-like cat who went backwards in life and turned into an ugly duckling. Her hair is densely matted and even Ed's patient comb has not undone what living in the wild had produced. But, she is darn friendly and easy to handle. So much so that we are convinced she isn't a true feral. She is gentle and kind and you could put her next to a baby and not worry that the kid will be scratched.

 

 

So what do we do with her??

For a couple of days, Ed tried out a new idea: he'd put her in the cage (she is so easy to handle!) and carry her to the sheep shed, so that the other cats to sniff and (cross your fingers) accept her. We don't want a seventh cat, but we prefer that than letting her cope with homelessness.

She hated being trapped in the cage while the cats sniffed. She threw up from the experience. So today, he brought her into the sheep shed and set her free. She looked around. One of the cats -- we call him Friendly, who knows why, he isn't that -- snarled and jumped at her from behind. She retreated and started marking space. Okay, time to call her what she is: She is a male cat! So, he didn't fight back, he just tried to carve out space for himself, away from Mr. Obnoxious.

Well that wont do! A marked up battle ground? The smell alone would be too much. Ed picked him up and took him back to the writer's shed.

Is there a Plan B? Nope.

 

2. Chocolate

Breakfast? Yesterday's pain au chocolat. I tell you, habit forming. 

I'm baking again today. Back to my Snacking Cakes book. I pick the "Chocolate Almond Olive Oil Cake with Raspberries." I know, that's a mouthful of descriptors, but each one is important. Without the dark cocoa, it wouldn't be chocolate. Without the almond flour, it wouldn't have that extra bite to it and without the Olive Oil, you'd be in milder territory. Oh, I should add yogurt to the title: without it, you wouldn't have the tang. The raspberries speak for themselves.

And it's delicious, though I'm wondering if the kids will agree. If ever there was an adult cake rather than a sweet and gooey concoction, this would be it. We will see tonight.

 

3. The End of Skiing?

While my friend in Michigan has been Nordic skiing for many hours each day, Ed and I have been slacking off. While the Olympics skiing event has showcased the beauty of this beloved sport of ours, we've been uninspired. Why? Well, there was maybe a day when the skiing conditions here have been perfect. On the other days, we made do. Either too icy or too thin. 

Still, looking ahead, I don't see any snow in the forecast and today's temps are going to creep over the freezing point. And so we decide it's worth giving it another try.

And it isn't great. Bare spots. Arresting twigs poking through. Ice on the trails. Basically, everything that could be wrong out there in our county park was wrong. Ah, but the air! Beautiful winter sunshine, just a dab of a cool breeze. We were glad to be outside.

But, unless we get a significant snow dump, we are done with skiing. A sad statement, coming as it is at the beginning of February!

 

4. Some Kind of Normal?

There is no question but that we are all putting back into our schedules activities that even a month ago seemed so out of reach that honestly I thought we would never return to things we did two years ago. Yesterday's trip to the bookstore was a great example of that. And this morning, I got a photo of Primrose, running with excitement to her ballet class in Chicago. They returned to in-person instruction last week. (I don't typically post pics taken by others, so enjoy this rare exception.)

Some of my firm pandemic holdouts (eating out and traveling) are going to be put to rest at the end of the month. What will remain is grocery shopping: I dont miss it, I dont want it, I'm going to stick with delivery, even if it does mean that I dont always get the veggie or fruit I want. Time. I am forever short on time. Ed keeps asking -- when  will I return to my novel writing? And I laugh at him and don't bother fabricating an answer. But if and when I again pick up my Second Book Project, it will be because I will have abandoned my weekly trudge to the grocery store. Three hours out of the day, right there, in my pocket!

4. Dinner

All three kids and both parents, here again, cheerful and exuberant. 

As to the cake? One child was okay with it, another loved it to pieces.  You can never predict how kids will react to a cake that's a little out of the ordinary. This one won them over. We'll see what next week's baking efforts will do for them.