Venice

When we first entered the city yesterday, by boat of course, Snowdrop, in her deep excitement, asked me, without expecting an answer -- why did I never know about this place before?!

It's one way of expressing this feeling of entering something that is beyond what you've seen or experienced. It challenges all that you know about cities, daily life, expressions of the grand and the impossible. Looking out this morning on the Grand Canal (you could say that it is the morning rush hour), I still get that feeling of how unreal and beautiful it all is.

We had our usual first night in Europe: sleep, interrupted in the middle of the night, when your body is just confused as to what it should be doing. But on balance, we rested well, which was an absolute necessity for both of us.

Ready for breakfast! A very late breakfast!

In nearly all my previous travels to Venice, all I did was walk. Yes, I saw the sights, I visited the churches, the museum, I climbed the Campanile. Once. To an art historian, the city is wealthy with stunning architecture and art. Virtually every building is an exhibit that belongs in a museum. But to me, the magic is in the entirety and the entirety is best experienced through endless walks, keeping your eye open for the unusual detail. 

But with a seven year old, my attitude toward a visit here changed. I remember bringing my girls here when they were just Snowdrop's age and a little older. We did walk, but we also paused and rode lots of vaporettos and sampled many gelatos. With Snowdrop, I wanted to do a tiny bit more. This is what you learn as a grandparent -- with your grandchild, you can always do just a little bit more. You know that opportunity is a rare bird, so you are sure to keep your binoculars on the ready!

I planned several activities, and one, organized by the incredibly creative talent of Martina at Macaco Kids Tours, takes place this afternoon. In the morning (what's left of it!), Snowdrop and I take a stroll to the Rialto Market, which just happens to be a few minutes up the Canal from us. It's the market of all markets, particularly with respect to fish of the Adriatic. She may never touch a fish on her plate again after seeing/smelling the delicious catch of the day here!

On the upside, she fell in love with the artichokes...

... and the strawberries. I happen also to love the baby artichokes here. So tasty you can (and should) eat them raw. You could never find these back home, so all you can do is drool. The strawberries, on the other hand, are totally transportable. I pick some up for our hotel room.

(A detour up the Rialto Bridge...)

Just before entering the hotel, we pause to admire the gondolas. And yes, it's the best moment to do this, because sooner or later, you know I would give in and the two of us would go on a gondola ride.

We are lucky. We picked randomly, but it happened that the gondolier was one for the ages. Sixth generation doing this. Knows his stuff. Loves his city. 

(a "road sign" telling you only gondolas are allowed on this canal)

I expected Snowdrop to be hyped, but rather, she was subdued. As if this quiet passage through the absolutely quiet backways is a different kind of magic.

(selfie)

There are currently 430 gondolas in Venice. The number goes down over the years because gondolas are expensive to maintain and they're no longer a need, but rather a service. For the romantics, as Ivan, our gondolier tells us.

("And Mozart lived there, and Goethe lived here....") 

(At the end, he of course calls his buddy to take that iconic gondola ride photo...)

And before you know it, it's lunch time. And  wants to go back to Al Campanile, and we have the same waitress, and Snowdrop orders the same thing for herself and for me, and this is one way you get yourself recognized and remembered!

Apart from us, there are only the regular men who stop work and come here for lunch. They are the real regulars (as they leave, I hear the "ciao, a domani" -- bye, see you tomorrow). Another regular? A dog. Snowdrop is apprehensive with strange dogs, but this one she likes!

From here, we walk, along the lovely Dorsoduoro ("Left Bank") loop, where everything seems always sane and not like one big shopping venue for cheap souvenirs.

(Hey, daughters, remember this produce boat? The vendors used to scowl at me for wanting to take a photo. That was then. We live in different times now.)

(Dont like to peel your own artichokes? They'll do it for you.)

And yes, I do step into one glass shop today. Venice/Murano is, of course, a glass making center, but the art is practiced by many small artisans, and a group sells out of a shop that has always seemed to me to be manageable and fun. A great place to pick up something for, say, your other granddaughters.

Colors of spring:

(Colors of peace)

From here, it's a short hike to the Accademia Bridge. Iconic view, right here!

Okay, let's go for the post card version:

We pick up a vaporetto to take us to Arsenale. Of course, first we have to find the vaporetto stop. Here, she's given up on me. "Are you sure you're not lost"

We get there! Arsenal: even if you think you know Venice (me!), you probably don't know about this district of it: it's at the very tip of the island group and it's really where Venice began. It's where the navy developed its ship building technologies 500 years ago. I have to admit that I've only touched on this area once. And I dont remember any of it. But it's where we meet Carlotta -- our Macaco guide for the next couple of hours.

She is magnificent. She has the history at her fingertips, and she has the skills to lead a scavenger and puzzle hunt that's perfect for any kid any age.

("Look at this painting by Canaletto, who painted all the details of a good photographer. And look at this same scene now. What's different?")

Snowdrop is at first tentative, but very quickly fully engaged. We play games, we discover small secrets of ancient monuments.

(And Gogs grabs a quick macchiato...)

And by the way, Carlotta did not know I'm the grandmother, which is kind of funny because I wear a knee brace and have tons of gray hair. I think it's because of the unexpected nature of this journey of grandmother and child. She learned quickly though that I stay behind when they race each other to the next point...

... and the one after.

(such a narrow street!)

One last puzzle to work out, at the "doorway to Venice."

I had signed Snowdrop up for another activity with Carlotta: mask decorating. In the greenhouse of a park. Who knew Venice had such corners?

(aprons)

Here, we learn about why there is a Carnavale celebration to begin with, and what's with all the masks around Venice, and finally, how to free your imagination and create something special. 

Both Snowdrop and I did this, even though my artsy skills are very... so-so.

We said good bye to magnificent Carlotta and walk over to a gelato shop in this very Italian part of Venice.

(for me)

(for her)

Truly, Arsenal does belong to the Venetians. And for this reason alone, it is magnificent.

And then se catch the vaporetto back to our Dorsoduoro hotel. For once, Snowdrop lands the perfect seat with the perfect views. (And yes, masks are required in all transportation, even with outdoor seating. They wont let you on the boat without it. And pretty much everyone over the age of ten wears N95's. This is why Italy's current surge is way less strong than France's, where mask reluctance is as high as it is in the US.)

On our walk back from the vaporetto stop, we pass a place that sells masks done by local artisans. If ever there was a perfect souvenir to take back home...

Home. We make the time to talk to Sparrow and mommy back home and I Zoom call Ed. How good it is to touch base in real time!

In the evening Snowdrop and I eat dinner at San Silvestro Ristorante. This was a find after a deep search back home. [It needs to be close to the hotel (the girl is tired by 7pm). It needs to be well liked (but of course). It needs to have Venetian foods. And it needs to have a reputation for being nice to families, just so I dont have to worry every time a piece of parmesan cheese doesn't make it from the spoon to the pasta dish, though God knows the kids have had plenty of practice in this particular skill back home.]

It is a wonderful dinner. I order pasta carbonara for the girl and she does eat it, even if she thinks it best to first eat the bacon then the rest. But, too, she sample my seafood fritto miso. She accepts the calamari, she accepts the shrimp, but she likes best the gently friend carrot strips. (We talk about vegetarians. Will she one day join their ranks? I don't think so... she loves bacon!)

On our way back to the room, we check out the rooftop bar. Same view as from our room only higher.

I pick up a couple of pieces of hard candy for her troubled airplane ears. And a glass of Veneto wine for myself.

And now I sit back and digest it all. And share it with you.

With love...

to Venice

Oh, Venice. What is it about this city that stirred within in me such strong feelings? As a young adult, I was obsessed with walking its narrow, dark, dank alleys. I came to Venice at every chance. In fact, I created opportunities, just to get to it for a few days. Most often in bad spring weather, sometimes seeing it when it was flooded and San Marco was accessible only by elevated walkways. I can easily say that I traveled to Venice more times than to any other city aside from Paris. A churning, youthful turmoil that pushed me across that long viaduct that leads to the city of 120 islands and nearly 180 canals.

It passed, this furious and repeated need to return. Venice is still up there for me, but I no longer treat it as if it were a passionate (and wholly one sided) affair. Still, it's a beautiful city that is especially attractive, I think, to fanciful people. Sometime this winter, I thought Snowdrop was ready for a visit. And so here we are, in Venice.

The flights to get here? Three. To Detroit, then to Paris, then to Venice. There is no nonstop flight from Madison to Venice! 

So, long trip and requiring continuous masking. And of course, the trans-Atlantic is an overnighter. Good luck on getting some sleep then! (Well, Snowdrop snuck in a few hours. I just watched her.) 

Snowdrop is a wonderfully rewarding travel companion: she gets excited by small things. I know many kids are good at this, though she is fantastically expressive about it! It's the most beautiful airport in the whole wide world! (This of the Detroit airport which, admittedly, is very nice.)

I took many pics of the little girl to send back to her parents and her aunt. I mean, they're the usual ones of girl by window. Here's the final one, to Venice.

We were so lucky! No delays (except for the final leg which was in fact delayed because of a sudden strike of air traffic controllers in France)! 

No missed connections! No bad weather! Not today, anyway. 

In Venice at last... I had booked a taxi to the hotel. Here we are, zipping along Venetian streets! Her joy in that boat knows no bounds!!

(Venice in hazy misty air)

Our hotel is beautiful. The Canova. It's new (well, the building is ancient, but the hotel is freshly opened). There is no chance that I would have been able to afford it in season and in normal times (meaning if it weren't for the pandemic which emptied out Venice for the first time in probably centuries; visitors are starting to pick up steam, though only just, since the cruise ships haven't yet ruined the "landscape" of this stunning city).

But what I did pay for (and handsomely, for me at least) are the views from our corner room.

I admit it -- I did it for myself, not for Snowdrop, who would have been just as happy staying in my usual Venetian choices -- small bed and breakfasts with views over a dark alley. It's to celebrate my years of Venice love. A retired person's cap to nearly a lifetime of delirium over this city. Who knows if and when I'll be back here. So for this trip, I chose this visual feast.

I hate to waste a single waking hour of this hazy but still gorgeous weather day (it'll start to deteriorate soon), but honestly, we are both tired. Excited, but tired. 

So a gelato is in order.

And then I do something that I think is rather insane. I purchase vaporetto tickets (that's the water bus that goes up and down the Grand Canal)... 

... and I have us get on for San Marco, THE square of all squares. We dont have time -- I have a dinner booking coming up. It's getting cool. The vaoretto is crowded so we have to stand. And still, I push us to do it. San Marco in early evening light can be exquisite. I want her to see it on the one day we are here with sunshine.

As with everything, she is intensely excited. And I do think it has an impact. But a few steps into this idea and I see that she is sagging. You know all thes bridges you have to climb? Even ones with the beautiful view of the Bridge of Sighs, which we have amply talked about back home?

Well, after a while they are just an endless bunch of steps. And when I can't find the right vaporetto stop to take us back up the Grand Canal, she slumps. 

But not for long. 

(looking at San Marco from the vaporetto)

Snowdrop almost falls asleep on the ride back and she wishes so much we could just be at the hotel and have food magically appear and that would be it. But no, this is not my plan.

Having been forewarned not to expect the usual plethora of open eateries, I chose all our dinners ahead of time, making sure that these places were open and available. For tonight, I decided the easy and familiar is the wisest choice. Al Campanile -- a pizzeria and restaurant I'd been coming to since my girls were very little. 

She comes in as if deflated. Exhausted. Those three hours of sleep on the plane mean nothing. The poor eating we've been doing thus far -- it catches up with her. At the restaurant, she longs to put her head on the Al Campanile table and fall asleep. I quickly tell them that plain spaghetti with parmesan will be terrific for her. I'll stay with their great pizza.

What a dinner that was! She loved my pizza, loved her spaghetti, loved Italy for putting on the map her two favorite foods on the planet (spaghetti with Parmesan and pizza) and doing them both so well. We have to come back here! - she tells me. We will. Of course we will.

(evening walk home)

(evening look at the Grand Canal)

From Venice, with love...

and we are off!

That title is full of optimism of course. Right now, as I post this on Sunday afternoon, the suitcases are packed, but we are not yet at the airport. My traveling companion (Snowdrop) is at home, I'm at the farmhouse, doing the usual.

Breakfast, with our cherry branches in full bloom. Inside. Outside? They are frozen and waiting. (I wish Ed loved traveling so I wouldn't have to say good bye...)

The day is brilliant. But cold. As they say -- good flying weather! I have checked and rechecked the weather at our first destination (we have a total of two destinations on this trip) and it seems that we're in for the usual March mishmash of good and not so good. 

We will manage!

It worries me that I am too prepared. I've never had everything so ready, thought over, listed and checked and then checked again. Is there an arrogant confidence that enters into this? Shouldn't I assume that I enter the game with a clear head and without expectations?

Here's one staple of my routines that I've left untouched and undecided: how I will check in with you here on Ocean. I could try short posts sprinkled throughout the day. It's an idea, but I haven't fully thought it through. Right now, I'm just aiming to leave the house in an hour so that I can meet up with Snowdrop at the airport. From there, we will catch the 5:18 flight to Detroit. 

For now I'm signing off. My next post will be (if all goes well) from our first destination. 

With love...

the day before

And what do you do on the day before you go on a trip? Well, obviously, you pack. And so today, I imposed myself on the young family, with the goal of teaching Snowdrop how to pack for travel.

That's presumptuous of me, don't you think? I mean, the girl has a mom and a dad and both can handle perfectly well the packing of a little girl's suitcase. Nonetheless, I volunteered to take the lead here and they gratefully accepted. There will have to be negotiations and deals made. Gogs may as well be the one making them. Especially since -- and this is the crucial point -- gogs will be the one navigating the girl and her suitcase along. That's right, Snowdrop and I are heading out for a spring break of adventure together. Just the two of us.

Hold your questions! I know what they are! First and foremost -- what about the parents? And then, on the heels of that -- what about the two brothers??

The fact is, Snowdrop has been clamoring to go on a trip with me for a long time ("I'm adventurous, just like you!") and we all decided that she was old enough to do it now: she is plenty independent and I'm not (yet!) too old to head out with a seven year old. So the timing is good. And yes, don't forget the pandemic. Covid had ruined a huge family trip for all of us that was to take place two years ago. Covid could still ruin trips for us in future years. This appears to be a good moment to travel safely. She's vaccinated and has had some form of the variant that's currently at play, I'm super vaccinated and not likely to get sick. So we're good!

And her brothers?? They will have to wait. Until they're old enough to have me point to the door to the bathroom and be told -- it's over there, tell me when you're done. And old enough to walk in the rain, or in the dark, or both without a second thought. Soon, but not yet.

All that planning and itinerary drawing? I worked on it with Snowdrop in mind. I may throw it all out the window once we get to our port of call, but I want to be prepared and not waste time imagining what's next. Because I know that time will be precious. (My one worry is how ever will I manage to blog and sleep and be present for her all day long! My motto for this trip? We will manage! No matter what, we will manage!)

It's a cold day -- the kind you feel does not belong in March, and yet it's frequently a part of this month. There's a bit of snow on the ground and the temps stay meanly just below freezing.

 

Ed and I eat a quick breakfast (he is studying my umbrella's mechanism; since he has never had a need for an umbrella -- when it rains, he gets wet, or stays home -- he hasn't kept up with the technology, so he's curious now)...

... and then I am off: to the bakery for some treats for the young family. To a clothes shop to see if we all can talk Snowdrop into loving a dress, just one dress, any dress for the trip. (And Sparrow comes too, and it is his first time trying on stuff in a store dressing room, and the poor guy is overwhelmed, not really understanding that just because you put something on in that tight little room, it's not yours to take home.)

And then I tackle the packing. Snowdrop's suitcase is very small, but we fit in every essential little cardigan and pair of leggings (you know -- the same stuff that she wears over and over and over and over again, just like so many kids her age who get stuck on favorites and cling to them as if anything else would cause excruciating pain), and yes -- one dress. We are not leaving until tomorrow afternoon, but I take the little suitcase back to the farmhouse with me so the little girl wont be tempted to mess with the carefully grouped contents.

At home, I've accumulated a pile of stuff that I consider the bane of travel packing. It's never the clothes that cause me distress. It's stuff like umbrellas (two this time), and scissors, and medications for every possible issue that may flare up (because when you are almost 69, flareups happen), and the books for her and chords for all my devices for me, and masks -- have to have those still, surgical smalls for her, with ear loops knotted just so, to fit her better, and bandaids, and a thermometer, and kids Motrin, and on and on. Of course, you can get stuff once you are there, but you do not want to waste time on that kind of nonsense. So you make lists and the pile grows and you sigh, knowing darn well that one little carry on for a nine day trip is just not going to cut it for you this time around. So there will be three bags: two tiny suitcases, and a bag full of items that may or may not prove to be essential. Meaning we will have to send some bags through and cross our fingers that they'll make the connections along with us!

I wont totally attack my own packing until tomorrow. For the rest of this day, I sit back and review in my head what's ahead. Travel with my grandkids is something special and magical but it's not necessarily easy. (And maybe therein lies the lesson: maybe all special and magical things are not easy to work through.) I want to do as many of these trips, with or without parents, as I can. I believe in travel. It's where you develop patience and resilience, and it's where you can cultivate a good attitude when things begin to unravel and the rain comes down, and the luggage gets lost, or when you get stranded with your daughter first in one city then the next because of severe snowstorms, or -- the worst one yet for me -- when the pilot tells you halfway over the Atlantic that he has to turn back because a passenger is not well and the nearest airport is on the continent you just left behind. 

Travel is beautiful when things go well, but it's most memorable when there are some hiccups. They are what trigger stories, amplified to the max in the retelling. They create memories. Remember the time I took you and your brother to the museum and he just could not take another minute in the stroller? So that I had to hold this upset one year old and push this cheerful four year old and we had to navigate stairs and it was altogether crazy? 

Oh, adventures! How much they shape our perspective on life! 

Here's hoping we all have some good ones this spring break. With happy, happy endings.

Friday

If you would have asked me what are the chances that a sitting president of the United States would visit a town in south east Poland where my grandfather lived as a young man, I would have answered zero. I should listen to Snowdrop, who keeps claiming that there is no such thing as 0% probability, because there is Mr. Biden, stepping off the Air Force One in Rzeszow.

When my grandfather lived and worked in Rzeszow (and the surrounding towns and villages) in his youth, the city was part of the Austrian Empire. To remind you -- Poland (or the Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth as it was then called) itself had been erased from the maps in the 18th century and for 123 years it ceased to exist, having been divided between Austria, Prussia and Russia. My grandmother lived in a village east of Lviv, and in her childhood, it, too was part of the Austrian Empire, although the dominant language then was Polish. Lviv (or Lwow as we know it in Poland) became again part of Poland after the First World War, though after World War II it was incorporated into the Soviet Union. Then of course in 1991, after centuries of partitions, divisions, annexations and domination, Ukraine gained its independence, with Lviv taking the position of its seventh largest city. But the changed demographics of Lviv are telling: after the Second World War, Poles (that dominant language group) were expelled, the sizable Jewish population was gone, exterminated in the Holocaust, and Ukrainians and Russians resettled the city.  The spoken language of Lviv is now Ukrainian (nearly 80%), followed by Russian (nearly 20%). No one speaks Polish or Yiddish, the languages of my grandma's childhood. And in Rzeszow? No Jews, no Ukrainians, no Russians. All Poles. Well, until this last month. (Thankfully, there are still no Russians in Rzeszow, though it appears there are plenty of newly arrived Ukraininas and, too, Americans. In uniform.)

And so here we are, March 25th, and President Biden has just landed in my grandpa's town. Population these days? Oh, about half the size of Madison, Wisconsin. Say hello to my cousins there, will you, Mr. President?

As for my day? Well, there are always the colors of a spring breakfast to admire! Note that one tiny cherry blossom is popping out from the twigs Ed and I cut down during our pruning work in the young orchard!

The rest of the day? I worked with a team of Adobe people trying to unravel the mystery of the unpublishable photos stuck in Lightroom, incapable for reasons not known to anyone, of movement into Flickr (my photo storage place). Possibly none of this makes any sense to you and sometimes I wonder if it makes any sense to me. Everything is interrelated and when things fail, it's very hard to find the source of the problem. In the end, Adobe (the parent of Lightroom) told me they were sure it was Flickr's fault. So now I'll have to try to convince the SmugMug (parent company of Flickr)  team that the problem is theirs. I have a feeling they'll shoot me right back into the arms of Adobe. 

None of this matters, really. Bugs get fixed, life moves on. I gave it a good effort. I'm not going to give it great gobs of time going forward. There are lots more important things to do in life, that trump spending hours, nay, days on glitches in photo storage systems on the internet.

Tomorrow, I switch focus completely: tomorrow, I'm getting myself ready for spring break. More on that... tomorrow!

Thursday

To print, or not to print, that is if not the question, then a question. Mostly, I vote no. No back ups on paper, no paper waste and therefore tree destruction. No to clutter, to unnecessary trash. If it makes an appearance on a computer screen or my smart phone -- that's good enough for me (and I think for most people these days).

But not everything lends itself to online presentation. For example, when skiing in the Alps, I noted that there is a push for people to download trail maps onto their phones. Well now, have you tried to look at your smart phone screen in the glare of bright sunlight? And how do you feel about manipulating your skis, poles and phone when suspended in a chairlift? Aren't you a little concerned that in all that shuffling, in gloved hands no less, you'll let go of a pole, or a ski, or worse -- your phone? So, on ski trails, I'll go with paper.

And here's another retreat to paper: bring it out when you think that you cannot afford to fail. It's great to wave your phone at the boarding gate of a plane, because there is an agent nearby who will magically produce a ticket for you in case your device goes bonkers. But when flights are cancelled and you're desperately trying to re-book something by phone, it's useful to have a piece of paper in front of your nose, especially if you need to switch airlines to get yourself home (or to wherever you're going). So unfortunately, airline tickets, at least the important ones -- I vote for paper.

And when I'm planning a trip for someone other than myself -- it's paper all the way. And so guess what I did this morning, as big fat wet flakes of snow fell outside! 

Well yes, I baked blueberry muffins for breakfast and for Snowdrop.

After that, I printed. Ed was totally dismayed. So much paper! Horrible waste. And yet, I felt I had no choice. All those bookings and itineraries I worked on yesterday? I have paper proof of each and every one. I can only hope that I'll someday gain confidence in e-tickets and e-reservations, even when all hell breaks loose. But this time, I have a folder of paper documents.

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. She has a busy social calendar going forward and, too, she is on spring break next week so this is the last time I'll see her at the farmhouse for a while. 

I could title the visit "how quickly they grow..." Snowdrop no longer has an easily twistable arm. If she doesn't want to read a book, you can't easily convince her to read it. Or to wear a certain pair of shoes, or eat a certain food. There's usually some push back. Nonetheless, she is generally agreeable and not very demanding, so we usually wiggle in some stuff that I choose. 

Not all, but some. I imagine this will last for the next year or two. After that comes the eye-roll phase, only to be followed by the "exasperated sigh" phase. Oh, the ridiculousness of Gogs suggestions!

 

Every generation thinks the next one matures at a younger age than they did. Maybe we excuse our past miscreant behavior by looking back on it as simple immaturity. I bet you have some memories of being young and stupid. I certainly do. Whereas listening to Snowdrop talk in the car about interpersonal relations in her class -- who is mean to whom and what can you do about it if it happens to you or to your friend -- I come away thinking that kids today do think more deeply about what it means to be a good friend or a good person. (Snowdrop confirmed that teachers and guidance counselors talk a lot about how to respond to playground taunts. Say '"stop" and walk away. Ignore, or assert your rights. This is what she learns in school. It's surely not anything I ever learned in school.)

I drop her off and spend a minute with this school boy:

Sparrow is equally immersed in classmate dynamics, though he's still too young to recognize all the good and not so good signals that kids are so adept at sending out to you, to each other in the playground.

Amazing how complicated it is to be a child these days!

Or an adult, with all the technology advances coming at you from all sides. Just remember, when things go awry, there's always paper to fall back on. Recyclable, inexpensive, easy to use paper. And (for now at least, while there are still trees standing) that's such a good thing!

 

Wednesday

I worked hard today. True, I did not move a muscle (or so it seems in retrospect), but still, I buried myself in a project and I did not pause for anything. 

It was a day for that kind of effort. Foggy, drizzly outside -- typical spring stuff, but nothing that would pull you outside. 

And that's a shame, because I really must finish clearing the flower beds in the next few days. Suddenly, there is life! Bulb tips are popping through, standing like upright dominoes that have no intention of toppling, ever.

 

I'll rake and clip tomorrow. Maybe. Not today.

Breakfast, with tulips (store bought) and Ed.

And then I am lost to the world.

I suppose that's a poor choice of words, considering that my project was of "the world." I'm planning out a trip for someone and I am articulating and coordinating every detail, as this person could not manage distant travel without assistance. Were it my own trip, I'd imagine the basic framework, but I would have no commitments to anything in particular. Walk, eat well, visit a museum. Spend lots of time in the park and buy a dress or a shirt for the kids. That's it. But today, I'm putting in a Herculean effort to finish up an itinerary, sketched out to the first and last dinner. And all things in between. 

This takes time. Mountains of time if I want to take care and do it right. So I give it time and I do little else. Even dinner is one of leftovers. Total immersion, I tell you. 100%.

 

Tuesday

Spring often arrives with a tempting palate of nice days and then it goes back to being as it should be in the early stages of the season: wet and cold. Therefore, as expected, we are entering a string of wet and cold days. Since we did not have any heavy snowfall this winter, rain now is a good thing. Our plants need the slow trickle of water. The soil will soften, the cleansing of a winter garden will begin. Still, when I go out to feed the animals, I put on my winter jacket and zip it up to my chin, just to keep out the chill.

Judging by the absence of daffodil tips now, I'd say we are a good two weeks behind the season as it presented itself in the last handful of years. But there's reason to feel hope. This morning, I saw the first farmette flower bud. It's a snowdrop (unless it's a crocus, but I vote snowdrop).

Soon it will joined by all the bulbs that are just about ready to burst out of hiding. For now though, we have to be satisfied with store bought flowers. Daffodils, for example, are abundantly available and are always the cheapest blooms in the buckets. Lovely to the core!

It's a Snowdrop pickup day today, but I don't bring her to the farmhouse immediately. We sidestep to a shoe store. I'm on the lookout for good walking shoes that she will actually like and wear. (Right now, she lives in her Skechers. All good, but she needs a backup plan.) Is she excited about the store detour? She is not. Bribes are offered. She goes along. But in her usual way, once there, she gets excited.

Is there a pair of shoes she likes? Nope. The sales clerk insists that she up her size to give room for growth, but Snowdrop likes things snug, unless it's a dress, in which case only loose will do. So, we wave a friendly goodbye and head home.

At the farmhouse, it's our comfortable usual. Read, play, eat. Actually, a lot of all three.  Everything about her visit here today is low key. Everything. (She has liked Olivia books since she was two or three. That's fine, I like them too.)

In the evening, I return her home. It's a predinner wind-down moment...

And then I come back to bake a frittata at the farmhouse. As I come in, I comment on the nastiness of the icy cold rain outside. Oh, but it's so warm and cozy in here! -- Ed reminds me.

And it is. But I do light a candle to add an extra layer of coziness as the rain pelts against the window. Maybe a faint spring scent of wild rose and ferns?  Plants that love just this kind of steady drizzle that seems without a beginning or an end.