Thursday

I cannot emphasize enough how weird the weather is today. As warm as on an early May morning. With predicted thunderstorms. Steamy, calm at the outset. And then come the winds. Oh the winds!

Morning walk: barely need a hoodie.

Breakfast: Ed is in a hurry to get to his machining project.

And after? I want to beat the storms, the wind, the weirdness out there, so I hop on my bike and take a spin out along the rural roads.

 

I do not beat the wind. I do not beat that rain either. On the upside -- I made it home before any rumble of an approaching storm. That came later. Still, 54F (12C)? On February 8th? In Wisconsin? Crazy...

When I picked up the kids, it was windy still, but the sun came out. 

And it was lovely. And at the farmhouse, we read and didn't pay attention to anything outside. Then, just as I dropped them off at the pick-up point, the sky darkened. Indeed, the day turned into night within minutes. And it thundered and poured and back home the cats freaked out and the chickens hid. Cant blame them. It was beyond weird.

Ed fell asleep early tonight. Exhausting day for him. For the chickens. For the cats.

with love...

Wednesday

Much of the morning was devoted to operating a glue gun and trying out different methods of adhering things to a poster board. In other words, I'm working on an elementary school presentation that will take place toward the end of the month. 

The question you have to ask yourself with these events is -- what does an average kid, somewhere between the ages of 5 and 12 want to hear or see in your presentation? Therein lies the problem: the age range is huge. A five year old may get excited about dinosaurs or fairies. A twelve year old? Probably neither. 

I used to do big time projects in my own kids' elementary school. I put together a newspaper each semester with stories written by kids at all grade levels. That was a huge enterprise, especially since in those days, you had to cut and paste stories before issuing newsprint. Tedious work! And even more tedious? Soliciting stories, editing content -- all of it took more time than I had, but somehow I packed it in for several years running. So doing small presentations and gluing things to a poster board would seem easy peasy lemon squeezy by comparison. And yet, I've been compiling ideas (and poster boards) for days now and I'm not even half done.

After another misty and very uninteresting walk to the barn... (Dance, keeping me company)

... I sat down to breakfast with Ed.

I said to him that I find it very interesting that when you slow down in your thought processes, chances are very high that you are not aware of the changes taking place within your cerebral cortex. Much like in walking: I tell Ed he's slowing down in his steps and he always says he's been at the same gait all his life. His response to diminishing brain function? Learn a new language! That's what they all say -- learn a new language. Heck, I have trouble enough getting more fluent in the languages I already speak. The other day I forgot for a moment how to conjugate finir in the French imperfect. That's like year one of basic French. Slipped my mind. Go figure. 

(Baking time. It soothes a wounded spirit.)

 

 

We did not go for a walk. Perhaps that was a mistake. Perhaps going for a walk is the very thing you need to do to keep those verb tenses lodged securely in your brain. Still, it's just not that exciting out there. Muddy, cloudy. That says it all.

In the afternoon I pick up the kids. 

 

 

 

They, of course, get smarter every day. At some point we'll pass each other and they'll take over the world. Something to look forward to! They're good kids!

(His troubled look: I need to tell you something that happened at school. I broke a stick...)

We read the entire afternoon. Riveting, I tell you! 

 

In the evening Ed and I fry our brains even more with another not great Netflix selection. I'm letting that subscription run out this month, having finally exhausted all that we find enjoyable and clever there.

Fried brains, delicious supper foods, chocolate for dessert. Your perfect senior moments, dont you think?

Tuesday

I went back in time today. This is easy to do when you're 70: you have many years to work with. You already know that I've gone back to my childhood extensively. Pick up a copy of Like a Swallow -- it's all there. Or, all that's fit to print! This morning, I went back to a time that rarely makes an appearance these days on my radar screen and even more rarely appears here on the pages of Ocean -- the time when I was married and living a life of a parent/lawyer/spouse/cook/etc. I rarely mine those years for Ocean content. With good reason! I like the quiet that for the most part mists over the specifics of that era. Too, my life took a very new and novel twist just about the time I began to blog. I met Ed, eventually I moved to the farmhouse. You could say that Ocean is about what happens after year 50. Not before.

Nonetheless, today I went back and pulled some of that content from the past into the present: I received a breakfast invitation from a friend who is married to not only my ex's old colleague, but also if not married, then certainly connected to a whole circle of friends who were once part of my world, but who, after my split from married life, faded into the horizon. You could say that it was a breakfast of a couple of old friends who, by virtue of being friends for different reasons in the past, are now becoming completely new friends, because we are making an effort to rebuild everything from this new platform, decades later.

Confusing? Let's then get to the specifics.

Morning chores reminded me that we are still in February. It is nippy out there!

No breakfast at the farmhouse. I'm off to my downtown meetup.

(fog over Lake Monona hides the Madison skyline)

 

My morning meal host prepared a splendid quiche (on top of fruits and croissants). This was no ordinary breakfast. It felt regal. Lovely setting, downtown, in a home that was in a high rise. It may well have been the first time I visited anyone who lived in a Madison high rise, with a view no less, though today's fog made that a rather opalescent experience. Here, take a look.

People sometimes tell me that I am insanely over-scheduled. That I move too fast between too many things. In fact, I don't miss more free time so much as I miss paying attention to those around me who don't make it into the immediate lineup. In other words, I admit that I do not put aside enough time for my friends. (Those who live far away actually hear from me much more often than those who live nearby, because it's far easier just to Zoom or to schedule a trip, than it is to make time for a morning or evening out with pals.) Today, as I sat at the table and talked to two very special women, I thought (not for the first time, but with greater intensity!) -- I need to see these people more often. 

The fog stayed with us a long time. The good side of this? I felt like the world was hidden in a dome of icy crystals. A perfect excuse not to venture out again until it was time to pick up the grandkids! Oh, now the sun comes out! Well, too late. Besides, it's still cold, their jacket-less bodies notwithstanding!

 

 

Lots of reading today again. What can I say -- the books are good, the farmhouse is cozy.

And it's equally cozy in the evening, when Ed and I finally settle into our couch routine. Did you have a good day? -- he asks me, I ask him. 

With so much love...

Monday

I got an email from someone who had an idea for a trip to a place I visited 18 years ago. The first thing that I did this morning, therefore, was open Ocean to the pages of that trip of mine. I had traveled with Ed, in December of 2006, so Ocean was not quite three years old and I'd been with Ed just a little over one year. I spent the rest of the morning thinking about all of it -- the journey, the blog, traveling with or without Ed.

(Chores, thinking...)

(Breakfast, asking Ed if he remembered any of the details. Not surprisingly, he did not. That's okay, neither did I.)

It shocked me how much, over the years, I have changed the narrative, the elements of a trip, the nature and strength of the safety net I build into my travels. It's understandable of course. Ed has stopped going places with me and whereas encountering obstacles and having mishaps may have been fun with him by my side, the perspective shifts when you're a woman going at it alone. Then, too, there was Covid and the idea that you could get sick somewhere else. And of course there's the age. I was just a touch over 50 then. I'm into my 70s now. There were also the mechanics of travel: blogging then was so hard because I rarely had access to even dial-up internet. Our ramblings had to accommodate the daily search for a place from which I could quickly write and post.

I wondered this morning if I should take back some of the elements of the past. Whether I should take more risks and favor new rather than repeat destinations. (To my credit, of my next 4 planned trips, 3 will have plenty of new stuff in them and the only one running on repeat and recycle will be one I'm doing for Snowdrop.) Or, maybe I should let time and age and inclination (and gender and Covid risks and all the rest) run their course. There's nothing wrong with doing things with greater gentility over time. It's just a bit of an eyeopener to reflect on the fact that even though I think I've stayed the same over all these years, really, I have changed not a small amount.

In the afternoon, Snowdrop comes here for the afternoon.

We read together. Really, that's all we do. Absolutely riveting book! When I pause to get a sip of tea, she sneak reads at the ending. I tell her to keep it to herself. We'll she if she can do that!

Evening brought with it a beautiful winter sky. Pink, orange -- the works. I admired it from the couch. Inside, where I stayed, with Ed, our bowls of chili, loving the quiet beauty of the moment.

Sunday

Who shops early on a Sunday morning? Who is pushing a cart minutes after sunrise? Well, me for one. At least today. I pinned this day as the one where I restock the croissant supply for the week. As long as I have to drive out to the bakery before breakfast (so that I can also pick up a treat for today's morning meal), I might as well use this outing as one where I also grocery shop. And I start with that, because it would be very difficult to first pick up croissants and to then have them in a box next to me as I drive to the grocery store. The temptation to break off a piece of one, or indeed, to chomp the whole thing down would be strong.

But first, the walk to the barn. It's misty cold. Not much to say for it except that the snow is almost completely gone, which is either a good thing (old dirty snow is unattractive) or a bad thing (a barren landscape in February is... unremarkable), depending on your mood.

Then the grocery store. A few dads with very young children who obviously dont care that it's Sunday and are bouncing around as if on a supercharge. Some older people who probably wish they could sleep in late but that ship has sailed and so they grocery shop instead. Me. Admiring fruits and vegetables and feeling so very hungry at the sight of ripe cherries that I nearly snitch one, except I'm feeling antsy about germs and besides, I'm too old to engage in petty theft, or any theft for that matter. (I write this because I do carry the weight of knowing that I had snitched two or maybe even three times a piece of hard candy from a Woolworth candy bin in New York, and an occasional potato from a farmer's potato field in Poland when I was very young and very stupid. I have no idea what lead me to do it. Youthful brain cells not working properly. Thankfully, I did not thereafter embark on a life of crime.)

Shopping done, I drive to the heavenly scents of the bakery.

Needless to say, breakfast is rather late. 

Our walk on this pretty day is also a bit late. But, oh, is it ever nice! True, it's March weather. March bright skies, March breezes, March mud. We dont deserve this in February. Still, you cant help but love it, just a tiny bit, in the way you love sinfully rich cookies even though you know you're not supposed to, because they're not good for you.

Fixing dinner for the family is also a little bit rushed. But ready when they arrive!

(D'Affinois cheese loving kids...)

(Well, Snowdrop prefers a sharp cheddar.)

(Appeased by a photo book and the sudden magical appearance of a Hook's cheddar.)

(Dinner at last)

(Post dinner special: "let's climb all over Ed!")

And afterwards? Well, my free run of Apple TV ended today so we are back to searching for other streaming services that are new for us and that may offer good short term sign on bonuses. In the meantime? I have to say, after years of not caring about the Grammy Awards, I tune in tonight. The elements of pop and folk and the presence of so many female vocalists is, even for this 70 year old, exciting. 

With a chocolate and a snuggle on the couch. What could be better?!

Saturday

Here's a funny thing about food: unless you were born into unfortunate circumstances, with food deprivation and poverty nipping at your heels all your childhood years, chances are high that you have very sweet and warm childhood food recollections. You remember with utter clarity and wistfulness the special baked goods that occasionally made it to your home. You love the scent, the texture of very specific treats, whether baked in your kitchen, or admired in the shop window, or savored at the local cafe or diner. I dont care if it's key lime pie with a glass of milk, or peach cobbler with a wallop of ice cream, or a slice of Sacher torte with hot chocolate, or Polish paczki from your favorite Polish pastry shop -- if you had them in your childhood, even in an otherwise miserable or indifferent childhood, you're going to think back one day and say -- oh, that was so good! I could just taste the flakiness/creaminess/deliciousness of it all!

I feel that way about Polish baked goods -- not ones from my home, since no one baked anything in our kitchen (my grandma baked, but that's a whole 'nother story), but ones from any number of local bakeries. I have exquisite memories of poppy seed cakes, cheese cakes, cream filled pastries, and of course -- of paczki. Polish doughnuts.

In this country, Christians celebrate Fat Tuesday as the day before Ash Wednesday which starts Lent, right? So you go all out in your indulgences on Fat Tuesday, which this year falls on February 12th. Poles give themselves a few more days to go hog wild. They celebrate Fat Thursday, a whole week before Ash Wednesday. Fat Thursday happens to fall on February 8th this year. Thus on this coming Thursday, there will be long lines before bakeries, as Poles stock up on fresh paczki (Polish doughnuts) and faworki (which are sweet fried twists of pastry, sprinkled with powdered sugar). 

I have never found a bakery here that does paczki well. Or at least in the way that would satisfy a Pole. But today, my daughter sent me a link to one in Chicago and I spent a wonderful hour studying its offerings, all the while feeling myself to be in a Proustian trance as I remembered the comforting delicious pastries of my Polish adolescent years.

But first, I did the morning chores...

("who are you callin' "chores?!")

And shared breakfast with our Breakfast Cat (she never comes "to the table" except for breakfast!)...

 

Unfriendly. That's what we initially called her when she appeared in the litter of another stray (remember Stop Sign? The mother cat that brought us nearly all the cats that live now on farmette lands?). She ran away from us, from everything, and everyone. The name stuck. But do you see how stately and regal she is? I swear she has noble blood pulsating in her veins. Too, such perfect posture! And yet, she is an outlier. She has been banished by her sibs from the sheep shed (where five of the cats hang out). Who knows why. She doesn't even try anymore. At the same time, Dance, the grande dame of them all (and her half sib) adores her and her alone. Unfriendly is skittish. She is so skittish! Lift your hand suddenly and she runs! And yet. She fights intruders like no other. Poor Pancake, the newest interloper, has wounds from battles with her. And of course, she loves us. Tentatively, hesitantly, because we're humans and humans terrify her. But she comes in and especially at breakfast time but not only, she purrs with contentment if we rub her cheeks just so.

 

Next: I take Blue Moon to be serviced at the local Subaru dealer.

They were short staffed. It took forever just to check the car in. But, the Subaru service center is not unlike the Trek e-bike service center -- they pride themselves at being "your friend" and doing right by you, so the gracious rep gave me a loaner for the weekend -- same model, the CrossTreck, but a brand new version of it. (My "new" car is now three years old.)

I was stunned at how much had been updated in this newer model. No more nobs. It's all screen now. And on the one hand I'm thinking -- wow, this technology burst is impressive, and on the other hand I'm thinking -- so this is where we put our efforts. Into cars. We could have impressive trains improving on their technology every year. We dont have that. But we do have the cars... Food for thought. Not paczki food, just regular old nourishment...

It's sunny outside. The kind of February day that fills you with energetic joy. We go out and bike. (Do you see that sky??)

I can't say that we leap to it. There is still something magically comfy at home. The sun streams in, the fridge hums. Had we a ticking clock, it would tick rhythmically, we would doze. Well, Ed dozes anyway. Half the time I look up his eyes are closed. 

But we do eventually rouse ourselves and yes, it is beautiful outside. About 40F (nearly 5C), but what a difference a ray of sunshine makes!

Totally splendid to ride those paths and rural roads.

As always, we pause by Lake Waubesa. It's mostly frozen, but if you watch carefully, you see those who tread out far are treading through slush. It seems so unsafe, and yet, there they are...

It amazes me that people can enjoy spending many hours just sitting on ice. I come home from a silly bike ride, with only scant patches of snow to my side, and it takes me a while to get the chill out of my legs. I think of myself as winter hardy, but these fisher people are way in a different league of Wisconsin hardiness.

At home, I think about concocting an aperitivo of Campari (from Milan), Sirene Bitter (from the Lake Garda region), Torino Vermouth, and Prosecco. A Northern Italian sort of Negroni Sbagliato. I earned it, don't you think? Followed by a very full bowl of chili. Winter perfection!

With love...

Our own groundhog...

Our own groundhog? Never showed up for his big moment. Still sleeping, I'm sure. And we're not about to poke him in his abode. Nonetheless, if I can speak on his snoring behalf -- we're getting the spring season soon here. Cloudy as anything out there this morning.

I don't know about you, but for me, a cloudy day always stirs up a craving for a something sweet or yeasty for breakfast. I dig out cinnamon rolls from the freezer. That'll do!

And this is when I remember that too sweet is worse than not sweet enough. Most cinnamon rolls are extravagantly sweet. Why do these things always come to mind after you've done your dastardly deed?

The guilt. Oh, the guilt. 

February is a slow month here on the farmette. This isn't necessarily a bad thing -- savoring a retired day could well be the goal for any of us. Doing so slowly allows you to take gentle steps rather than rushing head first without paying attention to anything at all. Slow eating, slow shifting of priorities. Slow planning, or no planning at all. I have to wonder though -- if you decelerate the pace, does everything, absolutely everything slow down for you? January, February -- they're a crop farmer's resting months, but for those of us who are not farmers and whose physical labor is limited to chasing kids around or planting flowers and fruit trees, do we really need to slow down? And if we do take measured steps now, in the winter, do our minds also slacken? Fall off the treadmill? Turn out thoughts and ideas that just a decade ago we'd have considered... inconsequential, to put it mildly?

So on the one hand, I like the idea of slowing down. On the other, I want to put in spurs, right around mid February. Something to kick me forward at a faster pace. For the physical challenge, but, too for the mental one that is its counterpart. 

The easiest way for me to do this is to hop over to a new destination. Put myself in strange surroundings.  Because a winter slow down, while heavenly, also sounds a warning bell: dont get used to it! Stay sharp, stay focused!

In the afternoon I have my not-very-slow kid pick up. Today's the day I shuffle them off to their various lessons. I think I said "hurry up!" one too many times. Oh well. They are forgiving children.

And in the evening I cook chili. Slowly. With food, slow is always good!

February 1st

Now that January is over and done, with all the good, the interesting, the long, the gray, the adventurous, the wonderful moments that make up each day of that very wintry month, I expect to coast! Yes, I would love more snow. It cannot be that I will have skied only twice this whole winter! (Ed did better, since he skied in the week I was away.) But, too, I would love more of that cornflower sky that February typically brings us. Lily, my Massachusetts artist friend who unfortunately passed away recently, left behind a trail of wisdom and stardust and she always admonished me when I grumbled about February days. Look at the sky, she'd tell me. Just look at that faintly blue sky.

Perhaps in honor of Lily (who also liked to picnic outside on February 1st, every year, no matter what, well into her octogenarian age), February started off for us like this:

The misty blue sky came and went, all day, playing around with a cloud cover, as if in a contest as to who had more might, but I saw enough of the good stuff to remind me that gloomy days are fleeting.

And my basket of tulip bulbs kept on blooming...

As I did my usual read through the various news sources, I had to smile at an article appearing in the NYTimes today. The author suggested that it's worth spending 36 hours in a city that is often passed over by travelers. It was one of those times where in travel, someone out there is following my thought pattern because in fact, it is exactly where I am going soon, and for 36 hours no less! So I spent quite a bit of time thinking about it and reading more about this place that I in fact have never before visited.

The rest of the morning was spent on Zoom. Ed with his bon ami, me with mine.

And the kids came after school, and the sun came out again and the afternoon moved forward as if on autopilot.

There is no guilt to staying indoors on a sunny day. You still feel the same exuberance, the joy of watching the transformation outside from bleak to brilliant, without getting your shoes muddied in the melting slush in the process. 

It was, indeed, a very lovely day for us all.

Wednesday

A day of waiting. Rumor had it that there would be sunshine. Buoyed by this, I planned on picking up Alpine Blue (my e-bike) from the bike shop (some dozen plus miles away, on the other side of town) and riding it home. Ed would tag along for the adventure of it. 

But, the morning began like this:

Breakfast with Ed, still in the gloom of yet another foggy day.

(Hey wait a minute! you're not Ed!)

(that's more like it)

And so we waited. 

We should go anyway. It's warm enough -- this from Ed. He regards 37F (not even 3C) as warm enough. I would agree if the sun would be out. Not so much on a gray morning. Maybe we can have it delivered... There is a slight charge for carting the bike over to your place, but I'm beginning to think it's worth it.

We dawdle and pause and resist. By 11:30 I ask -- what do you think? it's now or never. Google estimates the ride back to be 1 hour and 15 minutes, but it's a complicated routing. Half of it is through the outskirts of Madison, half along snippets of a bike path. I have kids to pick up today and so we have to be back in time for me to head out for them.

Let's do it! Ed's up. Somewhat reluctantly I take a scarf, a jacket, my warmer gloves and we drive over to the bike shop, with Ed's bike on the car rack, so that he can ride back with me.

In fact, by the time I've settled the paper work at the shop (new wheel! updated bike! cleaned up and adjusted! all under warranty), it's just past noon, and the sun does come out in patches. But the wind! No one told me about the wind!

Still, it's a great ride for me, exactly because it is a challenge. My face and hands are icy red, but it is sort of special -- to be biking away on the last day of January. In Wisconsin. They said it would be a warmer winter. They were so right.

 

 

We park our bikes at home, I drive Ed back to the shop so that he can reclaim his car, and from there it's a hop skip to the kids' school. 

 

 

 

One word to describe the two older ones today: absorbed. Sparrow spends the entire afternoon lost in a game with the toys in the playroom. Snowdrop is completely mesmerized by the book we're reading together. She wants nothing else but to make progress with it.

 

 

 

And in the evening I drop them off at the pick up point and here's the thing -- it's just dusk then. The sun barely set, the sky is not yet dark. A month ago, I'd be doing this in inky black light. Today? We are marching straight toward spring.

with love...