December touch

Is there one thing out there that guarantees for you a state of total relaxation? Maybe a hot bath. An hour on a towel, sprawled out on the beach. With a good book. Maybe a cup of tea by a roaring fire (not yours! in some safe place!). A glass of wine, fly fishing, a walk in the forest? Any of those?

They all have virtues. I would sign up for any one of them if I wanted to unwind. Except for fly fishing -- never tried it. But there is one thing that stands out over and above these deliciously indulgent pursuits. I cemented my opinion on it this morning. Here's how it all played out:

I roll out of bed, I look outside: the morning is unusually drab. Total lack of color. Cold and growing colder. Farmette lands at their most somber. 

Well, no matter. The day awaits. Feed the animals..

Rouse Ed for breakfast. Granola. Good enough.

And then I go to Kneaded Relief for a scheduled-long-ago, when I was feeling just a little bit more flush than I am feeling right now, massage. With my favorite person there, who knows how to combine pressure, aroma, moisture, heat -- into an hour of total bliss for me. And as I lay there letting go of every single care in the world, I thought to myself -- it's her touch that seals the deal. All the rest is trim. Her hands coaxing my muscles, tissue, nerve endings into a something that I myself cannot achieve on my own -- this is what does it for me. 

I thought about human touch. The importance of it in our lives. (I know not everyone needs it and that there are some who just dont like it... I get it: we dont all have to live our lives in the same way) Ed isn't a hugger, but he is a hand holder. More importantly, we do share the couch in the evening in total physical proximity (well, he's sprawled out and I'm squeezed in, but it works!). That's the best part! And the grandkids -- still liking the snuggle (the older ones are growing out of it, but they indulge me anyway). That physical connection with another living being is sacred for me. Something happens that is powerful and good. 

The day looked less dreary when I left. (I suppose the light dusting of snow helped too...)

Of course, bliss is fleeting. We aim for contentment, not exuberance or perfect tranquility. And indeed, the rest of the day was a confusion of Ed wanting to purchase a (very) used truck (to replace his broken down wreck), me wanting to bake muffins, a friend of his wanting to visit, the kids needing to be fed because Snowdrop has another Great Catherine performance tonight. 

 

 

 

("college garb" day at school today: they have various relatives who work or have worked at this place, so they go purple)

We manage. But just barely. Someone forgot her stage shoes, another one needed to switch cars. And back home, Ed was gone picking up the new old truck, so I needed to lock up the chickens. That's normally his chore (I do mornings, he does evenings). No prob, except that the one hen who falls asleep high up on the barn wall got away from me and I had to chase her. Shush! 

And indeed, every single evening going forward is... quite full. To say nothing of the daylight hours. So relaxation will have to be put on hold, replaced by excitement. But as I chop up summer tomatoes for a chili dinner tonight, I am remembering my earlier hour of utter limpness. Knowing that I am still capable of that great big exhale, of blissful idleness in mind and body is exceptionally gratifying!

with love...

December motivation

Wait, what motivation? Does anyone feel any strong motivation to do something great, fabulous, difficult, healthy or demanding? Well good for you. I am not in your club today. The temperatures are falling, falling, the skies are covered with a thick layer of gray, the landscape is 99% brown (the remaining 1% is black). It seems like a great day to bake cookies, but we have so many packs of cookies from my Clasen Bakery forays that I cannot see myself adding to the loot. And no one in the whole extended family is in need of even more sugar.

I am up early. Who knows why. It's not that these girls can't wait.

(Though sometimes it does seem like their soul purpose in life is to get me to dish out interesting foods for them. They run after me as if I were about to deliver fresh croissants, for a blissful snack of flaky, buttery leftover morsels.)

Breakfast, nutritious, because, well, you have to balance your days with the occasional good for you oatmeal.

Sometime in the course of breakfast preparation (cutting up fruit for four people takes time... the kids will eat theirs later), I hear a story on the radio that once again urges older people to get up and get moving. I think this time it's to increase your ability to retain details. Or more realistically -- to forestall the loss of details. Coincidentally, I check in on Facebook and find this, posted by my friend George (credit: Scott Johnston Cartoons):

 

You would thing that I would, therefore, take seriously the missive to get out and get going. 

It didn't happen. 

Not until it was time to go and pick up the kids at school. Call it a day of sagging motivation.

Hard to believe that Sparrow and Snowdrop want ice cream. And that they make the dash from car to shop without jackets!

(she's helping untangle his hair)

There are days like this. Days where you can find nothing "great" about the great outdoors. Nothing that you want to touch, to be a part of. Days when you just want to cocoon yourself in your warm and snug home and stay there. Obviously we have some bear in us. A desire to hibernate. With warm bear hugs, maybe a lick of honey...

December polite

Someone noted recently that December is the month when, despite the rush, the holiday craziness, the pressure at work and home, people strive to extend a hand, to put on a smile, to say a good word to the passerby. I certainly saw that in the Post Office this morning as I stood in a long line to return an item that I'd purchased unnecessarily (and thus felt compelled to return). Good will abounded. The clerks were chatty, the waiting public was patient. Wishes for a good day flew thick and heavy as people sent their parcels and letters, likely with more good wishes to everyone high and low.

And then, sometime after the first week of January, it stops. Midwinter grumpiness sets in. Sour, dull impatience. Maybe you're sick of all that positivity and superficial greeting nonsense. Maybe you actually did not have a good holiday season and New Years Day was cold, dark and lonely. Maybe you've embarked on a course of Dry January and it's making you downright sulky and mean. I mean, I have to agree: December good cheer will so often turns into January rage. 

But must it? Can't we just get rid of the dried out Christmas trees shedding their needles over everything, put away the cookies recipes, break down all the piles of Amazon boxes, but keep the good will going for at least another... week or two?

I had a visit with my doc this morning to discuss travel and sleep (for me, the two are often incompatible) and we soon strayed to the topic of the mood of the moment. She tells me her mood's significantly improved since she has turned off most of her news feeds, which she thinks may work for a while, but carries with it its own risks -- of being uninformed, for example. She plans on turning them back on after the New Year. No! -- wait another month! Let February take the brunt of our disaffection with the world. It's a short month, after all.

The thing is, when you are, say, 71, you feel quite differently about the period right after the sugar rush of December. January is a period of extreme calm. Of loads of hours at home. maybe under a quilt, on the couch. Of warm tea and biscuits (how about triple ginger from Trader Joe's or someone recently put in a plug for McVities Digestives from England. A time of candles -- unless you're with someone like Ed who gets apoplexy at the sight of a burning wick. January is a good month. I look forward to it.

But in the meantime, the thrilling rush of December is on!

And the weather -- did I tell you how weird it is this year? Cold, cold, cold, then a warm weekend, lasting into a beautiful Monday. High today of 52F (11C)! Wait, that's not the end of the story. By Wednesday, the high will be 11 again, but 11 Fahrenheit, which translates to another 11 --  a minus 11 Celsius. That will be our high. What the hell???

Okay, clearly the message is to seize the day. And we do that.

First, the animals. Inside and out.

Breakfast, inside.

Then the already discussed doc's visit and trip to post office and finally -- a double whammy: bike and hike: to the park!

I have that extra time today because there are no kids here in the afternoon (they have their own appointments and such). But I do need to head over to the ballet studio in the evening to fix Snowdrop's hair for her end of semester demo dance and of course to watch the demo dance class.

 

I used to watch all her classes, just because seeing kids study dance is kind of fun. Their movements tell you a lot about what's going on in their heads. Easily distracted? Determined? Full of spunk? Mischief? Delight? 

 

 

 

But, there are only so many hours in the day and as her lessons moved further into the evening hours, I gave up. Still, today I watch.

And then I come back home to the calm and quiet of our lovely piece of heaven: the couch in our living room. With some reheated stuff from last night's dinner and a show on our medium sized screen. Total contentment. And love...

December warm spell

Would you call 49F (9C) warm? You bet! Some twenty degrees warmer than the temps from the past several weeks. Positively Caribbean, with sunshine added.

 

 

It is, nonetheless, a morning of tedious chores. Animals. 

 (chickens, everywhere!)

 

Laundry. With the dreadful drier now half repaired, so that it works, but only if I call Ed each time to wiggle something or other to get it started. Descale the coffee machine. Because we have potent mineral deposits in our well water. Have I bored you yet?? Let me continue: aphids in my over-wintered house plant! Water needed in the sheep shed orchids and the struggling artichoke.

(the orchids spring beautiful blooms all winter long. Unfortunately, the pots are huge and I cannot keep them in the farmhouse)

 

And so on.

All this and breakfast too. (Yes, I still sometimes over-crisp the croissants!)

Eventually we get ourselves out and moving. On our bikes, over to McFarland -- the town at the other side of Lake Waubesa. 

To "our" coffee shop, where Ed orders an interesting combo sandwich of salmon and turkey meat. I take a bite. Or two. Well, maybe more.

He reads the local paper and then I read to him a long article from the Economist about Assad's English (by birth) wife. Because it's curious how this British trained and from all accounts smart and talented woman became, well, a loyal supporter of Bashar's regime of terror. And as we bike back (it's maybe 40 minutes, taking the longer way), we continue our conversation, neither of us believing that a person is born  destined for evil, or for never committing evil. I suppose only if you recognize that you yourself harbor the ability to do awful stuff, can you guard against allowing such impulses to fester and take hold (when circumstances align themselves to push you in that direction). How else can you explain the rule of despots and terrorists? It's likely that none of them see themselves as evil. Not even Assad, or his wife.

From there, I switch focus. To dinner for the young family!

(three kids, one game)

(dinner)

I tell myself that I have to switch menus with the new year. Because repetition can be boring, even if everyone finds something to love in the two Sunday menus that I repeat again and again. Will I spring something new on them? We'll see! Resolutions are made to be broken.

Late Evening? A quiet hour or two on the couch, and then sleep. Another resolution: to pay attention to sleep. Too little and you're doomed. Too much? Well, that's not my worry!

with love...

December ice

Did you know that plants talk? They emit sounds of distress when cut or starved for water. You can't hear them, but that's on you, because mice can and moths can, and they choose their plants carefully, going for the healthier, quieter ones. (You can read about it in many places, like for example here-- where you can also listen to the amplified distress calls plants make.)

Ed and I talked about this over breakfast (which was deliciously decadent, as I had done substantial grocery shopping very early this morning, including at Madison Sourdough).

 

I noted that if we stop eating plants to save them from distress, and if we continue to avoid animals in our diet, we will be left with just water and a very short lifespan. 

Such scientific findings are common topics of discussion for us. For example, I told him today about that article in Nature that describes how much your gut microbiome shares stuff with people not only in your family but in your circle of friends. We marveled how little we understand all this today and how complex these issues are. Ed was quick to point out that we also share a significant biome with our cats. Lovely thought, isn't it?  Next thing, he'll tell me that the chickens and I also exchange microbes. I mean, I know it's true, but still, maybe we should have picked more selectively who should be in our tight inner circle of microbes? You really want to align yourself with chickens??

 

It's cold outside, but just a little less so than this whole past week. The subfreezing temperatures have created an early freeze out on the lake waters. For instance, when I drove out to shop this morning, I passed the lesser lake. It's already filling with ice fisher people. Can you see them? I myself would not venture out yet, but I'm sure they know what they're doing.

It was to be a quiet day for me. Sort of catch my breath before the onslaught of craziness, but in fact things did get a little more complicated. For one thing, Ed coaxed me into a bike ride.

Nippy! But good for us. We did our usual 45 minute loop despite the wind! 

(A pause by Lake Waubesa: looking pretty ice covered and slippery out there.)

Then, in the early evening, I join the young family and visiting other grandparents for a pizza dinner. They're here for Snowdrop's performance in Great Catherine today. There'll be a lot of mixing and mingling with various sets of grandparents this weekend and next weekend (other shows, birthdays, celebrations) and I have no idea which (if any) can be included (photographically or otherwise) on Ocean. You hate to ask. Or at least I hate to ask. So you have, instead, the usual suspects once again, ready for anything.  Ocean photo? Okay!

And now I am home with my own lovely set of microbes sharing Ed's biome in our warm, comfortable home. A winter evening at its best.

December play

It used to be that I could pack ten big ticket items into a day and not think twice about it. Put in a day of work, tend to kids' issues, take them to activities, cook their meals, plan their vacations, put up the tree, warp a few gifts, attend a kid performance -- you get the picture. These days, if I have one event that is out of the ordinary, I consider myself mightily booked and busy. True, I don't have many free hours. I joked to my daughter recently that the mornings are for doctors' appointments and the afternoons are for the kids, and though that may be a bit of an exaggeration, it really is true that mornings are for chores and the occasional walk with Ed (and for doctors appointments!), and afternoons are indeed for the kids. My downtime typically is limited to the hour or two after I put away the last dinner dish.

Occasionally though, something unusual crops up and any such event becomes central to the rest of the day just because it takes me out of the repetitious routines (chores and docs plus kids) and puts me in the thick of something else. Today, that event is Snowdrop's play.

The girl first signed up with the Young Shakespeare Players (a local theater group for young people) this summer, and like her mom and her aunt before her, she was smitten with the whole experience. Yes, there's a play that they put on -- typically an unedited, unabridged Shakespeare play -- but, too, the whole set up is very agreeable to a preteen kid who craves independence. They have a lot of it during rehearsals (meaning there's a lot of hanging out with other like-minded kids, without an adult always telling them what to do).

This fall, the group is putting on a non-Shakespeare play. It's G.B. Shaw's Great Catherine, Whom Glory Still Adores and if you have never heard of it, well neither had I before she signed up for it. The story is set in 18th century Russia during the reign of Catherine the Great. Snowdrop plays Claire, the fiancee of the visiting Captain Edstaston from England. Uninhibited Catherine, with her drunk former lover, Potiemkin and prim Edstaston with his equally English-prim Claire. You see the potential for comedy. Romance, intrigue, mockery -- it's all there.

The performance is tonight (the first of four for Snowdrop) and I am the only family member attending, so it's a big deal. (The others will see her tomorrow.) And as I wrote above, that one event sets the tone for the day for me. 

Of course, the day begins with the routines that are just fine and lovely (and cold once again!), but they are predictable. You know them well:

(granola today...)

The rest of the morning? Productive! Holiday stuff, for sure, by the Christmas tree...

(hello, little ones...)

(don't you just love a morning sunshine on the Christmas tree?)

 (Friendly, surveys Sparrow's construction project critically..)

... but also I snuck in some weight lifting. Such variety in my attempt to keep active in the winter season (and I don't care what the calendar says -- it's winter!): last year it was ballet. This year? I'm going for weights. An article in the NYTimes today reminded me of this chilling statistic: average keel over age (in the US right now) is 76. That's not the chilling part. We all die. One or two years this way or that way -- eh, small potatoes. The more chilling part was that most people develop serious age related health conditions soon after reaching 65 and it's downhill all the way after that. Some of this is luck, some of it is genes, much of it is also lifestyle. Up the grains, cut the booze, sleep well, move more.  It's a familiar tune. I just need to turn up the volume a little come winter. So, weights, here we come. They've been collecting dust in the basement for too long.

And here's something else I got from the NYTimes -- I'll share this story here. It's not one I would normally regard as a good read: all about a rich couple, with a stunningly beautiful house in the Hamptons. And yet, as I read along and admired their home, I was completely enchanted by all of it. They're artists and they built a successful jewelry business -- I dont really know how or why they got lucky with it. They started off as California Beatniks, she a drop out from high school, he enchanted with her, she with him. Plenty of love. Shared interests. (His name, David Yurman, appears to be totally recognizable among jewelry wearing people, but of course, here at the farmette, I never heard of him or his famous bracelets that lifted him to great fame.) When you read the story, you feel happy for their success. And of course, the notable fact is that they are both 82. And happy. A double yay for them!

In the afternoon I pick up the kids, bring them to the farmhouse...

(wild but sweet!)

 

 (ditto)

 

... and basically stuff food into them, especially the girl, who, to my knowledge, will not be eating dinner tonight as they make her show up early and the play ends late.

I then drop her off at the theater, him off with his dad, and I have this hour to kill. No point in going home. How about a relaxing moment or two at Barriques? It's been a while since I sat quietly, alone, in a cafe-bar in the evening. Sort of like an Edward Hopper painting, only I can't help but have a smile on my face as I look around me. I imagine most people at the tables around me are content. They look content. It's warm, cozy, a few are talking, some are with their laptops, I'm with my book. 

And then it's time to see the show. She is fabulous, of course. Great expression, perfect delivery.

Am I biased? Oh, I don't know... 

 

 

Snowdrop seems to take to the stage. For a girl with a normally subdued voice, she projects well, stays in character, and you can tell she enjoys the nuance of her lines. And the play is funny! A wonderful evening. 

It's late before I get home, reheat my supper. No matter! We have another episode of Clarkson to watch. Feet up, big cup of soup before me, with freshly grated cheese on top, of course. Exhale, with Ed, in total contentedness.

December nostalgia

I spent a good chunk of time looking at Etsy holiday place mats this morning. I know, I know -- what a time suck! Don't I have have better things to do in this extremely busy month? But the fact is, I loved it. I didn't buy anything yet -- they're all too expensive for my Christmas crowd of people at the table, and they have such a limited use: one, maybe two, at most three days and poof! Put away for another year. Besides, there was no perfect one: simple, not cluttered, not tacky, a feast for the eyes, but emphasizing something other than gift giving. Maybe nature, with a holiday twist? A gingerbread house? At least that's what made it into my "heart" pile. To be reviewed and reconsidered later.

What stood out for me is how much of what's there in the Etsy holiday stash bears the label "vintage," and how much of that stuff actually belongs to an era that matches up with my childhood. As I said in previous posts, my family didn't give Christmas much attention, but I showed my rebellion! I was completely enthralled by it -- wide-eyed and mesmerized with all the Christmas stuff in my local five-and-ten store (the equivalent of Target on a tiny scale), and in the magazines, in comic books (the Dennis the Menace Christmas Special was my hands-down favorite), and on television. I loved all the Christmas shows (Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol, the Christmas episodes of all sit-coms), the Christmas commercials ("rolling heads, rolling heads, rolling all the way, Norelco is the Christmas gift to give on Christmas Day!" "Have a nice holiday, with C-A-N-A-D-A D-R-Y, Canada Dry, the best you can buy is Canada Dry!"), the store displays, the shops with scraggly Christmas trees for sale out front. And many of those images are now sold to you, babes, with the label "vintage." 

It hit me how much "of another era" I really am! 

In other news -- it is a very cold day! You'd think sunshine would help, and it does. 

 

 

 

Theoretically at least. But the walk to the barn this morning is nonetheless brisk. For me and for them.

(the birds, on the other hand, seem just fine!)

Breakfast -- still with oatmeal. Ed douses it with maple syrup, I prefer fruits and yogurt and honey. 

And yes, my December lunch hits another level of decadence.

I pick up the kids as usual. They're in great moods. he was a classroom helper today, she hung out with her pals at recess. It takes that little to make them happy (imagine being thrilled to be appointed a "helper," who is then tasked with doing more rather than less in the course of the day!).

(why they always leave their winter jackets in the car is beyond me...)

In the evening, I reheat the soup of course. The beauty of veggie soup is that it lasts. And lasts. Ed turns on Season 2 of Clarkson's Farm. Somehow we watched Season 1 and Season 3 but never tuned into this in between one. More than once I found myself laughing out loud. When you listen to the news of the day -- national and international -- you honestly think that laughter belongs to some bygone era. And yet, tonight I laughed. Perhaps it's because tending to animals, to flowers, fruits and veggies is so hard. You need skill, experience and luck to have a really successful year. Clarkson knows how to turn this all into a good show. Watching him stumble along is good comedy, but it also makes you feel better about all the hits and misses you've had in your own growing fields, with your own farm animals. So you laugh at the show, and too, at yourself.

Laughter and reheated soup. A perfect winter evening.

December trees and a very gusty wind

The trees outside are still there come winter, for you and me, for the beasts and birds that pass under and around the bare branches. 

 

The Christmas tree inside? Beauty, unleashed. I could look at it all day. I hear that Snowdrop begged to sleep on the floor next to it. Her mom relented. The girl was enthralled. Ed often dozes off next to our tree, though I'm not sure he's feeling the same kind of thrill! Still, he tells me it smells nice.

By the time I reached my thirteenth birthday, such things as Christmas trees (indeed, Christmas itself, and, too, birthdays, or any celebrations) became too much of a bother to my parents and so there was a period where I had no tree inside. As soon as I left home to live in my own little studio, I brought back that tree. Small at first, but like the farmhouse tree, over the years it grew. Because, well, you just can't get enough of that twinkle, sparkle and shimmer, made all the more lovely now that you don't have to turn off the lights -- the bulbs aren't hot, the branches wont dry out.

December surely gets the prize for jazzing up your world significantly. Despite all odds. Despite the tough weather days, the lack of color outside, despite everything -- inside, there is something akin to magic.

Okay, but let's get back to the prosaic day-to-day concerns of a December day. For example, breakfast. You know that this meal counts for a lot in my book. My only regret is that it doesn't last nearly long enough and that I really have to work hard to resist having a second very large cup of milky coffee.

Today's breakfast was a bit of a mess, because Ed absolutely had to get through to someone or other for his machining project and so he came to the table with phone in hand. Never a good idea in my book. I sulked. "But I wanted to be there with you!" -- he tells me later. Well sure, his presence is important to me, but I'd rather sit alone with Christmas music than with a guy who is trying to explain to DHL that they mis-delivered something important. Too, that phone call lasted forever. I was done before he got it all straightened out. Nonetheless, it was a good, warming meal. Yes, it's back to oatmeal. The cold windy gray morning deserves it. And here's my bargain with myself: if I eat boring oatmeal for breakfast, I surely can spice up lunch with a plateful of holiday cookies -- all combinations of gingerbread and chocolate, which for me is a true taste of Christmas. 

There is a threat of snow in the air. Just a threat. States to the east of us will get a wallop of the white stuff. We remain naked and brittle and brown. Winter, without the crunch and the beauty of snow. I stay inside. Ed works on fixing the ancient dryer. He comes up at noon: I fixed the dryer, but knocked the pipe out in the hot water heater. So, yes, you can dry clothes, but no, you cant use hot water. At all. He goes back down to the basement.

 

I head out to get the kids early today. With stops to take care of the most boring, the most trivial of chores. And yet, I like the drive. With music playing, brain on idle, eyes focused on the road (and on the speedometer!) -- December driving puts me in a trance. Is this what meditation feels like?

 

 

Kids... I get the question from one: can we stop for ice cream today?

Not today. Tomorrow. Can't have treats every day, you know that.

Then from the other -- But Gaga, if you go to the poor house (my oft used excuse for not going out for treats daily) then you'll become rich! I dont follow this logic, so I stand firm.

Please?

Tomorrow.

We will be so disappointed... Siblings united now. One front. 

It's good to occasionally feel disappointment.  

One: Please, please, with all my heart! With all my body! With the universe!

The other:  Please go straight, to the ice cream shop. Please!

Guess who won that battle?

 

 

When I drop them off in the evening, I weave my way through a residential neighborhood to see what people have done to their yards in preparation for the holidays. It's lovely now in these early days of December. (By January I will have had enough!)

I pick up my bi-weekly CSA winter spinach, carrots and collards and come back to the farmhouse. It's so windy outside! It'll go down to 9F (-13C) tonight. I feed the farmhouse cats and the porch interloper. What's that I see? Snow flurries! Just enough to make the animals hide. We set up a hut with a heated blanket for Pancake, our interloper and the most feral of the ferals. The other two -- Dance and Friendly, are sprawled on the floor vents. (The three remaining cats stay in the sheep shed.) Like me, they like to keep warm. And what better way to do this but to cook soup for supper tonight. Ed pulls out the quilt for the couch. We settle in, grateful for the working furnace, the restored hot water, grateful too for the winter quiet.

with love...