December and Juniper

Yes, Juniper was born in the middle of December. Three years ago. How well I remember her day of arrival. Covid times meant that we (Primrose and I) did not visit her in the hospital. But, she was quickly packed up and brought home, bushy haired and big eyed. She continues to hold (and will always hold) the title of being the youngest of my grandbabes and of course I am therefore extra careful with these birthdays and celebrations because I know this is the tail end of it all. I'm not moaning about it -- the kids all grow to be interesting and wonderful human beings and I love being with them in their older years, but still, the cuddle bug herself is our last "baby" and I think we all take note of that!

I wake up to a drizzly Chicago day. My hotel (the Zachary) has a well regarded bagel and coffee shop downstairs (Steingold's). I'm not looking for a bagel, but I do love their other traditional Jewish baked goods. I go for a rugelach and a milky coffee, by the window, looking out at Wrigley Field.

And then I Uber over to Juniper's house. It's Juniper's day today, for sure.

(greeting me out on the stairwell)

It's enormously grand when a child's birthday falls on a Sunday. She can put in breakfast requests (waffles!). Lunch requests (mac and cheese!). She can have her family gather for an afternoon celebration. In our crazy busy and spread out far and wide lives, we rarely get many generations together for celebrations. Sure, the Wisconsin kids all have birthday dinners at the farmhouse, but that's because they are a short car ride away and, too, they have all come to expect it. But the Chicago bunch? Only Juniper still gets me to come up for her birthdays. And once she switches to having kid parties, I'm sure I'll do for her what I do for my daughter, and for Primrose: celebrate on the next occasion that I see her. Not necessarily on the birth day itself.

But this year, every grandparent except for chicken watching Ed is here in Chicago -- call it a two-fer. One day for the Primrose ballet, the next -- for Juniper's birthday.

And honestly, I'll miss these gatherings going forward. I almost never see the other grandparents. In the typical American way of trying to stay above water with life's demands, we, the grandparents, usually step in and take turns visiting, babysitting, celebrating holidays. Well, for once we are all here. Grandparents, an uncle and aunt, and Juniper's own sister, mom and dad.

But that's all later in the day. Before we party away the afternoon, there is some time for hanging out. 

 

 

 

 

 

For sneak-peaking at the cake...

 

 

 

For lunch. For spending the day together.

Eventually, Primrose gets ready for her second Nutcracker show...

 

 

 

... and Juniper goes down for a nap. One parent runs errands, the other parent attends the ballet. I sit back and enjoy the moment of quiet in my daughter's home, sneaking peaks at her cookbooks, with Christmas tree lights right by my side.

And then the party begins!

Juniper, officially three.

Presents, food, singing, playing.

And importantly, cake.

I 'm ready to take a classic cake before her photo, but she's quick! Puff, the candle is blown out!

Well done, little one!

Well, at least I can get the classic family shot!

Happy birthday dear Juniper, happy birthday to you!

(yes, she wanted a "rainbow" cake; Primrose is distributing the very large, deliciously colorful slices)

(Family portrait, on my timed release)

Late in the evening, after the guests have left and the kids have been properly cajoled/bribed/urged to get to bed, I finish up with a last lingering hour (or two) with my daughter and her husband. It's immensely satisfying to review the day, the year, life gone by!  A beautiful weekend comes to an end. Totally special, all of it.

I Uber back to the hotel Zachary (named after the Architect behind Wrigley Field). Tomorrow morning I'll drive back to Wisconsin. One more week of after-school kid duty before winter break sets in.

With this P.S.: I'm glad there is no snow for my travels here, but now that I'm done with road trips for a while, could we please have some of the white stuff?

with so much love...

December ballet, 2

If Madison has one beloved Nutcracker performing company, Chicago, that great big behemoth of a city to our south, has several companies putting on this seasonal ballet. Possibly the two best known are the Joffrey and Ballet Chicago. And it so happens that my Chicago grandgirl, Primrose, who takes ballet classes at Ballet Chicago, will make an appearance in that company's thirtieth anniversary production of the Nutcracker. Today is her first performance and I am on my way to see it!

After a very early breakfast at the farmhouse. Alone, because it is too early to call Ed down. 

And then I take off for Chicago.

When your young child is in a professional production, there is a lot of coordination and orchestration that has to take place before each performance. Don't I know it from decades past! I want to be a helpful type, so I do the young family a favor and choose to stay in a hotel for the weekend. They have a lot of family coming and going this weekend. They dont need to unfold the couch for me. Too, I have my moments of quiet there. I have said many times now that ending the day with a quiet hour is the only way to get me to sleep reasonably well. So I park myself today at the Hotel Zachary -- just a bit to the north of where they live.

It's a nice place, though perhaps it's best known for its proximity to Wrigley Field. And just so you know, I am such a moron at ball game stuff that I had to look up which team properly belongs to this stadium. FYI, it has been home to the Chicago Cubs for more than a century! (First built in 1914.) I think that the Northwestern Football team also plays at the stadium, but both their season and the Cubs season are done for the year. Not that it's calm outside. There are seasonal events all around town and the hotel is packed with holiday revelers. Even as my room is super quiet -- facing the back streets rather than the stadium.

Okay, but I'm not here for a ball game anyway, nor for the revelry. I'm here for the kids! Here's Primrose, getting ready for her show. Her mom is a stage makeup pro!

("if she gets lipstick, cant I at least use chapstick?")

(ready!)

Primrose goes off for an early call time (and her sister goes off as well -- it will be Juniper's first time watching a live performance -- but in the meantime, the parents hope she'll take a nap in the car... we will see how that goes).

The Nutcracker is at the Athenaeum Theater this week (next week they switch to a different one downtown) -- a very traditional, very beautiful theater, even older than the nearby Wrigley Field. (The Athenaeum was built in 1911.) 

 

 

 

My daughter and I grab a cup of coffee...

 

 

 

And very quickly, it is time to go see the show.  Many grandparents have come from near and far!

 

 

 

("is it time??")

 

 

(grandparents, parents, and Juniper: the cheering squad!)

 

 

And it is a beautiful performance. Primrose does her dance (as a doll in the party scene) perfectly. At intermission, she joins us in the theater to watch Act 2.

 

 

 

Her sister is proud. We all are!

 

 

 

The extended family disperses afterwards. We'll be gathering again tomorrow, because guess what -- it is the birthday of my very youngest grandchild -- Juniper!

But that's tomorrow. Tonight, I return to the home of the young family and after a little downtime, the five of us go out to dinner at Etta's -- a lovely Italian place that I have such fond memories of, as we've eaten there before the kids were born and after each one came onto the scene. It's impressive that the two girls maintain a good mood despite the craziness, and the excitement, and the shortness of any rest time.

 

The good spaghetti and meatballs help!

And now I'm back at the Zachary. It's raining outside. Of course it is. The trickery of winter in the Midwest! Tomorrow? Another big day!

with so much love...

December ballet, 1

Still bitter cold. Woke up to 1F (-17C) out there. And no, I don't think one degree is much of an improvement over yesterday. 

Well, this too shall pass. We'll be back to "normal December cold" next week. In the meantime, we are grateful for an exceptionally easy to heat farmhouse. It's over a century old, and you can't say that it's very well constructed, but the living room is at its core and the outer spaces -- once-porches turned into play spaces, keep that core insulated and snuggly warm. 

Speaking of warm, here's a photo of the tree, just before I went upstairs to bed last night. It hasn't gotten nearly the attention it deserves!

If yesterday was loaded, well, today and the two days that follow continue in that trend. You'd think I could have done better with the spacing of events, but mostly things fell in this way because of external forces far beyond my control. 

Tonight is Madison Nutcracker night for my daughter, Snowdrop, Sparrow and me. This ballet production has been part of family lore and legend for many a decade (my younger daughter danced in it for half a dozen years when she was younger) and it has established itself as an important part of our holiday fare. Last year Sparrow came along to watch it (he continues with dance classes which are actually the only extracurricular activity that he truly loves) and we made a big night of it last December.  Sometime this fall we decided to repeat the whole thing, with a dinner out before, and the ballet to follow. Just the four of us. Who knew it would be this cold!

Of course, all that is evening stuff. Morning walk to the barn --freezing.

Breakfast? Delightful because I'd picked up some treats yesterday as I was hanging around downtown waiting for Snowdrop's show to begin.

And yes, in the afternoon, I pick up the kids and bring them to the farmhouse for some well earned downtime.

Toward evening, we undergo the Great Transformation. The kids shed their school clothes and dress up for our night out. 

 

 

Off we go! And it's a beautiful outing. The lights reflected in the lake, the skyline at night, the Christmas decorations on homes that line the road -- all lovely. 

We eat dinner just off the Capitol Square, at Cento -- an Italian eatery that has the virtue of being right across the street from the theater and having Italian food that both kids can really get into.  

And finally, time for the performance. She loves the story, the staging, the orchestra. He loves the dance.

It's an emotional powerhouse for me. It always has been. I first saw it as a little kid, in New York, in the years before it became the cash cow of all ballet companies. I cried then -- I found the story in the first half enchanting and the music, especially the Pas de Deux in the second half, downright soul piercing. In the years that my girl danced various parts in the ballet, I was mesmerized for different reasons of course. But even then and since then, I've continued to be totally sucked in by the power of the music and today we were especially lucky since my daughter's old viola teacher was putting in her zillionth run in the orchestra pit as one of the orchestra performers.

I could never tire of it. Honestly. Always powerful and beautiful.

 

And now I am home. Warm, wonderful little spot where the heat is just right and the company (of Ed and sometimes a cat) is sublime... Tomorrow, I head down to Chicago.

December zero

We wake this morning to a reading of 0 degrees Fahrenheit outside. That's 32 degrees below freezing. Or -17.8 Celsius. Take your pick. 

Looking ahead, I see that the weekend will give us a couple of days above freezing. With rain. Then it's back to the bone chilling cold. To spite me -- no snow. Ever. I mean, I give up!

I ask myself -- do birds feel the cold? Do they shiver and hope for better days?

(this has to be the European Starling, no?)

I know our chickens huddle in the barn, avoiding at least the wind. The sheep shed floor heater is in a corner of the barn and it offers a tiny modicum of heat and protection. They discovered it long ago and rarely move far from it during the coldest days. At night they squeeze together in the coop and share what heat is in their frail molted bodies.

Scandinavian types keep sounding off about how you're not going to be cold if you wear proper clothing outside and to an extent that's true of course. But I need to take off my mitten to take, say, this picture.

(a tree swallow maybe?)

And for the short walk to the barn, I don't bother with a scarf. Which I then regret. So yes, it is my fault that I'm feeling cold outside. But I would very much like it if it wasn't quite this bitter this early in the season.

(a robin for sure)

 

 

Not surprisingly, I am grumpy. Ed gets the brunt of it. Of course, it isn't his fault that the landscape is so dark and brittle and cold. But it's on these coldest days that I look to the farmhouse for comfort and joy, and when I come down in the morning, I inevitably see clutter from the night before. Typically, I just take a few minutes to tidy things where I can, but every once in a while I give him a deep glare, because of course it's his clutter. (I've been reading too many articles about the continued weight of housework falling on female shoulders. But, since neither of us are the angry types, he just gets "the glare.") He tidies it up and offers to take me out to dinner, to go out to see Snowdrop's show, to maybe even go to Chicago with me this weekend. Full of good will and good intentions, but of course dragging him to places where he does not want to be is an exercise in a different kind of frustration. I tell him -- just think of doing something for me that you know I'll like doing together. 

But I do that all the time!

Like, what can you put on that list from, say, yesterday?

I bought a new old truck!

 (indeed... only twenty-two years old...)

 

 

That was for me??

In great part! I know how much you hated parking next to that other wreck. 

God, how I love that funny guy...  And then we eat breakfast.

There is no way either of us wants to go anywhere, so I drag out my under-the-table stationary bike which I like well enough and I put in a dutiful 30 minutes of moderate pedaling, and then I slip into my retail mode and buy myself a sweater. Why? Because moths have eaten through my reliable cardigan. It's that kind of a morning.

 

I pick up the kids and ask them if they had outdoor recess. Yes they did! Hard to imagine it being fun for anyone, but on the upside, it's good for them. Right? Right??

It's another one of those packed afternoons, where, in addition to the minutes of play... 

 

 

... and the book reading, I have to feed them well because Snowdrop has a Great Catherine performance tonight. It's her last one and I promised I would come see her again as she takes on the role of Claire, that indignant fiancee to the English captain. Guaranteed laughter!

But first we do a complicated switch around. I drop her at the theater, him with his dad and go to Trader Joe's for a small posy of flowers. Sparrow will come back later, with his mom, to join me at the theater. He's seen the play once already (as have I) and insists on seeing it again. Too, he's been parading around his 1st grade classroom throwing out Claire's lines of indignation -- kids pick up things so quickly! -- and I think he wants to hear them again from the horse's mouth. His favorite, which he says impetuously, as is expected: Do not presume to call me your little angel mother! I can't imagine what his classmates must think of that, but Sparrow is a boy with many friends, most of them girls, so I think they imagine it to be something delightfully clever. (Snowdrop's favorite line is also my favorite -- Oh! Dare your grandmother! Where is my Charles?)

Before I head over for the 6 pm performance, I stop at Barriques. Once again I have a half hour to kill. Straight out of a Hopper painting. Alone, this time with a glass of wine. But I cannot say that I am lonely. Too busy for that. Enjoying this rare moment of complete solitude.

(with a bar of chocolate for home...)

The show is lovely and Snowdrop again steals some laughs. A stiffly proper English fiancee, facing Russian debauchery... it's a great role to play and she puts her heart and soul into it.

(flanked by Empress Catherine and Patiomkin)

(with her BF from school, and her BF from the cast)

(Sparrow, trying out the stage)

And then I come home. Last night's chili tastes so fine on a bitter cold day. The house is unusually tidy! My sweet guy is making room on the couch, for our evening of food, film, and total warmth. And love...

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...